Tuesday, May 10, 2011

What the Audience Knows

I'm on stage. I'm slightly blinded by the lights and charged with the energy of being observed by a crowd. My scene partner, Diane, says "You seem well". and I'm not sure how to respond. My instinct tells me to run. My training tells me to be positive and agree. Wide eyed I focus my attention on her and say, 'Yes', hoping against hope that something will come of that. A workshop I took a thousand years ago reminds me to focus on the scene's environment - some part of me knows that Diane and I are sisters in a victorian mansion - TEA! I pour imaginary tea from an imaginary pot into an imaginary cup and ask, "One lump or two" wondering if they had sugar in lumps in the Victorian era. Attention to the reality of the objects and the manners of our characters brings the scene into being. There is an odd feeling of calm that is suddenly shattered with the thought: "The audience wants SOMETHING to happen."

"Father went out in a hurry this morning, and he left you a message," I offer her an imaginary piece of note paper. I'm hoping that Diane might make something of it.

She does. Dropping her imaginary tea cup on the floor while providing her own breaking sound, Diane stands suddenly. She asks "Will you read it to me?" She throws the offer back to me. The audience laughs.

In this moment, I have no idea of where the scene is going. Diane has no idea of where the scene is going. We both know that the scene has some potential; it is a visceral feeling. The feeling is luscious and brief. We know it is going somewhere and we don't know where.

The audience knows. The crowd sits in the safety of the dark where ideas live. The imaginations of the members of the audience have easy access and they know where the story is going. Some know the news from father is good, some bad, some mysterious. It could be as childish as, "Father likes me best", or as adventurous as, "It's a treasure map!" No matter what it is, the audience expects it to be significant. They want the note to take us SOMEWHERE. When we are in the audience in the dark, we feel the potential of the moment and it feels like possibility. We wonder, what will the improvisers do?

Almost inevitably, one of the improvisers will kill the idea. An improviser will make a choice that prevents the scene from going somewhere. For example, if I look at the paper in my hand, open the note and say, "It's blank". I've just BLOCKED the offer. Diane could make a new offer like: "I ran into him in the hall and he told me it wasn't important." She just CANCELED the potential of father's note. Or another improviser, previously offstage in the wings, could enter with something new and unrelated. Paul as the butler might enter and say, "Excuse me Miss, Lord Westlington has come to call." He just SIDETRACKED the note with a new idea. On stage we feel the potential of the moment and it feels like danger. We want to protect ourselves from the danger. So when we experience the potential of the moment, improvisers often kill the idea. What makes us kill the potential of the scene? Fear.

As Keith Johnstone has said many times: "It's all fear guys".

3 comments:

  1. BUT WHAT WAS IN THE NOTE?!?!? Don't leave me hanging!

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  2. Confession: This is an imaginactment. This actual scene didn't take place... but I've seen and been in many scenes like it.

    What would YOU like the note to say?

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  3. he's gone to singapore to have the first sex change operation ever and he's (she's) not coming back. get to work, girls.

    ReplyDelete