THE MIRROR - an improvisation format for two professionals and up to 100 amateurs. Designed by David Shepherd.

 

THE MIRROR 

 an improvisation format for two professionals and up to 100 amateurs

Designed by David Shepherd (Compass/Improv Olympic) 1974

The Mirror is advertised as a place where you create a show simply by sitting in front of a mirror.  To do this we use no written material, no satirical distortion, no symbolic magnification. The experiences we explore each night are shared experiences - common to most of those present.

When people arrive at the theatre, the first thing they see is their names and themes on a program, that's been printed only minutes before.  Next they see their reflections - in glass or Mylar.  In the improvisations that follow they see their own life - mirrored first by professional players and then by their peers in the audience.

If management can afford a videotape recorder and projector, the spectator can even have the experience of seeing a full-size mirror-image of himself.

David Shepherd - Armonk, N.Y. 1974

Gathering a relevant body of themes and an audience:

A performance of The Mirror starts hours before curtain time - when apprentices pick up suggestions for the show from restaurants, hotels and offices around the theatre. These suggestions have been written on place mats and table tents designed to involve people in choosing the content of the show.

Door prizes or cash awards are offered to those willing to play out a suggestion.  Consequently we get fewer challenges and spoofs, and more thoughtful themes.  On the back of the place mat are printed creative games that can be played over supper to isolate a theme. (Naturally these place mats can be taken home to remind potential customers of our address, and to stimulate word-of-mouth.)

The apprentices who pick up suggestions do not do it routinely.  They find out if the person who's made the suggestion plans to come to the show.  If so, they sit for a minute at his table to see if he's willing or able to direct the action - or play into it.  They prepare the customer for what will happen so that The Mirror can reflect the maximum creativity of the group that will come together at show time.

The apprentice is in face a talent scout searching for people who can illuminate roles, and roles that can illuminate people.

Preparing scenario card decks:

Information gathered by apprentices is woven by the professional staff of The Mirror into scenarios.  The flood of themes is channeled under recurrent stories.  These stories can be expressed in the same "master" scenarios, for instance: "Boy meets girl," "Boy loses girl," "Boy gets girl back again."

The professional players also choose a few sound and lighting effects that can enrich the scenario.  They know that the oldest scenario is bound to come out differently every time it's done because critical details will shift.  The lovers will have different jobs, different ages, different origins.  Their story will be played out by different players against different activities or backgrounds.

Each event in the scenario is stated on a card large enough so everyone in the audience can read it under a spotlight during the blackout.  A complete scenario might include a dozen cards, arranged in a time sequence.  It's the audience that chooses where to start in the sequence and how fast to go through it.

Each improvised scene is kept short and is framed by blackouts.  Each theme can be explored in about fifteen minutes.  A show consists of about three themes - plus the warmups that prepare audience members to direct and play into improvisations.

The role of the professional:

Professional players are limited to one man and one woman - in order to assure the audience of opportunities to intervene in many ways.  The professionals promise the amateurs in advance that no one will be forced to play,  but everyone will be asked to vote on which theme to explore first, and on whom to cast.

First: a few minutes of warmups.  Next: two pools of volunteers emerge - one of directors and one of players.  The second pool is spotlighted so that the audience can at all times see its cast options.  At any moment it can vote to replace a player, and some scenes may be done several times with several casts - until the audience is satisfied.

Naturally, if no one volunteers to play, the two professionals will play out the whole scenario by themselves - snatching hand props and costume pieces to double as the various characters called for.  But this never happens.

The audience soon finds itself adding sound effects and off-stage voices to enrich the action.  Directors in the directing pool stop action and change a factor - such as the emotion or activity of a character.  And from the acting pool real people provide real alternative to the strict limitation of one professional actor and one professional actress.

By the end of the evening these pro's have usually left the stage to direct, or have limited their roles to "one-liners" or silent "cross overs."  The Mirror has happened: by simply sitting in front of the stage, the audience has created its own show.

Prizes:

Part of each night's income is retained to reward volunteer players.  These prizes are not intended to make for a TV game show competition.  They are offered to promote audiences, to validate audience talent, to enlarge the pool of volunteers and to decrease the gap between the amateur and the professional.

From David Shepherd's IBM electric typewriter, 1974.

Michael Golding is a writer, director and improv teacher. He is a founding member of the Improv Olympics and the Canadian Improv Games.  Michael created the Insight Theatre Company for Planned Parenthood, Ottawa and the Comic Strip Improv Group in New York.  He co-produced and wrote the documentary "David Shepherd: A Lifetime of Improvisational Theatre" (available on YouTube) and his book, "Listen Harder," is available on Amazon.  Michael is a faculty member at Compton College in Los Angeles, where he works with traditional and at-risk students. He holds a BFA degree in drama from New York University's Tisch School of the Arts and an MA degree in education theatre from NYU's Steinhardt School of Culture, Education and Human Development. He can be contacted at migaluch@yahoo.com.

Life Story By Michael Golding

In my college workshops with at-risk high school students, I try to utilize their life experiences as much as possible when exploring themes, situations and characters in scenes, games and formats. The emphasis is on realism, which is often not the case with this population who lean more towards outlandish, unrealistic, and violent scenarios.

An in-class written assignment I use to elicit those experiences is called Life Story.  The set-up is that a producer bought their life story to be turned into a play. The student has to come up with a title, genre, and a few sentences describing what the play is about.

