More Than Two People in a Scene

Three-Person Scenes

A scene with three people is its own animal. It requires a bit of finesse and timing that a two-person scene doesn't. The biggest reason people screw up a three-person scene is that they think "dif­ferent" when they could have thought "same." Here's what I mean: The lights come up and you discover there are suddenly three people on stage. Let"s say the scene goes down like this:

 

Improviser A: It's such a beautiful Sunday!

Improviser B: I've got the picnic basket ready!

Improviser C: (says nothing)

Improviser A: I'm glad the kids are with Grandma.

Improviser B: I've got tuna, lemonade, and apple pie!

Improviser C: (says nothing, continues to wonder about his function in the scene.)

Improviser A: Let's go have a picnic!

Improviser C: Wait, I don't think we should go right now, I'm not feeling well.

 

This is a fairly typical beginning of a three-person scene. Two people get on track with something. The third person just stands there silently trying to figure out what to do, while the other two continue. Aware that if his silence persists, it soon won't seem right to speak at all, Improviser C blurts out something adverse to or dif­ferent from what Improvisers A and B have initiated. This is what I mean by thinking different.

It's very tempting for the third person to take a contrary point of view. He may do so because he thinks he needs to create conflict and subconsciously believes that being different will give him power in the scene. Go with the flow, especially in a group scene. You don't have time to work around a lot of tangential points of view. This advice also holds true for a scene that starts out with two negative but similar points of view:

 

Improviser A: I hate the way that dress looks on her.

Improviser B: Yeah, I hope she didn't get gypped at the

Salvation Army. Improviser C: I kinda like it.

 

Another example of a disrupted initiation. Improviser C would have gained a lot more ground with:

 

Improviser C: Picture perfect white trash.

 

Go with. The audience is trying to cipher out what the scene is about. They like seeing "Those people talk about the way that person's dressed." Simple. That's what the scene is about.

It's as likely though, that in a three-person scene the first two initiators won't even share a common point of view among them­selves at the top of the scene:

 

Improviser A: This coffee is delicious.

Improviser B: Really? I think it tastes terrible.

 

Now what is the third improviser to do? I say take one of the existing positions. In the banal scene above, declare that your coffee either delicious or terrible, thereby joining an existing point of view, or make up a different taste reaction to the coffee, joining the point of view that coffee is being tasted:

 

Improviser A: This coffee is delicious.

Improvises B: Really? I think it tastes terrible.

Improviser C: Mine tastes kinda bitter, but I like it.

 

Improviser C made a move to heighten the notion of reacting to coffee, as opposed to:

 

Improviser A: This coffee is delicious.

Improviser B: Really? I think it tastes terrible.

Improviser C: Who cares? Let's play baseball.

 

In the last example, Improviser C comes in with something dif­ferent and now the scene kinda has to start over with finding what it is about. A similar point of view does not have to be expressed only by words; it could be done through character, emotion, or state of mind, as well. An example of this might be

 

Improviser A (angrily): The sky is blue!

Improviser B (angrily): I like Cheerios!

Improviser C (angrily): Birds fly!

 

That all of them are angry declares their shared point of view, even if they are saying different things. The audience identifies that the scene is about three angry people. Also, the content is all unre­lated non sequiturs, therefore declaring nonsense as a shared point of view.

Huh?

Yes.

Think same, not different, in three-person scenes. Especially with character. I've seen the following scene 8,452 times (more or less):

 

Improviser A (in French accent): The water is so lovely.

Improviser B (in French accent): The park is so nice this time of year.

Improviser C (in American accent): Can you tell me how to get to...?

 

Oh, if Improviser C had just taken on a French accent he would have gained a lot more ground. As an American character, his choice makes the circumstance of the scene —finding directions and his American accent—more important than what the scene is already about: two French people enjoying their surroundings. He could have joined in a delightful scene between three French people, free to continue in the established scene that is about French people. Being French is their collective point of view: They can now talk about anything as those French people. Instead, he made an opposite (and often done) choice of being different, and the scene is forced to shift in order to deal with the circumstance he has brought forth. It's not just French people, either. The same would hold true if it were two robots, two sad people, two wiggly people, whatever.

