Saturday, 14 September 2013

Reincorporation

Reincorporation is an important part storytelling. In fact you can't tell a story without bringing things back from earlier. If you don't bring any information back or continue any things that are set up, you aren't telling a story but simply saying a bunch of random stuff. It's also an important part of comedy. Catchphrases and running jokes are clear comedic examples of reincorporation.

Reincorporation, if you're not familiar with the term and not worked it out from the beginning, is reusing something you set up earlier in a scene or story or show. In James Bond movies, James is given some innocuous looking gadgets by Q whilst Bond goofs off to distract you from how important these objects are. They are in fact magical weapons in terms of mythical hero's journey. Later on these objects are reincorporated at a key moment to save our hero.

Reincorporation being important in storytelling has two main implications. Firstly that if you establish something, it should used or referred to later on. The Russian author and doctor Anton Chekhov is credited with outlining this by stating that if a gun is set up in act one, it should go off by act three. In writing this means don't set up more than you need. Everything should have a purpose. Even if that purpose is not to be reused, but to be there to illustrate character, the severity of the situation, etc. In improv this means use what you set up.

Creativity in stories, is not, as it first appears, simply about creating new things, but much more about using and reusing the things that are set up.

One thing I've learned performing improv, and had highlighted by doing solo shows, is that there is no such thing as a throwaway line. Everything has meaning. And I don't just mean the lines said by other characters, I also mean your own lines. So many improvisers, even very good ones who listen so well to what others say, don't listen to themselves. They don't see if they said was what they meant to say, or if they said it how they meant to say it. If you meant to say one thing but said something slightly different (as frequently happens on and off stage), what you actually said is what has been put out there and overrides what you meant to say. If you're not aware of that, suddenly you are not on the same page as your fellow performers who were listening to what you said. If you meant to sound angry, but you realise it came out more as confused, then your character is confused. Use it.

Ideally everything set up will be used somehow. You shouldn't be creating new things if old things are lying unused.

The other implication is that towards the end of a story, you should only be using what has been set up previously. You should have all the information you need to finish the story. If Jack pulls a gun in the final scene to save his life that was never referred to before, this is disappointing. Same with any reveal at the end that was not set up before. A good murder mystery should keep you guessing until the end but when the secret is revealed, it should be so satisfying because all the pieces make sense. Mystery endings where important information had been held back from the reader or viewer so that there would have been no way of working it out make you feel cheated. Endings like this care called "Deus ex machine" or "god from the machine" because it was often how the Greeks ended plays, with a god coming down and magically making everything all right rather than having the characters solve it themselves. It nearly always makes for disappointing endings. Especially to a modern audience who are not used to having gods meddle so much in their stories.

With writing, you have the luxury of what I call preincorporation. This is where you can go back and add information at the beginning of the story once you know what you need at the end. So if the only way for Jack to save himself is to have a gun, then go back and set up early on that he keeps a gun in his third drawer down. Bingo! Goes from deus ex machina to deus ex syrtária.

We don't have this luxury in improv (and don't have to use it in writing). We can be more creative. In improv you need to use what you have set up to help you out. And trust me, something you (or someone) has said or established and can be reused to save you. Remember that chewing gum Jack put in your pocket to keep because Florence had touched it? Yes that.

In fact the skill in movies and books is for the things to be set up and reused just as the audience has forgotten about them being there. It's a subtle balance. The audience must, when reminded, remember what was set up, so it usually has to be more than just something hanging on the wall amongst a whole bunch of things. The audience's attention has to be drawn to it without them being aware of it. If you go in too strong, the audience will realise it's being set up and the pay off won't work. Too subtle and most people won't remember where the thing came from and again will seem like a deus in the machina. A very good way of doing it is to draw our attention to it, but make us think it's served its purpose. Such as the gum in the pocket which was set up to illustrate Jack's obsession with Florence but which finds a new use as the magical weapon that saves him from his nemesis.

In improv, you rarely have the luxury of knowing what objects you will use later. And being subtle about them but remembering them is close to impossible. Ideally you will use all of the objects and ideas you set up. And use them several times. It is way more satisfying to get a lot of use out of a few important objects than hardly any use out of a vast collection of artefacts. As Jack thought popping the gum into his mouth, not only reincorporating it as an object one last time but also using it to illustrate how his journey had cured him of his obsession with Florence.

Saturday, 31 August 2013

Take One

I’ve been working on a format – well it’s more of a concept than a format – for a one person show. Actually, the beauty of it is it can work for any number of people, but because it came from a one-person concept that’s how I’ll do it first time. And then, if it doesn’t go down on the first voyage like a lead Titanic, I’ll try it with other people.

The concept is simple. I create a whole movie in a genre given to me by the audience. Nothing radical, but definitely a challenge. Especially for one person. There are definitely genres that will be a struggle for one person. It’s different with my genre work with Nicole Mischler because there we really go into a single genre in order to make it as authentic as we can.

In the any-genre concept, some (or much) of the authenticity will get lost due to not having a full knowledge of the genre, making it more parody-like. Obviously the aim, as with all genre work, is to try and recreate the real thing, because if you try for parody, it never really seems to work. The best parodies are usually very faithful to the original genre but with some slight (or extreme) exaggerations. I’m hoping what is missing in authenticity won’t actually be missed due to most people not being as up on the genre as I hope to be, and the fun we’ll have along the way regardless.