As I read through the papers, scene ideas pop out at me as I gain insight into who these students are. I write down notes on each paper to get the student to think a little deeper about the story.  This semester’s batch is particularly intriguing;

Life of Color (drama) A student deals with stress and anger through painting. Color saves me. Art saves me. Art takes all the bad thoughts away when I paint. I consider myself art. I myself am art. Art is everything to me. (My note: Lovely. Let’s come up with a scene where you encounter stress and anger, then deal with it through the activity of painting.)

 

 Beautiful Tragedies (drama/horror) A girl who lives with her grandmother and an aunt who is a felon, learns to deal with police, prison and the will to try and overcome it all. (My note: I’d like to see more of the characters who inhabit this world of yours.)

Addicted (suspense/drama) A girl who is being raised by a single mother, who she rarely sees, falls for someone that she knows is an asshole but can’t seem to let go. (My note: Let’s see a scene where she first met and fell for this guy.)

Roller (drama/romance) Girl is involved with a boyfriend who is into serious drugs and becomes aggressive when using. (My note: Can we see a scene about what he’s like when he’s not using?)

Viewing Things Differently (drama) A close friend’s betrayal and the repercussions that follow. (My note: Let’s see a scene about what the friend was like before the betrayal.)

Records (drama) A young teenage girl’s life depends on records, gets hired to work in a record store. (My note: Let’s do a scene where you apply for the job).

Ricardo (drama) Argument with brother leads to a fight that goes too far. (My note: Do you and your brother fight often? Over what? Are the arguments ever resolved non- violently? If so, let’s see one.)

There are students who don’t exactly do the assignment as described,  but still offer something interesting to work with;

Game Day (drama) A teenage boy comes up with an idea for a million dollar game and releases it on the internet. (My note: Let’s see a scene where you are selling this game to someone.)

Run Away Fugitive (action) Teenage boy breaks out of prison, steals a car, changes his appearance and goes on the run. (My note: What crime did he commit to be incarcerated? How does he survive on the run?)

The 411 (drama) People are always asking a teenage boy how to do stuff, because they assume he knows everything. Turns out, he does. (My note: Let’s explore various moments where people assume this of you.)

Money Gang Bang (action) Gang member gets shot in the forehead by a rival gang drive by. (My note: Let’s explore what leads up to that act and the repercussions afterwards.)

Shippers Found Dead (horror) Tech company uses zombies as slave labor to ship out merchandise. (My note: Can we come up with a scene that explores how the shippers became zombies?)

Once I’ve handed back the papers with my notes, I then get the students to come up with a who/what/where scene based on their story that can be explored through improv on stage. The student doesn’t necessarily have to act in their own scene. He or she can cast and direct it. Additionally, the student has to design a set floor plan, based on floor-plan symbols from Viola Spolin’s Improvisation for the Theater, which is a recommended textbook in my class.  The floor-plan provides the student with a sense of staging, set design and focusing on the where.

When the scenes are up on their feet, I begin to side-coach as the students improvise to uncover the beats. My directions hone in on specific improv skills, which are also essential life skills.

Side coaching directions:

1.     Five Second Delay:  Players have to wait five seconds before responding to each other.

2.     Contact (Spolin):  Players have to touch each other in a different way whenever they say something.'

3.     Inner Monologue:  Thirty second monologue on what is going on inside player’s character’s head.

4.     Gibberish:  Speaking in an unknown language.

5.     Explore activity:  Players have to add substance and detail to what they are physically doing.

6.     Focus on emotion:  Players have to explore what they are feeling at that moment and find a way to express it physically.

7.     Switch time:  Scene is taken either ahead or back in time.

8.     Switch location:  Scene continues in a different location.

Looking over the life stories from this class, various themes begin to reveal themselves to me; betrayal, friendship, single parent households, social inadequacy, anger, stress, work, fear of future, substance abuse, gang-banging, sibling rivalry. This group has given me a lot to work with this semester and they discovered that they have a lot more in common with one another than originally thought. Shared stories bring students together. The bonding process has begun.

Michael Golding is a writer, director and improv teacher.  He can be contacted for workshops, festivals and private consultations at migaluch@yahoo.com. Michael participated in the evolution of the Improv Olympics & Canadian Improv Games. Artistic director of the Comic Strip Improv Group in N.Y. & created the Insight Theatre Company for Planned Parenthood, Ottawa.  He is a faculty member at El Camino College in Los Angeles, working with at-risk teens and traditional students. He wrote and co-produced the documentary "David Shepherd: A Lifetime of Improvisational Theatre" (available for free on YouTube).  His book, Listen Harder, a collection of essays, curriculum and memorabilia on improvisation and educational theatre, is available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and CreateSpace. Michael holds a BFA degree in Drama from New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts & an MA degree in Educational Theatre from NYU’s Steinhardt School of Culture, Education & Human Development.  

Improv Mid-Life Crisis By Michael Golding

A little over two months ago I was struck by a car while cycling, resulting in surgery to repair a fractured collarbone. A titanium plate with ten screws has become a permanent fixture in my body. Now half man, half machine, I will be setting off metal detectors when I fly in the future. If a doctor’s note isn’t sufficient for security, believe me, I am prepared to show my scar. 

 

Unfortunately, I had to postpone a trip to David Shepherd’s home in Western Massachusetts to finish his improv archive project. David is the father of modern day improvisation and over sixty years of materials from his collection were going to be donated to an institution which will be accessible to the public. For now, the project is on the back burner. It will get done, hopefully within the next few months.

