The magic of improv

The best improv in the world doesn't look like the best improv in the world. It doesn't look like improv at all actually, it looks well-crafted and tightly scripted. It amazes me that no matter how many friends I take to see great improv, and no matter how many of those friends are well aware of the show I'm taking them to, many of them still turn to me on our way out and ask, 'But how much of that was planned?'.

 I think when you get right down to it, this inability to fully believe in improv, in its all-encompassing and magical glory, is what separates this artform from its brothers and sisters in the performance community. And ultimately it's what makes improv so goddamn special.

Let's say you see a heart-wrenching play or a beautiful film, or maybe a broadway bonanza or an unforgettable concert; all are amazing in their own right and leave you speechless with delight. There's one thing, however, that joins these performances together: as an audience, we can see how these shows were created, we can assume that with enough planning and creativity anything is possible. Sure, the person who wrote that play may be one of a kind, and yeah, that lead singer will die of sleeping pills overdose next week and pass into legend. But still, we experience these moments and imagine how it all must work; we can understand the process.

 And then there's the improvisor who steps onto an empty stage and creates something - seemingly out of nothing, an idea that most people can't fully accept. I think that's why improv has never really taken off in any culture, because it's too hard to believe; it must be a trick, a sleight of hand, or just a bold-faced lie. But funny as it often is, improv is the simplest and purest of all performance, all you have to do is be present in each moment. Then, once you accept what you're really a part of - the spontaneous creation of theatre - it'll blow your fuckin' mind.

- Jacob