I’m not going to be satisfied with performing once a week. I’d like to perform six nights a week, and on my night off, I’d like to perform. I don’t want to be in four or five groups to accomplish this, although in the short term, I may do just that. I’d rather work with one ensemble and do one main show.

I’d like to rehearse often. I’d like to rehearse three or four times a week, especially at first. But even after the show opens, I’d like to rehearse more than weekly and try new things. I’d like to identify where we can push ourselves to be better and smarter and more interesting. I’d like to tape the shows and review them later, looking for ways to improve our craft. I’d like to borrow great ideas from other types of theater and art and bring them into our shows. I’d like to work harder than I’ve ever worked before.

In the near future, I’ll be returning to Chicago and dipping my feet into the improv pool again. I’ll be performing where I can and perhaps teaching here and there. But I’ll also be cornering people in bars and telling them my ideas and looking for people who share my desire to be a part of a group that works as hard as I’d like to work. I’ll be visiting New York and maybe LA. I’ll be traveling to a few improv festivals and interviewing more teachers and directors for my podcast. I’ll probably do some projects along the way which approach my ideal, where we rehearse in a concentrated fashion and perform multiple times a week. It might take me a while before I can put all the pieces in place, but barring some amazing opportunity which takes me down a different path or some unforeseen tragedy which interferes with my plans, this will happen.

Why write about this? Why put this in my blog? Because, I’m curious whether there are enough good performers out there who could commit themselves for a year or two or three to making this happen. I think you might be out there. I just haven’t found you yet.

And then I began to teach. I liked teaching, a lot. I learned much about how to improvise when I started to coach it and then later when I taught it. There is something powerful about having to think deeply enough about something that you have to explain it to someone else. Still, during these first couple of years in Chicago as a teacher, I performed as much or more than I taught. I had some balance and I continued to grow as a performer.

When I moved to New York, this began to change. Once there, I had to worry more about how I was going to pay the bills. I really didn’t want to take a day job, but that meant I had to teach a lot more and coach more than I had in Chicago. I started teaching four classes a week. I did perform, but not as much as I would have liked. I got myself on a Harold team, but instead of playing weekly, like I had in Chicago, we played every other week, sometimes every third week. I put together shows, but those would only last for a few months. I probably spent at least six hours teaching or coaching for each hour spent performing. Even if my goal was to be a great teacher, this was not a good setup. Like anything else, being a great teacher requires that you recharge often. By the end, I did not feel recharged at all.

When I left New York, I had become a teacher. I was a pretty good one, but in my seven years there, I only became a marginally better performer. My confidence as a performer had waned and my love for performing had definitely bottomed out. This is no surprise. I spent all my energy teaching (and running the school where I taught), and I got better at it. It wasn’t that, “Those who can, do. And those who can’t, teach.” It’s more like, “You become what you do.” I taught, so I became a teacher.

In the years since, when I’ve mostly been away from the theater, I realize that this was a mistake. Although I love teaching, my first love is performing, and my second love is directing. I’m not sure teaching is even third on that list. It might be fourth or fifth, if I’m honest. I love it, but it’s just not my highest priority. I want to be the best performer I can be, and that will mean that I’ll have to devote the lion’s share of my energy to performing. I want to improvise and I want to act and I want to develop original theater as a performer, writer and director. There’s no secret to getting better at these things, except that you must do whatever it is you want to master. I let myself get distracted from that in NYC.

I uploaded another episode of my improv podcast today. This week’s guest is Jimmy Carrane. We talk about grounded scenework, the third choice, reality transaction scenes, commitment, silent scenes, side coaching and group therapy.

I’ve known Jimmy for a long time and known of him even longer. He was a founding member of Jazz Freddy, a show which amazed and inspired me as a young improvisor in the early ’90s. Later we got a chance to work together on Naked a show that Rob Mello directed and starring Jimmy and Stephnie Weir. I produced the show and was the assistant director. I was extremely proud of Naked when we put it up. The idea of the show was simple, two characters, one hour, one scene. It pushed the performers to be grounded and real in a way that few shows had before. Jimmy and Stephnie rose to the occasion again and again during the run.

