Unbreakable!

We’re an empathetic bunch, us improvisers. We have to be, to make our scenes work. We need to care about – and be fearlessly ‘in the moment’ with – each other, in order to create the kind of compelling unscripted theatre that we love. We devise interactions honest enough for an audience to ‘buy’ and on-stage relationships that, hopefully, they’ll truly care about. As such, when we’re training, we’re told time and again to connect, to ‘yes, and’, to be in the moment and to listen deeply and actively to our scene partners. To be, on some deeper level, ‘good girls’.

Because let’s be clear: I’m speaking to the women here. Those women who know what Good-Girl Syndrome looks and feels like (that’s a lot us, no?). It’s an ingrained syndrome that means we try constantly to be polite, respectful, helpful, accommodating… to be perfect. A societal ideal of woman. This classic gender bias starts in childhood, continues through our academic career and haunts our professional life as we pursue people-pleasing, positive feedback, and external / internal perfection. Good-Girl Syndrome isn’t imagined: it’s a cultural trope that society colludes in. Ladies, be cheerful and soft-spoken! Don’t rock the boat!

And sure, being an empath is rewarding. But it’s kind of exhausting, right? Often, no matter who you are or what situation you’re in, Good-Girl Syndrome leads you to care about others’ welfare to the detriment of your own wellbeing. In improv terms, it means that if, as a person, you’re a gentle soul; if you were brought up to be compliant; to be helpful; if you have been trained to make life easier for others – well, that constant care for others’ welfare might prevent you from simply enjoying yourself as a player. You might not let yourself… play. And where’s the fun in that?

So I’m going to suggest something radical: I propose that today, just this once, on your improv to-do list, you put your own fun above all else.

If the concept of Good-Girl Syndrome resonates unfavourably with you, it’s not your fault. Don’t be hard on yourself. Society has imprinted this on you since you first learned that being demure got you more favourable attention than being a badass (so: as a toddler, then). However, in improv, ‘polite’ behaviour gets old real quick – both for you and for those playing with you. I’m talking about players who hold back in scenes. Those who wait and see what their scene partners come up with so they can quietly dovetail into the established reality. Those women who worry about whether their milquetoast offers will ‘land’ but who can’t quite hit the ‘fuck it’ button. The kind of player who is killer at support, dynamite at mirroring or ‘peas in a pod’ing, but who feels shy about taking up space or playing a large – maybe even obnoxious – character.

So, today, please, put yourself first. Take up space. Be difficult. Be loud. Because if you don’t hit the aforementioned ‘fuck-it’ button, no-one’s going to do it for you. Stop trying to make everything work for everyone around you and just please yourself, damn it!

Next time you’re about to step on stage, try one of these:

Be Bold

I was in a weekend workshop once. By Sunday afternoon we all knew each other’s styles pretty well. We were invited to run scenes where we highlighted each other’s traits for fun. My scene partner’s offer to me? A bellowed: “Who are you? WHO ARE YOU?!” It was a slap in the face but I heard the message loud and clear: “Vic, you don’t make strong offers and you therefore force your scene partners to do all the work.” My response honoured the moment and I snarled: “I’m whoever you want me to be!” It got a big laugh, I felt both ashamed and proud, and it was a lesson I never forgot: that being classically ‘supportive’ on stage is only half the story. It taught me that, ironically, that I was entirely guilty of putting the kind of labour on others that I try so hard to avoid in real life. So be bold and hit your scene partner with a juicy offer they can play off. Bring a big character, make a loud choice, be accountable, be strong. Surprise ’em. Weirdly enough, you’ll make it easier for everyone.

Be Real

Sometimes, you can just feel when something’s off. Trying to catch the point of the scene feels like grabbing smoke. Maybe you’re being a bit woolly or weak; maybe they’re being tricky or self-involved. So call it out! Get real. Look your scene partner full in the eye and ask: “What’s this really about?” or: “You seem upset; care to explain what’s really bothering you?” or say: “When you tell me X, it makes me feel Y” or even: “Why do you always try to…?” It’ll raise the stakes and refocus the moment so that you’re back in the driving seat and calling the shots.

