Sunday, April 06, 2008

That was kind of dark

I have improv on the brain.  Walk with me for a moment.

A common note given to me, and my fellow improvisers: “that scene was a little dark.“  Also: “you’ve been playing a lot of dark characters tonight.“  Worse: “That was a really dark show.“  I first encountered the note when playing with the ImprovBoston Family Show, where its frequent application made total sense.  That scene about borrowing Dad’s gun?  A little dark.  That scene about divorce?  A little dark.  That offer about stabbing your brother?  Wee dark.  Part of me would always delight in scenes that flirted with age-inappropriate subjects—the parents never seemed to mind, the kids were very forgiving, and by the 45-minute mark I’d get talking-animal-fatigue.  But I always knew what “dark” meant in the context of the Family Show.

After leaving the Family Show, I got really, really excited to return the world of censor-free improv.  My first two months in UnNatural Selection, every scene I drove was about divorce, rape, genocide, and hilarious combinations thereof.  I attacked that stage with a year’s worth of pent-up whateverthefuck compels you to mime fistula or crack jokes about Nazis in front of a paying audience.  More shocking than my horrible mind/mouth was the realization that many of these scenes worked.  Not just worked, but soared.  With devilish glee, the cast would support the most awful initiations, and usually one-up them until the line was irreversibly crossed and we were saved by an edit.  Nary a mention of how dark the material was.  Quickly the fever ran its course, and the number of “dark” scenes petered out.  Yet, that cast still reminisces about those shocking and amazing moments.

This past Saturday, the Mainstage had a very dark 10pm show, and I was a primary contributor.  Unfortunately, it didn’t win us any favors with the audience.  We had the usual array of divorce, family strife, and messy breakups, but most scenes had a heaviness, a grim pallor, which is the epitome of what we have come to term the dark scene.  It’s pretty common for the 10pm show to have more dark scenes than the 8pm—we justify it as the more “adult” show.  But the justification ignores the pattern: if we retrospectively label the scene or show as dark, it’s because the scene tanked or the show didn’t resonate.  Scenes that deal with dark material but are funny are never “dark” scenes—they’re hilarious!  So good!  I couldn’t stop laughing on stage!

Outside the context of a family show, I believe that a scene or show’s “darkness” has nothing to do with its subject matter. 

Furthermore, I will posit this, knowing that it’s sometimes unfair: dark is improv-code for slow or lazy.  What we’re responding to is not the subject of the scene, but the pacing, and often, the lack of real content. 

The scenes are superficially fine: there’s a clear relationship, location, and strong emotional choices.  There is conflict, damnit, and we hope conflict is the path to hilarity.  It should be.  But when we’re lazy, tired, or just slow, we don’t get there in time.  There’s always tension, but it’s not enough.  The scene sags; everybody in the room can feel it sinking, and as the players’ mood gets heavier, the scene gets dark.  At a certain point the players trick themselves into thinking that this heavy conflict must be “the game.“ 

Two veteran improvisers can circle each other for five minutes with their basic tools (relationship, emotion, character, conflict) and still not identify a game worth playing.  If we were less practiced improvisers, it’d be painfully obvious, but we have years of bullshitting to fall back on, and we can “act” without actively thinking about the choices we’re making.  Hence the phenomenon of more dark scenes in the 10pm shows, when we’re worn down and the smaller audience’s silence isn’t quite as oppressive.

I’m a principal perpetrator of this unfortunate habit; if this analysis seems critical, it’s meant primarily for myself.  I get the “that was dark” feeling too often these days, for all the wrong reasons.  I hope that I’ve correctly identified the pattern—the first step to breaking it.

Improv-savvy readers: thoughts?

Sunday, March 23, 2008

The Two-Person Show

Next Sunday night, ImprovBoston Artistic Director Will Luera is presenting a showcase of short two-person improv sets, starring duos who have never worked together in a solo capacity.  The lineup is fabulous, I’m all over the place, and you should come.  Invite your friends!