If you’d like to take a workshop from Jimmy, his email address is at the end of the episode. You might also check out his Facebook page, Jimmy Carrane Improv. Also, Jimmy is the co-author of Improvising Better: A Guide for the Working Improviser with Liz Allen, one of the most useful books on improv that I’ve ever read.

Finally, episode #11 of the Improv Resource Center Podcast is ready and uploaded! Will Hines and John Frusciante from the UCB Theatre in New York discuss the game, improv training simulators, an improv sabbath and things to steal from Ian Roberts.

Will and John host the UCB Theatre Podcast and teach at the UCB Training Center.

• Where: Theatre Momentum Studio at 1800 W. Cornelia Avenue
• Dates: July 10, 17, 24, 31
• When: Noon to 4pm (class is noon to 2:45 with a bonus practice hour from 3 to 4).
• Cost: $89, $59 if you sign up and pay before July 4th.
• For intermediate and advanced improv students. Limit 14 students.

New Apps for Your Improv Scenes

In this four week workshop, we will download some new apps that you can use in the middle of any scene to make it better. These techniques will make your so-so scenes good and your good scenes great. You’ll learn to better connect with your scene partner by noticing their emotions and behavior and by reacting from your gut. You’ll also learn a variety of tools to add texture, detail and spontaneity to your scenes.

How the Class Will Work:

The regular class meets from noon to 2:45pm each Saturday. There is a bonus practice hour immediately following the class from 3 to 4pm. The bonus hour is a chance for you to do as many scenes as we can pack into an hour, so that you can practice what you have learned. I’ll be playing along with you, and I’ll be videotaping the scenes so that I can review them later and send you notes via email after the class.

How to Register

Email me at ircmullaney [at] gmail.com and tell me that you’d like to take the class. In your email tell me:

• Name
• Phone number
• Email address
• Your preference to pay (paypal or a check). I’ll send you payment instructions.
• A brief explanation of your experience.

Teacher Bio

Kevin Mullaney is the former Artistic Director of the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre in NYC and the former Managing Director of the Del Close Marathon. He also oversaw the UCB Training Center’s improv classes where he taught for 8 years. He directed numerous shows at the UCB including Slow Waltz Around Rage Mountain, Tracers and Individually Wrapped. In Chicago, he performed with many groups at iO including the house team Frank Booth. He founded and directed the iO Road Show and taught for the iO training center.

The two students stop their scene and stare at the floor in front of them, waiting for their notes. They know that their scene wasn’t good. It was a frustrating scene to perform. They know they made lots of mistakes, although they wouldn’t be able to name them if asked.

“Well, there were a lot of problems in that scene,” the teacher begins. “You two weren’t on the same page. Steve, you kept trying to make the scene about your ESP powers. It’s ironic since you weren’t listening. And Carol, you kept talking about your problems at the office. Those people aren’t in the scene, why are you talking about them?”

The notes continue for some time as the teacher lists several more mistakes. You can hear the disappointment and frustration in her voice. These are all notes she has given before. The two students feel awful, almost ashamed, and the rest of the class shifts awkwardly in their seats. The only happy thought among them is that it’s not them who are getting dressed down.

Finally the teacher asks them to try again. She gets a new suggestion of a location and has the same two students improvise a scene. This time they aren’t making the same mistakes, but that is because they don’t seem to be making any decisions at all. They are in their head, the scene is stilted, their play overly cautious.

“And scene!” The teacher stops it again and gives them even more notes.

Negative Notes

I would think that most improvisors can relate to this scenario. We have all been in classes or workshops where the teacher has taken the time to point out the flaws in our scenework. It doesn’t feel great when it’s happening. Sometimes, we feel like we have learned something from it, sometimes it’s just a negative memory. I certainly have my share of these kinds of memories, both as a student and a teacher.

The last time I was in Del‘s class was one of those nights. He stopped every scene I was in. Over and over he told me that I wasn’t agreeing with my scene partner. It was a tough night. At the time, I didn’t quite know what he was getting at. I thought I was agreeing. I certainly wasn’t arguing. I think now that I understand what he was trying to tell me. I think I have pulled a positive nugget from that negative experience to help me. But honestly, I’m still not sure that I got his point.