A major concern during recovery was whether I would be able to teach in the fall.  The college I work for has a high school outreach program, where I teach an after school theatre appreciation course for at-risk teens who receive college credit. I was offered only one course this semester, which meets two afternoons a week from 3:30pm – 5:40pm. The objectives of the course are explored primarily through theatre games.  I was uncertain that my stamina was up to the challenge and for the first time wondered if I was getting too old to work with this age group. Weeks of pain medication diminished my focus and passion. I simply wasn’t looking forward to the class. Was it possible that I was experiencing an improv mid-life crisis?

When I addressed that concern with my surgeon, he laughed and said “unless you’re teaching gym, you’ll be fine.” Obviously the man was unaware of the population I work with, or how physical I can be when conducting a workshop. Discussing the matter with my improv friends, Shepherd, Ed Asner, Nancy Fletcher (creator of Act Now, an improvised movie format for adolescent girls) and Howard Jerome (co-creator of the Improv Olympics and Canadian Improv Games) they were unanimous in their advice; pace yourself, sit down, and bark out orders.  Brave new world for me. Anticipating the round-trip commute to the high school in Compton on the notoriously congested highway filled me with anxiety and dread. The shoulder strap across my tender collarbone still causes discomfort, especially when I make sudden maneuvers or stops.

With improv consultant Ed Asner

It was a physical challenge conducting the first two sessions, lecturing more than I usually do, which only has a shelf life of a few minutes for the students. It may look like they’re nodding out as their heads slowly slump down, but I know they’re looking at their iPhones. I can see the glow from the screens on their faces. Maybe they’re Googling me or texting what am awesome teacher I am. Exhausted, I ended both sessions a half hour early.

I can’t sit still when teaching and my healing collarbone felt the strain. Many of my movements while instructing are reflexive, such as jumping on and off the auditorium stage, which I knew was ill advised.  As much as I wanted to phone the class in, I couldn’t. The students demand moment-to-moment attention. While I have conducted these type of workshops a gazillion times before, it was clear by the expressions on the students’ faces that it was their first time experiencing a learning-by-doing approach rather than listening to a long, boring lecture and it enthralled them. It certainly kept me focused.

By sharing that I was injured and showing them an x-ray of the titanium plate and screws on my cell phone the students perceived me as a badass. I wished my shoulder didn’t look like someone threw a pair of scissors at me to gain their admiration. In turn, the students were eager to share stories of family members who had hip and knee surgeries and what they were like before and after the procedures. All great ideas for future scenes.

Does this x-ray make me look fat?

By the third session, I had more of a grasp on who the students were. There are over thirty in the class, which is not unusual. All Hispanic. Normally, there is larger ratio of girls to boys in my classes. This time out, the ratio was reversed.

The boys ooze machismo. The themes they love to explore are hooking up, going to strip clubs, scoring weed, getting high and gunplay.  Because many are hustlers and have to live by their wits on the street, they’re natural improvisers. They don’t like to stick to the rules of the games and elicit laughs from the class by mocking them. None of this is unusual. They just need a lesson in the difference between play and game. With play, you can do whatever you want. With game, well, there is a structure with rules.

It quickly became a high wire act for me. You don’t want the side-coaching to come off as a reprimand, which either diminishes their enthusiasm or in their eyes a betrayal of trust. “Hey, I was just trying to shake things up,” one student moaned when I corrected him.  Sometimes, I wait until after the session, where I start my notes off with “You’re a natural at this. However…….”

An early observation with the boys was if they don’t realize we’re engaging in a game, they organically play by the rules; listening, agreement, teamwork. For them, we’re not playing a game until we are actually on the auditorium stage. If I warm them up while they’re sitting in the audience, it becomes more personal and conversational. I discovered that with the group story game “So What You’re Saying Is.” In the game, a player starts with a simple statement (“I went outside my house for a walk.”).  Another player would begin by saying “So what you’re saying is,” repeat the sentence he or she heard, and then add onto the story. The goal is to create a story with as many players as possible, chiming in when they have the impulse.

Example:

Player 1: I went outside for a walk.

Player 2: So what you’re saying is, you went outside for a walk, so you could get away from your parents.

Player 3: So what you’re saying is, you went outside for a walk, so you could away from your parents, because they think you’re spending too much time with your boyfriend.

And so on. There are other variations of this game, but this version resonates with the students.

I was amazed by how large and extravagant the stories became. Of course, all dealt with drugs, strip clubs, hooking up and getting high. My inner monologue suggests that in future sessions I should try to steer them towards exploring other themes that might motivate the girls to jump in. Or, I may have to break them up into groups of five, rather than letting thirty students fight for control and observe how the stories develop that way. My brain was percolating with possibilities.

The girls are shy, hesitant and rarely volunteer. Yet, there is thoughtfulness in the way they play, and when partnered up with some of the boys, diminishes their overactive testosterone a tad.  My sense is the boys don’t interact much with the girls outside of class or during the regular school day, so this is new to them – working with a girl as a collaborative partner, rather than viewing them as an object.

When I introduced Blind Walk, a trust game that is fraught with dangerous possibilities, the boys were surprisingly respectful and protective of the girls. In the game the group is in a circle and a blindfolded player walks back and forth across the circle. A student in the circle has to gently stop the blindfolded player from walking into him or her, then slowly turns the blindfolded player around, makes eye contact with another student in the circle, and gently launches the blindfolded player on his or her way towards that student. The blindfolded player has to be as relaxed as possible while walking, knowing that that the circle will protect him or her from getting hurt.