It’s actually a great concept for me. Using my love of genres and storytelling, and periodical obsession with movies. And what was surprising was that although the original aim was to do a 20 minute version of a film, which doesn’t seem unreasonable, it has been a struggle to get it down to that and have both a big story arc and interesting scenes. But we’ll see. Time in front of an audience is very different to time in rehearsal.

I’m actually very nervous about the show, and even though I have a time and a place, am still unsure whether to hold off, even though my run-throughs (in both a rehearsal space and – something that only works for solo improv – in my head) have gone very well.

Michael Jackson, when he had a new song, would, apparently, put the tape on for his manager and then hide behind the sofa while it played. I fully understand him in these moments. But maybe now is the time to stop cowering behind the sofa about this idea and to show the world by metaphorically dangling it out of the window.

Take One will probably be in the 8pm slot at easylaughs on 13 September
Mischler and More are in the 8pm slot at easylaughs on 20 September
And for the hat trick, Dizzy and The Pit Kittens are in the 8pm slot at easylaughs on 27 September
http://www.easylaughs.nl/shows.html


Wednesday, 21 August 2013

Improv Quote: Stakka Bo




"We're right here right now that's the only situation." 
- Stakka Bo, "Here We Go"

Monday, 19 August 2013

Video: Meet Your Monster: Gary Hirsch

Very nice talk on collaboration by Portland-based artist and improviser, Gary Hirsch at TEDxConcordiaUPortland.


link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K_LqFMYWSEg

Monday, 15 July 2013

Writing Through Improv

I started writing before I started doing improv. In fact improv was just a fun thing I started doing that might help my writing. It was and it did, but it also took over somewhat. Improv fueled that side of me that loves the latest, shiny, new idea which can make it hard for the old ideas to keep shining. Old ideas often in the form of something I'm half-way through writing. And it also took up much of my time and energy.

But over the years, I have still written quite a lot, and finished a good chunk of it; and even earned a few shekels from a tidy little pile in the corner there. It's something I'll hopefully be doing long after I've got the strength to haul myself up on the stage and make things up there and then.

Reading at an Open Stanza in Amsterdam
Where am I going with this? Well, after several years of intention, I'm finally getting round to teaching writing. The first foray will be a joint weekend workshop with fellow improviser and writer, Ryan Millar, exploring using improv to develop and generate writing. I'm very excited about this as it's been a long time brewing. Or at least the idea of brewing it has been there a long time. But the teabag is now definitely in the pot.

The workshop will take place on the 27th-28th of July and is co-organised with easylaughs. Details on the easylaughs special workshops page.

Sunday, 19 May 2013

Impro thought of the day: Three

 


Three is strong; 

Three is satisfying; 

Three is funny.

Friday, 26 April 2013

The Stage-Time / Space-Time Discontinuum

As a semi-professional academic of various performing arts, I have had much time to muse on one phenomenon that all performers have experienced no matter what their discipline:
Time on stage is different to time in the audience.
Two minutes as experienced by the performer can be ten minutes to the audience. Likewise ten minutes as felt on stage can sometimes be two minutes to the audience. Typically the audience time is closer to time as experienced by the clock. It’s very confusing to most new performers and a real skill to be able to accurately estimate how long you’ve been on stage.

It is the clearest example I have encountered of how relativity can be experienced by us.

The performer can be seen as being a moving object and the audience at rest. And performing is somehow equitable to travelling near the speed of light. Obviously, not exactly in physical spaces, but most performances are a journey along a story line, or through a fixed set of games, routines, sketches, songs, poems, ideas or points.

This analogy makes it clear that it is only natural, given Einstein’s assertions, that time experienced on stage is different to time experience off stage.

But it doesn’t fully explain how this experienced time can vary so wildly from performer to performer, from performance to performance and from different points within the whole performance. Obviously it depends a lot on the adrenaline in the performers body and the focus he or she has on it. Adrenaline speeds up the heart rate which has the tendency to make the outside world slow down. It’s the reason when you’re in a car crash or something similar, you often see it happen in slow motion. Focus on something has the opposite effect. Many of us have experienced the same effect off stage, where we’ve been so engrossed in something we haven’t noticed that it’s now the middle of the night hadn’t there been plans for dinner.

So the balance of these two opposing forces cause radical shifts in time-perception as we travel from the start to the end of a show. Had I time and a grant I’d love to measure both throughout a performance and also somehow record the performer’s idea of time. But I have neither. One day I will find the time enough to do some google searching to see if someone has already done it. But not until I get a grant.

I would also love to derive from this a comedy equation, an E=mc² for comedy relativity. Some of you might have noticed that even this equation shows that the energy of the room is that of the MC, squared. [1] Or that it is dependant on the mass of the comedian and the comedy constant c. C, in the old days of BBC radio, used to be known as the “speed of light entertainment.”

Enough silliness. Certainly, I do believe there is an equation that could be found using values for focus and adrenaline to calculate perceived time, but it probably wouldn’t actually help anyone to know it. Experience is definitely the best thing to be able to circumvent this problem. Experience not only allows you to control your focus and adrenaline levels but also allows you to be able to perceive or estimate audience time more accurately.


[1] MC = Master of Ceremonies = the host or compeer.