Fan's Guide to Improv: Part II

in which Christopher Vose explains why the Harold is a flawed form

click here to read part I

What Makes Good Theater

One of the components that compel people to continue to attend theatre is the suspension of disbelief. The suspension of disbelief is the "magic" of theater, and in a big way, it's what makes theatre work. When you watch any theatrical show, it's essentially a bunch of people walking and talking on a dusty stage, and that can only be so fun. So the magic happens when you lose the actor and instead start caring about the character and his reality.

It's not some guy in a funny shirt talking too loud, it's Romeo, and he loves a woman he can never have. You feel for him and you cry when he dies. Now why would you do that? It's just that loud guy in the funny shirt. You
know he's not dead, there's a late show in an hour. You are crying for Romeo (and for Juliet) because you have empathy for them. The goal of theatre is to facilitate the audience's entry into the "bubble-world" where
they ignore the actor and feel for the character. The suspension of disbelief. Now, stop crying.

Some bubble-worlds are ambitious, like musicals, opera, ballet and the like. Sometimes all the people in the scary pants just get up and sing! In Italian! Together! What the hell? But when some guy in scary pants starts
bouncing around the stage singing in Italian, at least he's representing something intrinsic to the story, and he's following the rules in the artificial bubble-world, or alternate reality of the opera. Isn't that nice? So we accept that reality and merrily go along for the ride. We might not buy it entirely, but it enhances the enjoyment of the
presentation, and that's why it's there.

Another thing that makes theater work is good storytelling. Stories are a basic part of the human experience. They have been since Og's day, when the mono-brows would gather by the fire at night to hear hunting stories between
club blows and mouthfuls of reptile meat. A good story will make you lean forward on your rock, curl your toes up in your real bunny shoes and crush bones with your club. Adrenaline flows, muscles tighten, glands in your brain start squirting all over the place; the juices flow. People have a physiological response to story. Magic.

So, the basic goal of theatre is to facilitate the audience's entry into the appropriate bubble-world so that they can be compelled to have all sorts of emotional and physiological responses to the story, and gain a sense of "journey". Therefore, every element of the presentation of a show should be geared towards facilitating that process and getting the desired response.

These rules apply to improv as well. In short-form, short, disposable bubbles on a micro scale. An emcee to facilitate transition from one bubble to the next, voila! Much more fun than content, but that's the nature of shortform. But in long-form shows, the theatrical process becomes much more important for this simple reason; it's longer.

And Why the Harold Doesn't Cut It

To me, The Harold fails as a long-form format because it has so many format requirements that drastically inhibit the theatrical process for the audience. When you watch a Harold, you are watching a game. You understand the rules: scenes have to tie in to the theme. And you also root for the improvisors to play the game well. Scenes interrupt each other, uh, okay, so you want the transitions from scene to scene to be clever, and you want that guy in the red shirt to say something funny. Therein lies the problem. You are watching the game and the actors, not the story and the characters. Your attention has been misdirected. You are not affected by the content of the scenes, but instead by the skill and bravery of the improvisors. You're on the wrong side of the actor/character wall, so no bubble-world for you, pal.

The Harold also facilitates planning more so than other long forms because the longer scenes are initially unrelated. Therefore, offstage actors are planning how to start their next scene, what they want to accomplish, maybe a joke or two. Planning is an unfortunate component of long-form. I've done it, and I'll do it again. You can't help it. The key is to reduce the opportunities for planning to keep the story unfettered. But the Harold presents greater opportunities for it than, for example, linear long-form, because scenes don't directly affect characters that are not onstage, so they can tune out and plan. And planning is to improv like poop is to diet soda. It just shouldn't be there. It interferes with spontaneity. Planning is lazy writers talking.

It's not the actors, it's the Harold format itself. Too much format. Formatty. Overly formatacized. Formaticus. More than any other long-form format I've seen, The Harold interferes with the creative process of improvisation, even with, or especially with a top-notch cast. The excessive format requirements distract the audience, and create an obstacle to their immersion into the bubble-world, because the actors always break the bubble because that's how you play The Harold. It reduces long-form to short form, eliminating the sense of "journey" that more focused long-form
formats can grant the audience.