I was impressed. Normally first time out with this game, players are spun around furiously before being sent on their way, students in the circle are making jokes or yelling “watch out!” or someone in the circle might start backing up, or ever worse, step aside, as a blindfolded player walks towards them. Unfortunately, that admiration was shattered when a boy was sent across the circle. Lots of ass grabbing, head thumping, and crotch smacking. It’s early in the semester.

Now, as I bravely tackle the hellish round-trip commute, my brain is on fire running over my workshop plan and the results of it afterwards. It seems like my improv mid-life crisis was premature.  I have a lot of work to do with this group, and surprisingly, I appear to be into it.

Michael Golding is a writer, director and improv teacher.  He can be contacted for workshops, festivals and private consultations at migaluch@yahoo.com. Michael participated in the evolution of the Improv Olympics & Canadian Improv Games. Artistic director of the Comic Strip Improv Group in N.Y. & created the Insight Theatre Company for Planned Parenthood, Ottawa.  He is a faculty member at El Camino College in Los Angeles, working with at-risk teens and traditional students. He wrote and co-produced the documentary "David Shepherd: A Lifetime of Improvisational Theatre" (available for free on YouTube).  His book, Listen Harder, a collection of essays, curriculum and memorabilia on improvisation and educational theatre, is available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and CreateSpace. Michael holds a BFA degree in Drama from New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts & an MA degree in Educational Theatre from NYU’s Steinhardt School of Culture, Education & Human Development. 

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David Shepherd's Strategies for Writing Scenarios

A recently discovered  item from David Shepherd's archives, written in 1982.   

A “scenario” is a sequence of events, such as “the scenario for the outbreak of war was different in 1914 from 1939.”

When we write a scenario, we’re creating a sequence of events for a group of players to play. To make real.

Reality in the scenario for World War I includes the assassination of an Arch Duke, Germany’s bid for colonies, etc. Conflicts in real Wheres.

Reality in a scenario we write must be different. Why?  Because on our stage there is no real Where. Only an imagined one.

So for us writing a scenario becomes making Wheres.  Because we can’t show what happens until we provide the context in which it’s happening.

Compass scenario play "Enterprise" (1955)

For instance, a husband and wife arguing becomes a totally different happening when set against different Wheres. If they’re arguing in a baby’s bedroom, it’s happening differently than it would in the bedroom of children who’ve left for college. If the argument takes place in a concentration camp, it’s not the same as an argument on Miami Beach.

How does the writer of scenarios define the Where?

By describing it’s color or shape?  No, because we have no set – except what the player can create through activities, physical response or emotional response.

Notice: words don’t count for much in creating a Where. We describe a Where better by interacting with it than by talking about it.

We can ask the players to interact with a Where by cleaning it, building it, using it, destroying it even, rather than describing it. In fact, we don’t sit around in real life describing our Wheres unless we are interior decorators.

Here are some guidelines for writing a scenario: 

Activity: cooking, playing cards, dancing, laying carpet……

Physical: it’s freezing, there’s a smell of soup cooking, it’s dark……

Emotional: they’re afraid of each other, they love the sun…..

Finally, tell us What Happens by the end of the improvisation.  In other words, tell us what goes into the improvisation at the top, and what comes out at the end.

Don’t tell us what happens in the middle.  Don’t give us a blow-by-blow account. Don’t give us a dozen Exits and Entrances. Don’t write dialogue. All of that is for the players to improvise.

To help the players understand the scenario in your head, make sure we understand the time sequence of the improvisations. For instance, one improv could take place “at midnight on the couple’s tenth anniversary.” Another might take place “two martini’s later” or “twenty years before.”

Think of your scenario as pieces snipped out of time, out of the fabric of our lives together.  It takes only 3-10 such pieces to tell a story.

Remember: Just as a poem or story, your scenario will probably have to be rewritten several times before it expresses your deepest and most dramatic insights.

Scenario sample by David Shepherd

Michael Golding is a writer, director and improv teacher.  He can be contacted for workshops, festivals and private consultations at migaluch@yahoo.com. Michael participated in the evolution of the Improv Olympics & Canadian Improv Games.  Artistic director of the Comic Strip Improv Group in N.Y. & created the Insight Theatre Company for Planned Parenthood, Ottawa.  He is a faculty member at El Camino College in Los Angeles, working with at-risk teens and traditional students. Michael holds a BFA degree in Drama from New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts & an MA degree in Educational Theatre from NYU’s Steinhardt School of Culture, Education & Human Development.

 

Improv Cards by Michael Golding

 

I recently spent a week with David Shepherd, the father of improvisation, to attend his tribute and to work on getting his archives in order.  Since I was staying in a cottage on his property, we had an abundance of quality time together.

David immediately writes down every interesting idea that he hears (“Otherwise you will forget it!”) on 3x5 index cards.  There’s always a stack nearby. Strewn all over his office, you’ll find cards with a phrase, exchange or just a word or two that is designed to open up a plethora of improv possibilities.

One morning over breakfast, we talked about a close mutual friend, who to this day, still mocks me for the amount of preparation I invest in my workshops.  He finds that I put unnecessary pressure on myself. Considering that I’ve been doing this for over thirty years, couldn’t I simply walk into a workshop and conduct it off the top of my head? I suppose I could – but the mere thought makes me shudder.