 

Entering Scenes

The same principles apply to entering a two-person scene and becoming the third party. Before we speak of how to enter a scene, let's look at why people enter two-person scenes. Here, for the good or bad, are some reasons people enter scenes:

 

•     Save it.

You're backstage during a scene and it starts to drag or go a little long. You start thinking, "How can I save this scene?" Suddenly, you start thinking about lines and physical things and characters you will enter with in order to save it.

 

•     Get in on the funny.

"'That scene is so funny, I'm gonna enter it and get in on all that hot action."

 

•     End it.

You're backstage and think that it's time for the scene to end, so you think of a reason to enter and "hook" the scene.

 

■    Get a quick laugh.

"I'll just dart in and off stage or walk across and get a quick laugh."

 

■    Tag out.

You get an idea and decide you want to tag out a player and take his place with another character. The player not tagged out usually maintains her character from the previous scene.

 

■    Get called onstage.

You hear, "Uncle Jim should be coming over any second now," and you enter as Uncle Jim.

 

Knowing why you are entering is the first thing to consider.

Saving a scene in trouble is no easy task. Most of the time, the players are already in a state of measurement (in their head), and the audience is aware that the scene is going downhill. While you might have good intentions, your entrance may also just make things worse.

As soon as you enter, the audience is on to you. They usually have a sense that you have entered to bring the scene back to life. They are often thinking, "Damn, I thought it was going to be over soon." So you've got that going against you.

In addition, the person entering often takes a contrary or dif­ferent point of view from what already exists on stage. This prolongs conflict and delays resolution, thereby lengthening the scene even more.

If, however, you provide a lightning-quick resolution or some­thing different enough, you may be able to manufacture enough of a reason for the lights to be taken out. In this case, you're not helping or saving a scene, you're eliminating it, which we'll touch on in a bit.

About the only way to save a scene and allow it to continue is this:

Identify an existing energy, style, point of view, emotion, and so on, and take it on as you enter, just as you would when navigating a three-person scene.

You may be tempted to enter with something very different because the existing point of view is not working. I still say, "Think same, not different." A scene that isn't working needs validation and heightening, not apology and a declaration that what's happened up to this moment is bad. The entrance with a new or different point of view tells the audience, "I know it's bad, see, that's why I'm trying to change it by doing something different real fast, and sorry it was so bad before, and like me, please." It's desperate, and the audience knows it. It also, in my opinion, insults the improvisers who are already in the scene.

On the other hand, an entrance within the space of something already established (such as sharing a style or point of view) tells the audience (and fellow performers), "Yeah, I know it was kinda drag­ging a little, but it's still good, and I can add to what has been created here, and see how it bumps and lifts the energy." The performers on the stage are often grateful for this type of entrance.

Finally, before you enter, ask yourself if the scene is really that bad. It could be a perfectly fine scene in the eyes of the audience, a good, slow, two-person scene you're getting ready to mess with.

The need to get in on the funny is another reason people enter scenes. The scene isn't going badly at all; as a matter of fact, it's going great. You might find yourself thinking, "That's so funny, I wish I were in that scene," and "I wonder how I could be in that scene," and "How could I enter that scene?" and "I have an idea," and "Look, I'm entering the scene!" and then, "Why isn't the scene funny any more?" Or, "Wow, the scene is better as a result of my entrance!"

