Last Night at Gunner's Wood

The first paragraph is a status I posted online that someone said sounded like the start of a story. Here is that story.

Because of improv, the first thing a stranger asked me today was ‘didn’t I see you get murdered in the woods?’. At least I HOPE that was because of improv.

I laugh (too loudly) and pretend to read my paper when in reality I was trying to figure out how long until the bus' next stop.

‘No, seriously’, the randomer insists, ‘were you near Gunner’s Wood last night?’

I faux-casually look up as if noticing her for the first time. ‘Me? No… Stayed home. Bake Off night.’

The bus pulls in. Finally. I leap up, then turn back as I walk off. ‘Sorry!’

*

After my show that evening, keen to avoid the risk of bumping into her again, I book a taxi to take me home.

As we take a series of seemingly endless country roads, I can’t help but worry if the woman had in fact witnessed a murder (if not actually my own). Eventually I decide I have to find out for myself.

‘Could we, er, divert via Gunner’s Wood?’

My driver nods, silently spins the wheel, and flicks on his indicators.

Am I really doing this? Should I be doing this? Let’s do this.

‘Stop here, please.’

We have reached the start of the woods. I get out. ‘Keep the meter running. I’ll only be a minute.’

I rush in searching for freshly turned over soil, dark stains, scraps of cloth. If something had happened here, there had to be an obvious sign.

After spotting nothing, I realise I’m paranoid. This is nonsense. Of course there was nothing. The woman must have seen me in a gig. Either that or she’s a rambling bumpkin who’s had one too many –

Hang on. Is that a finger poking out the ground? I bend down to examine it.

The crunch of leaves behind me suggests I’m not alone. I look. It’s my driver.

‘It’s fine, I’m coming back. You’ll get your money.’

‘Oh, I’m not too worried about that, sir. I was more thinking about who you’re going to tell about finding my ex-wife.’

‘Your… Oh, I’m terribly sorry. How did she –’

‘Painfully and slowly. Just how I wanted.’ He grins, revealing two rows of sharp teeth. I know now I should have stayed in the car.

I stand, put my hands up. ‘I’ll tell no one, I swear.’

‘You’re damn right you won’t…’ He draws out a long knife.

As he advances towards me, over his shoulder, I see a bus drive by. And, if I’m not mistaken, looking through one of the windows, is an old woman simply mouthing the word ‘sorry’.

'A whole load of fun': my tribute to DDG

Thanks to my endless bout of weekly plugs on social media, it is pretty easy to discover I co-host Duck Duck Goose. What is less public knowledge is I keep an extensive diary. To mark my one year anniversary of getting involved with London’s finest improv jam, I’ve scoured said records to collate this tribute to the only thing I ever want to do on Monday.

On Monday 13th April 2015, I went to my first ever DDG. I had an inauspicious start...…

I go the wrong way out of the tube and then, when I do get the right direction, I wonder if Google is trying to kill me as it leads down dark tunnels to what looks like a collection of wooden huts. One of these is the venue.

However my reaction to the show is anything but.

Such a great event. I’m definitely going back to return as often as I can.

This response is not a one-off. Indeed, judging from my entries, I use the word ‘fun’ more often than Jimmy Fallon.

‘Duck Duck Goose is a whole load of fun’ 

‘It's a very fun show’

‘So many fun friends in tonight’

‘[I had] Two great scenes. Lots of fun had’

‘Such a fun night’ 

My limited range of descriptions also include ‘ace’, ‘brilliant’, ‘incredible’, ‘great’, and ‘good’.

Exactly four months after making my debut there, this happened.

Vic and Mark invite me to officially be part of the DDG team… as I’m such a hard-core regular (ironically, I’ll miss next week’s sesh for [Kit]’s graduation)

I’ve been co-hosting and jamming with DDG ever since. It’s such a blast. Every show has something good.

‘The show is notable though for us surprising Liam… with a birthday card depicting bananas AFTER IT HAD BEEN HIS TEAM’S PROMPT. That is some Derren Brown shit right there. Or someone in the audience had signed said card. Whatever’

‘The room is packed... people had to sit on tables and the sofas either side of the room’ 

 ‘In a later group scene, I blurted out in a response to a mention of 'wigs', 'is that W-H-I-G or W-I-G?'. Mark then tagged all but me out so he could say how much he appreciated that joke'

Sure, not every moment has been amazing…

‘In the jam I only get in two scenes, one of which I used clumsy exposition setup “sorry Dorian Grey, I left my tent in your attic, could I go get it?”’