Be A Dick

For us Good Girls, being obnoxious is harder than ignoring a dirty toilet. We are hard-wired to be ‘nice’. But when you separate the player from the person, you’ll find a wealth of badly behaved fun waiting for you on stage. A while back I was playing a ghost ex-girlfriend who was angry with her fella and I realised that the most obnoxious thing I could do there and then was to hiss a Brexit-related jibe at him: “This is why you should have voted Leave!” For a left-of-centre, typically Remainer Saturday night improv audience, this line was full permission for them to boo me off the stage. Creating a character that was hated by the audience was terrifying yet exhilarating and there was the bonus of making my scene partner look like a hero. Win-win.

Be Changed

Of course, nothing changes the stakes like giving a shit. If you find you’re becoming part of the furniture, find something to care about. It might be your scene partner, it might be something about yourself, but if you call it out loudly enough, the impact is delicious. It doesn’t have to be a huge thing: it might just be that you lurrrve fruit salad or that you’re petrified of curtains. See what happens when you commit to reacting big.

Be The Expert

‘Choose to know’, as we say in improv. Especially if you are in a scene with an actual expert, particularly if don’t know the term(s) mentioned. As Good Girls, we can get a bit too caught up with being helpful and compliant such that we forget we’re allowed to make stuff up! The first time I ever heard of the Bechdel Test was on stage (my female scene partner told me we’d just failed it!). I got so ‘up in my head’ through not knowing the term that I killed the scene for us both. Basically, I’d forgotten the magic truth of commitment: if you explain convincingly enough that the Bechdel Test is used by scientists to measure the liquidity of custard, the audience who don’t know it will buy it, and the audience who do know it will laugh. Again, win-win.

Be Quiet

Your words aren’t landing? Are you feeling controlled by or squeezed out of a show? Has your gentle manner caused others to yet again take advantage? Play a silent scene and, importantly, do what the hell you want in it. I was once taught a great technique where two people run a verbal scene and a third person, unnoticed / not commented upon by the duo, does their own thing. In one example during class, the third person entirely ‘undressed’. In another, the third person set up (so clearly and deliberately it was like a slow-motion ballet) a sniper rifle with stand, and then finally, satisfyingly, trained it at the conversational couple. In a third, the scene gooseberry, who, like the main duo, was also fishing a little further away on the same bank, caught a massive fish, failed to land it and was swallowed whole and dragged down to the depths of the lake, ie. under the first-row seats. Every time, the audience was transfixed by the silent player and gripped by their actions and their story.

Be Gone

Yup, I said it. You can just walk off. You’re allowed. No-one will arrest you, the stage won’t go up in flames. Because there’s times when you’re given an offer that you simply aren’t interested in honouring (and yes, I’ve seen “On your knees, bitch!” scenes, though thankfully not been in one… yet). Maybe it’s as simple an issue as finding that no-one’s listening to you, or perhaps you’re getting some heat from unhelpful co-players. Hey, what if there’s some gendered nonsense in the mix? Well, you don’t have to put up with it. Pick your moment and – theatrically, if possible (by which I mean, in character) – walk right off that stage. Sure – it’s a pretty drastic move. But it’s the ultimate “fuck you” to Good-Girl Syndrome. It lasts a moment, no-one died, and it might just be the reset you needed.

So, to all ‘good girls’, I wish you luck in your improv and hope you have fun authentically and without feeling the weight of everyone else’s wellbeing on your shoulders. Be bold, be confident. Trust yourself and your resilience. You deserve to play just like the others, with the full range of human offers and reactions at your disposal.

Victoria Hogg is an applied improv coach and facilitator. Join her on Sunday 27 October at The Nursery Theatre, London Bridge for her ‘Unbreakable!’ women’s improv comedy session: part of the Nursery Theatre’s fantastic monthly Women’s Improv Comedy Workshops.