As David taught me, my plans are written out on 3x5 index cards. Some are detailed, with the plans broken up into warm-ups, technique, formats, closure.  Others, just a series of games to choose from, based on the atmosphere of the group.  On the back of the cards, I also have a plan “B” – just in case my original design isn’t working.   I even have a plan “C.”

The workshop card is either tucked in my back or breast pocket for quick reference.  Students are always curious about the cards.  More so when they try to peek over my shoulder to see what was written, and I shield it from them in mock shock, as if they’ve overstepped a boundary.  Sometimes, while looking over a card, I make it seem like I’m thinking out loud, wondering what to do next; “No, I don’t have the heart to try this today.  Good God, what was I thinking when I wrote this one down?  Okay, this is just flat-out sadism on my part!”   

I also use the index cards for student suggestions – handing them out when I need ideas for themes, phrases, scene ideas, locations, and characters.

Remember, I’ve been doing this for over thirty years.  Unfortunately, I’ve inherited one of David Shepherd’s notable attributes; I can’t throw anything out.

So, I have boxes of 3x5 index cards of workshop plans and student suggestions stashed in a closet in my office.  I don’t know what to do with them.  Make a collage or construct a piece of modern art with them?  Try to find a linear thread for the world’s longest Harold? 

I’ve thought about recycling student suggestions for future workshops with different groups, but that doesn’t feel right.  Every idea should come out of the group you’re presently working with.  It has to be organic.

When my wife and I go grocery shopping, the list is made out on a blank 3x5 index card.  There are always fresh ones lying around.  One time while shopping, I noticed that the list was written on the back of a workshop card.  It was an introductory workshop, something, ironically, I could have done off the top of my head without preparing. Yet, I exploded at my wife.

“How could you write on the back of this card?  This could have been a break-through workshop!”

“Was it?”

“No!  But that’s beside the point!”

Yes, it is a magical adventure to live with the wonder that is me.

Another time, a friend picked up what he thought was a blank index card from my office to write down a recipe for his wife.  Later, his wife noticed what was written on the other side.  In very small print was “Lick my ear,” a line suggested by a student.  It didn’t help my friend that a heart was drawn over the “i.”

Sometimes I fall behind keeping a fresh stack of cards in my office and find myself scrambling when I can’t find a clean one to write on.   Once, out of necessity because I was running late for a workshop, I designed a plan on an 8x10 piece of paper.

It didn’t feel right – and I was off my game for that particular workshop. I needed something that I could just gaze at in my palm quickly, rather than unfold what felt like an ancient scroll to me.  The cards guide me.

As boxes continue being filled with used index cards, I wonder if they’ll eventually end up in my own archives one day – perplexing future generations of improvisers trying to figure out the connection between improv and a grocery list.

Michael Golding is a writer, director and improv teacher.  He can be contacted for workshops, festivals and private consultations at migaluch@yahoo.com. Michael participated in the evolution of the Improv Olympics & Canadian Improv Games. Artistic director of the Comic Strip Improv Group in N.Y. & created the Insight Theatre Company for Planned Parenthood, Ottawa.  He is a faculty member at El Camino College in Los Angeles, working with at-risk teens and traditional students. He wrote and co-produced the documentary "David Shepherd: A Lifetime of Improvisational Theatre" (available for free on YouTube).  His book, Listen Harder, a collection of essays, curriculum and memorabilia on improvisation and educational theatre, is available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and CreateSpace. Michael holds a BFA degree in Drama from New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts & an MA degree in Educational Theatre from NYU’s Steinhardt School of Culture, Education & Human Development. 

  

 

Layers by Michael Golding

Frequently, when I do workshops with experienced improvisers, I’m surprised that they don’t take advantage of all the necessary skills for a successful improvisation.  Some books on the market make improv sound more complicated than it really is.  The terminology may change over time, but the skills remains the same; listen, agree, explore where, imbue objects with qualities, be in the moment, be real, support fellow players, be emotionally sincere.  

Page from 1982 Improv Olympic program

Often, I find improvisers in scenes talking about the where, objects and emotions, rather than showing them. For a time, I taught skills workshops, with an emphasis on the aforementioned areas.  Then I hit upon a more interesting approach for myself and students; scene workshops with side-coaching.

A few years ago at the Canadian Improv Games National Festival, I conducted a scene workshop with a group of teenage players from Australia. They were a fascinating group to work with; sardonic, self-effacing, and uninhibited. After a group warm-up, I had them fill out who/what/where scene cards. My only guideline was that the scenes be grounded in reality.  After collecting and reading out the cards we started to put them up on their feet.

The first scene took place in a lifeboat with a boy and girl who had just escaped from a sinking ship.  The first minute of the improv was filled with snappy one-liners, sexual innuendo and a lack of regard for the laws of physics. Entertaining, in a surreal way – but it was time to add on some layers.

My first direction forbids the two from talking.  They can only use non-verbal sounds.  I then had them focus on the lifeboat.  It’s bobbing all over the place because of the harsh ocean and becomes particularly unsteady whenever one of them stands up or tries to move.  Then I had them focus on the temperature – which was frigid. How does that affect your breathing and movement?