‘In the jam I came on in response to a call for a kid and, panicking, did a Mickey Mouse voice’

‘We’re all tired by the time we get to the stage which probably explains why some of the scenes didn’t go anywhere or were written off as the result of drugs or us being products of someone’s imagination. Oh well, at least I got to play a duck and a wrestler called The Bridge’

And onstage I can have doubts…

[Anand] says I’m very quick-witted and energetic which is nice to hear because when I’m onstage time seems slow and it seems ages since you said anything and if you do say something was it any good etc etc

Plus the occasional unwise impulse…

My one word prompt with Stef[f] is ‘delicate’. I immediately collapse to the floor, a move I regret as the back of my head hurts for a while after.

But when an event provides me with one of my favourite photos ever taken of me...

'All I know is I ended the scene cradled in Tai's arms as I napped'
Photo credit: Amar Chundavadra.

A team Christmas dinner can be described (in a manner which could very much apply for DDG shows in general) like thus...

‘One of the most enjoyable days of my life. The atmosphere is so relaxed… It’s such a warm loving safe environment. It feels like a proper family gathering’

And terrific line-ups leave me ecstatic enough to write stuff like this:

‘The two acts are totally different and totally brilliant’

‘There were two rounds of twoprov with no dud scenes between them’

‘Every scene in Duck Duck Goose is incredible’

It’s easy to see why I’ve stuck around. I love you, team! Here’s to the years to come.

Sketches VS Improv

Whilst discussing improv with my Granddad, he asked me a question I’d never considered before  - what is there to stop people writing up your scenes and passing them off as their own material?

Well, obviously there’s nothing (short of hiring a bouncer to frisk people for pens), but in response to this surprising query, I surprised myself with my answer.

‘Nobody would want to do that because sketches and improv scenes are very slightly different.’

Up until then, I had not considered nor articulated that point. I agree with it though.

Sure, on a surface level, the two seem to have a similar shape and use the same devices - recurring characters, catchphrases and callbacks. Only playing one idea at a time – but they’re different beasts.

The most glaring contrast clearly is how they’re formed. In improv, you organically discover something fun together. With sketches, it’s just you versus a blank page. Is it any wonder then that I’ve barely scribed any skits since committing my nights to improv? And I’m on the committee of the London Comedy Writers. I should be inspired to churn out pieces weekly!

But no. I can’t go back to scripts now. The creative process of improv is far more joyful. It produces exciting one-off ‘you had to be there’ moments every single time you go onstage. The audience gives you more leeway than they would with prewritten material because they know that you don’t know what you’re doing.

Which brings me onto a further distinction: audience expectations. Recently an improv coach called me out for being witty at the top of a scene. That’s my old sketch instincts kicking in – I’m used to aiming for that first laugh as soon as possible. You walk on with a joke at the top of a sketch and the audience love it because they’re expecting three minutes of wall to wall gags. You’ve given them what they want.

This doesn’t necessarily work with improv. As said coach pointed out, if you start with a witty line, someone has to follow it up with a wittier one in order to build momentum. A joke contest then ensues and any chance of a story or character developing dies. The audience is amused but you’ve robbed yourself and them of a more interesting scene that actually had no obligation to be funny. Improv can be straight scenes or impressions or games. There is no one tone or style.

And so to my third distinction: pacing. Sketches often race to get their premise out hence why they frequently start with exposition-heavy dialogue that nails their situation like ‘the delegates are late, ambassador’, ‘we need a new name for Cheetos’, and, famously, ‘ello, I’d like to register a complaint’.

Improv players, however, have the luxury of time. They can start scenes by making eye contact, silently sizing each other up, and assessing whether anything about their partner’s body language or position on stage suggests what type of dynamic or situation to play. They cannot rush to their premise until they have found and agreed upon it. Their first line doesn’t have to be funny or informative (although obviously if it’s the latter, that’s brilliant– specificity and context is reassuring. Once an audience gets the setup, they will follow you anywhere). It just has to be the first ball over the net in a tennis rally that gets the game going. Improv can be a far more relaxed affair.

And it’s this aspect that would get lost in the write up of a spontaneous skit. Yes, tightening scenes would make them more concise, get to key details earlier, but cutting to the chase would be far less fun for both performer and observer. For everyone involved, the Eureka Moment is exhilarating, the relief intense. The unintentional delayed gratification is what makes improv special. Sketches can withhold key details – on the radio you can reveal within the punchline that both characters were squirrels – but they do so on purpose because they knows when to play a trump card. Improvisers aren’t even sure they’ll have a card. That mystery is what keeps their form fresh and interesting and makes it ultimately more thrilling than sketch.

My Granddad’s other question was whether I get paid for gigs. Uh, pass.