So, is this the best way learn? When we make a mistake, is it best to have that mistake compounded by harsh notes from a disappointed teacher? I’m not sure to be honest. The negative feelings associated with that note can go a long way to carving it into our brain and into shaping our future choices. Like a child not wanting to get burned, our gut tells us to avoid doing the thing that got such a negative response in the past. We typically want the approval of those who are giving us notes, so if the negative note is correct, perhaps it can help guide us to avoid similar mistakes in the future. However, there’s something about it that just doesn’t feel right to me.

Positive Notes

One alternative comes to mind immediately. We might want to dwell on positive notes instead. When a student does something well, the teacher should offer generous praise for that specific good choice that the student made. This probably does not happen enough in improv classes. I’m guessing that the majority of notes that I’ve given over the years have been negative ones. My hunch is that specific positive notes are probably more effective than negative ones.

I’m not talking about empty flattery, that is no help and it may actually hurt the student. Some teachers cover their students with blankets of praise. But it does not help to tell students that they are “good” and “funny” without telling them what precisely they are doing so well. What choices did they make that were right and why? Tell them that, and you will help them.

Better Negative Notes

So should we give up on negative notes? I don’t think so. Negative notes serve a purpose. If a scene is bad, and if the note giver understands why the scene is bad, he or she should give that note. But why does it have to make everyone feel so bad? Perhaps there is a better way to give a note.

It starts with priming the students for negative notes. Explain to them that you want them to play as if no one is giving them notes. You want them to make whatever choice occurs to them in the moment. You want them to play from their gut and react to what is going on and to silence that inner critic while they perform.

Next, tell them that they will make mistakes, lots and lots of mistakes. That it’s ok to make mistakes. It gives us an opportunity to learn. And that if they can leave a class with one or two very specific notes about things they actually can change or work on, they should feel happy and optimistic, not depressed.

Then you have to change how you actually give the note. When you spot a mistake, be upbeat about it. Be excited that you have an opportunity to give them a constructive note. When possible, give them a proactive alternative to their choice. Don’t just tell them to not ask questions, tell them to make statements that establish information instead. Mostly, it’s about tone though. Turn mistakes into opportunities. Be upbeat when you give them a note and be specific. And most of all, don’t keep them up on stage for a long time while you are giving them the note. Be brief, and then ask them to try again or sit down.

More Practice, Less Notes

What if students keep making the same mistake over and over? Find or create some exercises which specifically target that problem and use that exercise until they no longer make that mistake (this might be something you spend only part of your time on, spread over several classes). Treat it as a fun drill, and work on it until it becomes second nature. Giving a student a note over and over again is not the most effective way to learn something. Instead, they need to practice the right way to do something.

By the way, I was listening to Improvised New York today. They were interviewing Armando Diaz from the Magnet Theater and he put it this way:

It doesn’t do you any good if I give you a long lecture on shooting a basket; you shoot a basket; you miss; and then I give you another lecture on it.

Kurt is a teacher and performer at the People’s Improv Theater. He can be seen performing with Big Black Car and The Faculty. He is also a stand up comedian and performs at various venues around NYC. Several of his shows have appeared at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre. He has also appeared at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe with his comedy partner, Kristen Schaal.

This interview was a little different than the others, because we ended up talking a lot about what it’s like to run the business of a small improv theater. I really like how Lillie talks about her performers. It’s obvious that she has a lot of respect for her performers and trusts them in ways that not all improv directors do. It’s not surprising that several years after she first held auditions, seventeen of her first hires still work for her.

When an improviser begins a scene, they know none of these things. They face a stage that could become any setting they can imagine. They can play any character they choose and so can their scene partner. Their choices are infinite. So at the beginning of an improvised scene, the most important thing they must accomplish is to decide on the circumstances of the scene. And the most important tool for deciding those circumstances is agreement.

Simply put, an improviser must agree to all facts and circumstances that their scene partner establishes via dialogue, behavior or action. If I say that I’m a plumber, you must agree that I’m a plumber. If you act like you are in car, I must accept that. If I say that we are in an airport bar, set down your luggage and grab a drink.