The tone of the scene changed instantly and I allowed them to talk.  The conversation was much more realistic.   Using inner monologue, I had them get in touch with what they were feeling at the moment.  Fear and anxiety was at the forefront. Once those feelings were acknowledged, I had them go back into the scene – which now had a more poignant layer.  As the boy operated the oars, I had him focus on the pain in his shoulders, arms, and how the skin on his hands were burning.  Hunger began to overwhelm the two.  I had them focus on that sensation in their stomachs and how to express it in their movements and speech.

In the last thirty seconds of the scene, I had the players focus on an object; a discovered frozen solid chocolate bar. With amazing detail, the boy painstakingly unwrapped the bar, with the girl helping him so he could pull the wrapper completely off.  As the boy broke the bar in half, the girl hungrily licked the inside of the wrapper. They then huddled together, biting down hard on their chocolate bars. The chewing appeared painful and excruciating.  Without any prompting, the players watching provided the ending.  Several made the sound of a horn blowing from a ship, with another yelling out “Ahoy there!”  The two players on the boat looked towards the sound of the ship with hope. Perfect. Scene!

I allowed the players in the workshop to side-coach the next series of scenes, which focused on school, dating, working out, and parenting.  Whenever a scene began to falter, a direction focusing on feeling, objects or exploring the where, got it right back on track.

Then, the group did something unexpected and extraordinary.  They started side-coaching with various games, while still focusing on feeling, objects and the where.  Games that I originally found to be somewhat simplistic now had more vibrancy. The players provided me with another way I could approach side-coaching skills.

My workshop approach has often been described as “old school.”  As I transition from young improv whipper-snapper, to honored elder, I’m okay with that.  My “old school” teachers were David Shepherd and Paul Sills. In the improv community, my mark will never have the same impact, or be as lasting as theirs.  But I’d like to think that whenever I get improvisers to focus on the where, objects and feeling, I’m honoring their legacy, and hopefully providing young improvisers with something “old school” to think about.

Michael Golding is a writer, director and improv teacher.  He can be contacted for workshops, festivals and private consultations at migaluch@yahoo.com. Michael participated in the evolution of the Improv Olympics & Canadian Improv Games. Artistic director of the Comic Strip Improv Group in N.Y. & created the Insight Theatre Company for Planned Parenthood, Ottawa.  He is a faculty member at El Camino College in Los Angeles, working with at-risk teens and traditional students. He wrote and co-produced the documentary "David Shepherd: A Lifetime of Improvisational Theatre" (available for free on YouTube).  His book, Listen Harder, a collection of essays, curriculum and memorabilia on improvisation and educational theatre, is available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and CreateSpace. Michael holds a BFA degree in Drama from New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts & an MA degree in Educational Theatre from NYU’s Steinhardt School of Culture, Education & Human Development. 

David Shepherd's Three Things I Learned Coaching

This is an excerpt from a coach’s handbook David Shepherd put together in 1982, when he was producing the Improv Olympics with Charna Haplern in Chicago.   His suggestions are still relevant to today’s improv scene.

Players need your encouragement to assume a full and active role in team play.  How can you help?  As players arrive to practice, ask them what situation and what character they want to play.  Each player should know not only what she/he wants, but also what teammates expect.  Base the session on those needs.  FOR INSTANCE:  One night a player came in with the humiliation of being sold a fake 19” color TV set for $98.  We used this experience as a base for a Work Put event (to show the street corner con), Silent Wrestling event (the 2 minutes after she tells her husband) a Song event, and Moral Lift  event (team explains the meaning of what it’s done in the preceding events).  After an hour of play the player felt better because she now understood why she allowed herself to be cheated.

The brains of those who are not playing often go to sleep -- because of anxiety or excitement.  CURE:  Ask every player off-stage to choose both a sound effect and a “cross over” role to support the main section.  For instance, suppose the audience wants to send two lovers in a Space Jump event into “high grass under a harvest moon.”  Then each of the other ten players will be ready with the sound of a cricket, while thinking “what role can I play to enrich this improv?  Does it need me to be a big sister, a mother, the man’s last lover, a dog, a cat, the woman’s neighbor, etc.?”  Players doing “cross overs” do not stay on stage to monopolize the scene.  They add an appropriate note and leave.

God Squad at the Chicago Improv Olympics

Practical Women at the Chicago Improv Olympics

Improvisations succeed on their feet, die sitting down.  How to keep players moving?  Never stop creating and relating to imaginary objects so the environment becomes real.  Find a mutual focus (like a fly in the soup), and then “go to the walls,” expand the “where,” to find the things in the environment that can enrich the improvisation.  SIDE COACH: i.e. to make suggestions during the improvisations. Example: “Go in…find a focus…do it together…find more details…good…now go to the walls...find something in the outer environment, both of you…good…now go in again…”  Make sure your players are using all five senses to explore.

Michael Golding is a writer, director and improv teacher.  He can be contacted for workshops, festivals and private consultations at migaluch@yahoo.com. Michael participated in the evolution of the Improv Olympics & Canadian Improv Games.  Artistic director of the Comic Strip Improv Group in N.Y. & created the Insight Theatre Company for Planned Parenthood, Ottawa.  He is a faculty member at El Camino College in Los Angeles, working with at-risk teens and traditional students. Michael holds a BFA degree in Drama from New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts & an MA degree in Educational Theatre from NYU’s Steinhardt School of Culture, Education & Human Development. 

The Responsive Scene by Michael Golding

The odyssey of an audience-participation format that started on stage, evolved into a radio show, then found new life in the classroom as both.
 