Update:
Here’s the all-star lineup:

OPENER: Hurley and Sawyer
Wiroll and McDonald
Woo and Bein
Shaughnessy and Ciampa
Holmes and Gels
Flynn and McClean
French and Reynolds
- INTERMISSION -
Pishney and Bokuniewicz
Barbera and Reynolds
Dome and Swaim
Smarz and Bridges
Newhall and Reynolds

Monday, March 03, 2008

Midgets/Jessica Alba will not make your movie funnier

Is it Mini-Me’s fault?

Since the success of Austin Powers 2, there has been a glut—a glut, I say!—of small people in comedies.  I’ll get my disclaimer out of the way: I have nothing against midgets or dwarves; they’re actors too, and they deserve equal casting opportunities.  Some day an extremely talented small person will play Hamlet or Othello to massive critical acclaim, and drop-kick open the doors for dwarven dramatic acting.  But until that day, small people will be the easiest, cheapest way to visually telegraph “funny.“

Springing to mind:

• Austin Powers 2: The Spy Who Shagged Me
• Austin Powers 3: One Too Many
• Bubble Boy
• Epic Movie
• Meet the Spartans
• In Bruges
• The Love Guru

Feel free to add your own in the comments.  I haven’t seen half of the movies on this list, but I think it’s fair to judge them by their trailers.  Maybe it’s the mashup-movies (Epic, Date, Meet the Spartans) that have poisoned me.  I even hear “In Bruges” is pretty good.  But every time I see a small person in a trailer, I wince.  Who’s to blame for the consistent belittling of the little?  The trailer editors?  The writers?  The casting agents?  A more vast Hollywood conspiracy?  The audience, for continuing to laugh at airborne dwarves?

I have to give Mike Meyers credit for exploiting Verne Troyer as Mini-Me so thoroughly in Austin Powers.  Maybe the reason small people feel so tired in comedies is because Austin Powers did every midget joke twice over.  Better still, Mini-Me actually had a bit of relationship with Dr. Evil, too—something to do on screen besides fly around and look small.  Mini-Me is deepest small-person-character since… Tattoo?

But whatever credit I just gave Mike Meyers, I now have to take away.  Have you seen the trailer for “The Love Guru“ yet?  The optimist in me cries, “You can’t judge a movie by its trailer!“  The me in me cries, “You are meant to judge a movie by its trailer!  History has proven this with alarming accuracy!“  Either I’m wrong or Mike Meyers, whose comedic mind I worship and envy, needs to break some habits.

The Love Guru boasts the return of Mini-Me and the most precise Mini-Me joke to date:  “You are a midget.“  Yes.  Yes!  Finally, the culmination, the alpha-and-omega of a joke ten years in the making.  (Even more sadly, we’ve seen Mike Meyers do the same joke setup before: the running “Mole” gag in Austin Powers.  Is he just tired?)

The Love Guru also features a new, terrible trend in comedies: Jessica Alba.  Has Jessica Alba ever made anybody laugh?  Intentionally?  I watched half of “Good Luck Chuck” over somebody’s shoulder on a train ride, and Alba’s “comic timing” seems to consist entirely of well-edited pratfalls.  In fairness, nobody (besides Jessica Alba) would claim she’s funny.  She’s bankable.  She’s eye-candy.  She’s a prize, a superficial motivation for male leads to leap into wacky scenarios.  Perhaps a female comic lead with something interesting to say/do would attract a more talented comedienne.

In summary: The Love Guru looks terrible.

Monday, February 25, 2008

The Wire

The lady and I are working our way through the third season of the critically acclaimed long-form crime drama The Wire.  We came up with a spin-off series that will surely make us millions:

In each episode of Bubs in Trubs, lovable junkie/informant Bubbles will unsuccessfully attempt a new and hilarious caper!  The lady and I will be writing the spec pilot, in which Bubble’s prize is a radiator stuffed with copper pipes.  Featuring guest appearances by McNulty, Kima and the gang!

This will surely be an ostentatious launch of my screenwriting career.