For instance, let’s say a player named Molly begins a scene by sitting down and beginning to type something. Next her scene partner Jed enters and says, “I’ve got those numbers for your report, ma’am,” and hands her some papers. The two of them have begun to create the circumstances of the scene. You might think that there isn’t much to this scene, that they don’t have much that they can agree on yet. Actually they already have quite a lot. Namely, that Molly is using a device with a keyboard; she’s working on a report; and that Jed is helping her with the report. This seems pretty obvious, but you would be surprised how often a player will respond by saying something like, “I’m not working on a report, you moron. I’m writing the great American novel.” That is the opposite of agreement. That is called denial.

Agreement doesn’t just apply to indisputable facts. It also applies to those things that might not be said, but are implied in our actions or our words. In the example above, we might assume that the characters work together in an office, and that Jed works for the Molly (he called her ma’am, after all). It’s possible to come to other conclusions about what facts have been implied, and it would be fine to act on them. But whatever the players add to this scene, they need to add information which fits with everything they have established and implied.

Yes Anding

Beyond simply agreeing with their partner, players should add information to the scene with each action or line of dialogue, at least at the beginning. This is often called “yes-anding” your scene partner. Again in the example above, Jed didn’t just enter the scene and say, “I see you’re typing.” That would have simply stopped at agreement. Instead, he added to the circumstances of the scene. They now know that they are working on a report together, and they are one step closer to having a good scene.

Yes-anding is crucial to creating interesting and unique scenes. A good visual analogy is that of a ping pong game. One player serves the ball with their first line of dialogue or their first action. The other player returns the ball by responding to it. Each time the ball crosses the net, a new piece of information is added which makes the scene more specific. A scene shouldn’t begin with one player establishing everything by themselves. If you want to initiate a scene about a father and son pirate team who are about attack a British merchant ship during the American Revolution and who are struggling with their incestuous feelings for one another, write it out as a sketch. Don’t initiate it. It’s too much information for one player to establish without the input of their scene partner. It’s like refusing to serve the ball. What’s the point of improvising it with a partner? Instead, establish one or two things with your first action or line of dialogue and wait to see what your scene partner will do with it.

Other Facets of Agreement

One thing that agreement means is being agreeable at the beginning of a scene. This is not a universal truth, but it is a good principle to guide you through the beginning of a scene. Make choices that keep your characters in relative harmony. Don’t argue with each other. Choose a point of view which agrees with your scene partner. Choose to like the situation that your character is in. What happens all too often at the beginning of a scene, is that one player will pick a fight with the other, many times over issues that are completely trivial. Nothing can tank a scene faster than a fight over something trivial.

You should also generally be agreeable about actions proposed by your scene partner. If your partner says, “Let’s give the dog a bath,” then you should start running water in the tub or fetch the dog. Don’t think about it, don’t debate it, just do it, especially if it is an action that you can do on stage in the place you have established.

What if your scene partner suggests doing something that your character would not want to do? All the more reason for your character to do it. We as an audience like seeing characters do things they don’t want to do. For instance, your scene partner begins a scene by saying, “Finish your spinach, or you won’t get dessert.” Well, first thing to know is that you shouldn’t argue about it. Be agreeable, eat your spinach.

There is a bit more to it, however. The initiation implies that you do not like spinach, otherwise why would they insist that you finish it? You have to agree to that as well. You don’t like spinach. What do you do then? I just told you that you can’t argue about it, that you have to eat it. You do. You just don’t have to like eating it. It can be quite fun to watch a character do things they don’t want to do. So always remember: Do the thing that your character doesn’t want to do.

Differences of Opinion

One thing that agreement doesn’t mean is that the characters (as opposed to the players) must have identical opinions. If one player establishes that they are standing outside a pink house, the other player must agree that the house is pink. However, if the first player says that they like the color of the house, the other player could decide that their character isn’t so enthusiastic about it. Facts require agreement, matters of opinion don’t.

This can be a tricky concept for a new improviser or for one that has been brow beaten by teachers who never let characters disagree on stage. There are some who believe you can never say the word “no” in an improvisation. I think they are wrong. You can. Often you can create really incredible scenes with characters who can’t agree on anything at all. Note here that the players are still agreeing on all matters that are factual. Their character just might not have the same opinion on it.