In the Beginning - Responsive Scene on Stage

Howard Jerome Gomberg (cast member):

Responsive Scene began in 1971 as a stage show  entitled “Show of 1,000 Dreams” at 13 West 89th Street.  The format we used was called a “Vertical Soap Opera.”  On stage we created an apartment complex, with different people (gay couple, blue collar worker, etc.) in various units. Throughout the course of the show, we would visit them at different times:  “Now we go to apartment 3B. A married man was out all night and has just come home to his wife.”  Then we would play that scene.

First time I remember an audience member becoming part of the show was when we were exploring the theme of eviction.  In the scene, the landlord started coming on to the tenant.  An audience member suddenly yelled out “I want to be in this scene as a cop.”  So, he came on stage and we played that scene, which became about flushing things out.

Responsive Scene at the Manhattan Theatre Club, 1971. Members of the audience move into a scenario they suggested; “Turning on.” First a cop, then his captain and finally the chief of the police force.

David Shepherd (producer, director, cast member): 

I envisioned stage action that was an intimate part of the spectators’ impulses, desires and satisfaction. At COMPASS, audience suggestions were encapsulated in one sentence: “Do something about mercy killing.” Now I wanted the audience to ride the improv beat to beat until it ended.  We even had a direction: FIND AN ENDING.  I felt emotion was adulterated or phony on stage: hence the MORE EMOTION direction.  Games were designed that would plunge players into a bed of characters. Emphasizing differences of pace and volume. Use of sound effects.

Peter Waldron & Lynn Bernfield act out the suggestions of residents at the Coronet  Nursing Home in Brooklyn, 1972 . They asked to see a young, hip couple get married, have children (quadruplets) and set up a kosher home. They directed Peter and Lynn moment-to-moment, gave the five children names and found an ending for the scene.

David Shepherd:

When six of my students played the Queens House of Detention, we asked for 20 men to train in the morning.  Because I had such confidence in my students, I didn’t come until after lunch.  By about 1pm there were 60 men in the audience-a third of them familiar with the process.  It was a good tactic since only a few people knew who had been trained; if the inmates balked at a suggestion, one of the trainees popped onto the stage to do it.  The show moved rapidly, with female players cast in scenes with men.

One scene was placed in the front seat of a Buick, where Penny Kurtz rolled down an imaginary window.  The inmate was outraged: “That’s not where the window handle is on a Buick”, he shouted triumphantly. Later a Doctor showed up and was cast in a scene with an inmate.  He was prescribing a giant pill.  When the direction came “Switch Characters,” as an inmate he had to hear how powerful this pill was, how it would cure all his aches and pains, and he had to pantomime swallowing it.  The inmates enjoyed switching characters more than any other direction. 

Responsive Scene at Queens House of Detention, 1971.  Penny Kurtz (left) & Bob Aberdeen (right) train 20 volunteers to run a session that afternoon for 85 inmates.  They asked to see a Prison Doctor and an Inmate, & repeatedly gave the signal "Switch Roles.

Howard Jerome:

At L’Oursin in Southampton I remember a scene we were given to play about selling refrigerators in Hell.  I was doing it with Robin Mide, and it was going down the drain.  Just before it died, we got the direction to Add A New Character.  Robin walked into the audience and took the hand of a woman who was standing there, moving alone since the man she was with didn’t pay attention to her.  Robin replaced me with this woman, after which the scene became less about refrigerators and more about their new friendship, which worked.

It was at L’Oursin that we suffered a “brown out,” which happens just before a power failure.  Can you imagine a stage suffused in brown?  About 8:30pm brown turned to black, and we were preparing to tell people to drive home when customers offered to illuminate the action with beans of light from their cars.  We rolled back enormous doors (L’Oursin had been a boat yard before) and several cars drove up and criss-crossed their beams over the splintery stage area.  This light show was more impressive than our show even, which we picked up again and finished.  We got a long, complementary review from News Day Newspaper.

 

The Joker nightclub in Rockland Country, 1971. An audience member joins Duncan Fife, Robin Sands & Claire Michaels on the dance floor to play out a wild party.  When we blanketed the improv with the sound of loud dance music, nothing was lost.

Responsive Scene on Radio 

David Shepherd: 

We ended up on radio because Howard Jerome was friendly with Bob Lifton, who was a producer at WRVR-FM.  At the time, the nostalgia bandwagon was bringing back scripted radio theatre.  I felt that listeners should be able to create their own soaps.  So, I pitched Responsive Scene in one sentence: Listening audience creates a dramatic radio show.  The cast fluctuated, because there was always a pool of players to fill slots in any program we devised.  We approached each show without fear because the home audience had been alerted to what we would do.  I learned right off the bat that emotions are doubly important when an improv cannot be seen. We made plenty of mistakes, but the audience lit up our switchboard nightly (ten lines) and we got to feel like an institution. 

Responsive Scene Radio Show 1972. Left to right, Penny Kurtz, David Shepherd, Howard Jerome and Lynne Bernfield.

Michael Golding (caller):

At 14, I was addicted to midnight re-broadcasts of “The Shadow.” Being able to actually “see” a story in my mind was a new and incredible experience for me. Then, one week a commercial for Responsive Scene aired (“You supply the audio, we’ll supply the video.”).  I remember tingling with excitement after hearing the spot. The first time I listened to the show, it was like experiencing true magic.  Amazing that these on-air actors could conjure up an entertaining scene just based on a who, what, where outline.  Finally summoning up the courage to call in a suggestion, Bob Lifton walked me swiftly through the guidelines then put me on hold as I listened to the show over my pounding heart.  Moments later, I was on the air with Howard and immediately he made me feel comfortable. My scene was about a pizza boy delivering a pie to the wrong address – a woman on a diet.  Howard asked if I would like to play the pizza boy and surprisingly, I said yes.  Skills I never trained for before came into play – listening and teamwork.  Two minutes later the scene was over and my self-confidence levels went off the scale.  Afterwards, I called my two best friends, David and Eddie to let them in on my new magical discovery.