In contrast, in linear long-form improv the story is told in the traditional way that audiences understand, one scene to another, information, tension and characters building, working to resolution. There are no format requirements for the audience to swallow or be distracted by. The focus of the presentation is to encourage the magic, to build and maintain the bubble for the audience, take them on a compelling journey. So by reducing the format requirements of a long-form show, the potential effect of the show increases.

That "magic" is important. And it applies to comedy more than you might think. If you care about a character you respond to them on a much more profound level than a character you don't care about, and that's especially true of comedy. Watch a bad TV sitcom. Most of the jokes fall flat because you don't buy the story and you don't buy the characters. You aren't moved by the show, and you start thinking, "These people don't know what they're doing." They have lost you.

On the other hand, every successful sitcom has characters you care about, embroiled in believable, compelling stories. Comedy plays, books, movies, farces, the same. The Simpsons is a family show. You laugh at Homer. But without Marge he'd be too shallow and sad to watch. Who (other than me, of course) didn't shed a tear when Monica and Chandler finally got engaged? Or when Niles ran off with Daphne? And will Ralph Cramden ever catch a break? These are all really funny shows, but there's a lot of caring going on because we understand and empathize with the characters. We, as humans, are wired to care about people. Empathy makes the juices flow, compels the audience to watch, and makes the jokes funny.

But I think it's also important for potential improv audiences to know that long-form can be amazing, AND hilarious. I know when potential audiences hears the words "long-form", they think, "Long? Ugh." Or they think that long-form is for advanced improv-goers who already possess an appreciation of improv. Well, get over that or you'll miss out. For example, LA Theatresports did a show called "Shakespeare Unscripted", an improvised show in the style of Shakespeare. Some of my friends didn't attend because (I found out later) they thought it would be dry, artsy, stuffy and long. They just wanted short-form, because they'd seen it on TV. Losers. They missed out. It was a rich, hilarious wallow. Award-winning, got great reviews and endless praise from the audiences. Sometimes they burst the bubble, but they tried really hard not to, and that's why it worked. They tried to improvise as the bard would have written. That intent was very important because it supplemented whatever skill we had. You have to build the platform before you jump off it.

That's the type of product I recommend for you long-form shoppers. Linear-esque long-form, in a genre of some type or not, with the intent of telling a good story. Perhaps you can glean the intent of a long-form production by reading its' reviews. If the reviewer mentions a story, andif he liked it, go see it! Remember the limitations of The Harold, and don't let it spoil your palette. It looks like long-form because there are some extended stories in it, but the format inhibits the experience and limits the show. On the other hand, it can be goofy, light fun, and sometimes that's just the ticket. And remember, you don't have to be an "advanced improv audience member" to enjoy long-form. Just sit there, theimprovisors will do the rest. Thanks for coming. Tell your friends.

And For All the Improvisors

A note for improvisors: The Harold is a valuable workshop game, not a performance game. It should never be done in front of an audience because of its story-telling limitations, in my opinion. But the Harold is fun to do, and it reinforces valuable improv skills such as listening, reincorporation and resolution. But it also teaches bad habits like
paper-thin character work, planning and narrative interruption. And though it appears to reinforce extended improv skills, it really doesn't. If you want to learn long-form, try linear long-form! Maybe workshop the Harold for a bit as a fun stepping stone to long-form, but don't do it for too long, and be aware of its limitations. It makes you get involved in playing the game, not in learning how to create characters, you're not learning how to tell good stories, and you're not learning how to act. Good actors, good writers and good directors all have a firm grasp on the power of narrative and characters, and this knowledge comes from experience. We are all the result of our experiences, so why not give ourselves the best? Science marches on because its knowledge is based on prior knowledge. Why not the same for improv? Improv is evolving. The Harold is very popular, performed by many groups worldwide, and its very popularity is actually steering improvisors away from in-depth understanding of narrative, characters, and
dramatic tension.

Next month, William McEvoy will argue in defense of the Harold. Want to weigh in with your opinion? E-mail us at editor@improvreview.com. Include your name and affiliation, if any.