This doesn’t mean to pick fights over trivial matters. While differences of opinion are not technically denial, the arguments that they cause are often destructive to good scene work, especially for beginners. Your first choice in any scene should be to make your character like the situation they find themselves in. Choose not to argue especially over little things. If it seems natural to have a dissenting opinion about the matter at hand, then give it a try. Even then, make sure you are not simply arguing. It’s much easier to keep a scene moving when the dissension is mild rather than a vicious argument.

Respect, Trust and Yes Anding

Agreement cuts both ways. You shouldn’t establish something your scene partner won’t want to do. That doesn’t mean something their character wouldn’t want to do, but instead something that they themselves would be uncomfortable doing on stage. This is almost always a judgment call and the standard is quite different depending on the sensibilities of the performers and the level of trust between them.

For instance, it might not be a good idea to start a scene by saying, “Take off your pants so I can ass-rape you.” There are some improvisers who would jump at the chance to do that scene, but many others would not. If you make an initiation which makes your scene partner uncomfortable and they refuse to agree to it, you have made the mistake, not them.

Higher Levels of Agreement

Let’s say your scene partner starts a scene by saying something like, “I’m really hungry. I wish I had something to eat.” They have initiated a problem. It might seem like responding with, “Look there’s an apple tree. Let’s get an apple,” would be a good idea. However, by solving the problem you have denied them. To yes-and a problem, you make the problem worse. A better response might be to say, “There’s a restaurant down the road, but it will take a couple of hours to get there on foot.” In effect you are saying, “Yes you are hungry, and you won’t be eating anytime soon.”

Creating problems and making them worse is a great tool for making interesting scenes. Discover a zit on the face of a character who is vain. If you find yourself in room with a dangerous looking robot, make the doors locked. If someone is looking for their lost dog, tell them that you saw one get run over. If someone asks if their wedding dress makes them look fat, say yes.

Another common mistake players make is to defend themselves. It’s a natural tendency to do this in real life. But it doesn’t help you in an improvisation. If someone accuses you of something or establishes that you have a negative character trait, don’t dispute it, agree to it. If they say, “You’re always so mean to me.” Be mean to them. If they accuse you of cheating on them, admit that you have and be proud of it. If someone makes your character a racist, embrace that trait. It is fun to be an asshole on stage, and if someone establishes that about your character, treat it as a gift.

Agreeing to Absurdity

What if your scene partner establishes something absurd or crazy? Do you agree with it? That depends on what exactly they initiated, but there are generally two different ways to deal with it.

The first way is to treat the initiation as absurd. Say that you are in the stands at a little league baseball game with the parent of another child. And suppose that they tell you if their child loses that they are going to kill the child’s dog. Obviously, they have established themselves as an absurd character, an exaggeration of an overzealous little league parent. If you were to simply say, “Oh that’s nice.” You aren’t yes anding the fact that they are crazy. In a way you are ignoring it, and thus denying them. Instead, you should confront the absurdity a little more head on. Try saying something like, “Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?” That would give the absurd character a chance to elucidate and elaborate their point of view.

The second way to deal with this initiation is treat their absurdity as if it is the most normal thing in the world. Say to them, “I hope you kill it in front of them. That will teach them the importance of good sportsmanship.” In the first example you are taking their initiation and making them an absurd character. In the second example you are making the world of the scene into an absurd world.

At first glance, agreement is a rather simple and straightforward concept, one basic rule among many that every improviser must learn. But it is far more pervasive than that. Agreement is the very foundation of improvisation and it affects every aspect of your improvised work. It is the closest thing we have to a golden rule or a fundamental theorem. Agreement will never be something you master and then move on from. Instead, it will continue to guide you and challenge you with every scene you create.

I originally wrote this in January of 2001 and posted it on the Improv Resource Center as the Fundamentals of Agreement. I decided to take another look at this and republish it here. Rereading it, I thought there were a number of small things I would change, but after some consideration, I left it mostly as it was. However, I did add a couple of sentences near the end to clarify a point.

She can be seen performing every Thursday at 10:30 in Messing with a Friend at the Annoyance.