Throughout the summer, David, Eddie and I phoned in suggestions every week, alternating between playing and directing.  By the third week, we were “regulars.” We would have story conferences every week and spent many hours visualizing what all the Responsive Scene players looked like. When the show ended its run in the Fall, I remember being devastated.

Bob Aberdeen (cast member):

In six months of calls, we had only one really nasty suggestion from a man so high it was obvious that he was not himself.  A Jamaican woman called in once to object that her husband was romancing a woman the night before, when she came home to the apartment after work. We did that scene. Fifteen minutes later, a man with a Jamaican accent calls to object that his wife doesn’t understand him. He has been counseling his young cousin in his home, with no subterfuge, and his wife barges in and makes a commotion. We did that scene, too.

David Shepherd:

The thing about directing on radio is that (primarily) one person gives all the directions. There’s consistency in the improv because one person feels responsible.  With the stage version, the audience input should be by a cluster of three people who either volunteer or are selected in advance.  I want spectators to stay on top of the scene as it develops, but I don’t want them to be treating players like puppets – unless everybody agrees that comedy and gross humiliation is in order.

Sheldon Biber (cast member):

One week a caller phoned in with the suggestion: Son of a fireman keeps pulling false alarms. Howard Jerome played the fireman and I was the son. The first minute of the scene was riddled with cliches and one-liners. Howard and I were really struggling. Then Penny Kurtz chimed in with the direction: “Play it for real. Because I don’t get the sense that the father is angry or that the son realizes how serious this is.”  Suddenly, the scene had a deeper and richer meaning and it gave me and Howard more conflict to play off of.

The Responsive Scene Radio Show with Penny Kurtz & Howard Jerome, 1972.

David Shepherd:

At WRVR, scenes started and ended much more easily than on stage because of Lifton’s array of sound effects. Scenes could be finessed gracefully with a simple drum roll or gong.  Listeners began to phone in scenes with specific cast members in mind.  One memorable scene involved Howard Jerome playing all three bachelors on “The Dating Game.”

Responsive Scene in the Classroom
 

Michael Golding:

A couple of years ago I was teaching a theatre arts course for the Downtown Business Magnet High School in Los Angeles.  The class was composed of 40 at-risk students.  Due to a plumbing problem, the class was re-scheduled to a smaller space and I couldn’t use my original workshop plan.  So, I decided to give Responsive Scene a shot. 

I presented the format as something everyone participated in – whether they were playing or watching.  It was something THEY were in control of.

The students had already been trained in the basics of improv, so I briefly ran the scene and directing guidelines by them.  I handed out index cards and within minutes we were reading through 40 scene suggestions.  We had time to play 4 of the scenes with the students reluctant to direct at first.  I directed the first scene pretty much by myself, but was sure the students knew how it worked.  During the second scene I would periodically stop the action then ask for suggestions from the class where the scene should go.  By the start of the third scene I asked students by name what they thought should happen.  The rest of the third scene and all of the fourth was directed by the class without any prompting from me.  When the session bell rang, the students were begging for more.

Responsive Scene is a great way for me is to get to know my students better.  I ask that all their scene and character suggestions come from their lives or something based in reality.  It’s also a wonderful device to keep 40 students simultaneously focused for 75 minutes.

For Teachers:  Uses of Responsive Scene

To Explore       Roles

                        Themes

                        Diversity

                        Complex issues

                        Problem solving

                        Group creativity

Michael Golding:

With the mock radio show version, I had to exorcise a lot of the base tendencies from my students because you can do a lot of suggestive stuff with just sounds.  Most of the early scene suggestions had to do with sex or some form of humiliation.  So I initiated a rule – any scene I deemed questionable because of its inappropriateness had to be performed by the writer of the scene. That cleaned up the suggestions pretty quickly.

Most volunteers wanted to be the MC.  They had a lot of fun inventing patter – particularly warnings: “We don’t want your sick imaginations, so take them into the bathroom and do your own show in the shower.”  We warmed up a lot on tape – like having a player come up with a half dozen characters, then associate each a sound.

The great thing about the mock radio version is that is provides the students with complete anonymity – whether they’re playing or doing sound effects.

The playback is particularly important afterwards, because it brings the class together as a group and provides a nice closure for the session.  Shy students who are barely heard when they speak in class are loud and clear on tape.  The microphone really is an intimate device.


Michael Golding is a writer, director and improv teacher.  He can be contacted for workshops, festivals and private consultations at migaluch@yahoo.com. Michael participated in the evolution of the Improv Olympics & Canadian Improv Games.  Artistic director of the Comic Strip Improv Group in N.Y. & created the Insight Theatre Company for Planned Parenthood, Ottawa.  He is a faculty member at El Camino College in Los Angeles, working with at-risk teens and traditional students. Michael holds a BFA degree in Drama from New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts & an MA degree in Educational Theatre from NYU’s Steinhardt School of Culture, Education & Human Development.