The difference between the two outcomes is motive and execu­tion. Many improvisers enter because of selfish motives. They can't get their own work going so they want to take advantage of the funny others create. They have little regard for whether the entrance would help the scene; they just want to steal a little something for themselves. Sometimes they get away with it; often they don't. When they don't, it is usually because their motives affect their behavior in entering the scene. They may, for example, appear too eager when they enter. The audience catches this energy and the entrance loses credibility. Also, if they are too eager, their entrance is often ill timed. Sometimes improvisers can't even wait for the right moment because they are so eager to get out there in that successful scene.

The person entering might also radically change or undermine what is already working well. Talk about killing a scene dead. Yeah, that's right, pull the rug out from under something that's working great. The audience will loooove you. It's amazing to me that some people "think different" in an entrance, even if it completely changes the scene that was working great before. I really hate that.

"So, is this to say that I should never enter a scene that is already working?" No, just make sure the entrance will really support the scene and not your own ego. If you do make the assessment that you could truly support the scene, then take on a character or point of view that already exists. That's what is going on; and what's going on is what the audience is enjoying in a good scene. Add to that.

Imagine a really funny scene where two good ole boys find themselves at a museum. They are discussing how they don't under­stand what the big deal is. Although my example is cliched, let's assume the scene is going really well. A third player backstage decides to enter. Here are some options (I've seen each of these many times):

 

1. (contrived high-status voice) "Hey you rednecks, get out of the museum!"

 

2. (kid voice) "Dad, mom says we have to leave now."

 

3. (good ole boy voice) "I don't know, I kinda like it."

 

4. (good ole boy voice) "Hey, I was just lookin' at the Piecassos, and they ain't much better."

 

5. (British accent) "Interesting painting, isn't it?"

 

Now what's the best choice? For my money, number 4. It's in line with what the scene is about, so the entrance heightens the we don't understand what the big deal is about these famous paintings concept. Number 1 suggests that the scene should stop. Number 2 is slightly more subtle, but wants to do the same thing as number 1: end the scene. Number 3 is very common. It's that need to be contrary or dif­ferent, added with a little "yes, and" conditioning that makes people always go for the wishy-washy positive. (If I had a peso for every time I've heard the exact words, "I don't know, I kind of like it" in a three-person improv scene...) Number 5 is the improviser who is thinking, "That scene is going great. It would be really funny if 1 came out as a British guy" (the most opposite character and status choice). Now the scene that was previously about two guys reacting to a painting has changed into two guys reacting to a guy who is reacting differently to a painting. Oy.

Another reason to enter a scene is if you think it's gone on for long enough and you want to call an edit or get the lights to go out—to end it. This can either be a noble gesture or an annoying one, depending on the group's philosophy, the form they are presenting, and the shared experience of the ensemble improvising together. In this case the entrance doesn't really serve as an entrance, it serves as an edit—a way to cut the scene to another or for the darn lights to go out. To make this kind of entrance, pretty much do the opposite of everything I've said before. This scenario does not seek continuum, but closure. So if there is agreement of point of view on stage, enter with an opposing or different point of view. If something needs to be resolved, resolve it. If the scene's about waiting for someone, enter as the person they are waiting for. Anything to answer the why of the scene or give closure to any mystery. If you want to enter a scene to get the lights to go out, think differently. Even if you don't get a laugh (which you often will), you will at least manufacture enough necessary resolution energy for the lighting person to zap the lights out or for another scene to begin. If you want to do this, I stress again to think of why you are doing it. Is it to serve the scene as a whole, or is it for your ego?

A less devastating way to enter is to walk through or pop in. You walk across the stage or pop in a door or a window and say some­thing and get the hell out quick. Whether this type of entrance is appropriate depends on the particular ideals of the group. Some groups love them; others find them disruptive. If the improvisers doing this entrance know what they are doing, walk-throughs can lift a scene, get a quick laugh, and not disrupt. If not, walk-throughs can be a dead weight.

 

Man: Excuse me miss, have you seen my monkey?

Woman: No, there was a baboon over by the spring dress rack earlier, but no monkey.

Man: I was trying on a green tie in the men's department, and I tied up Pete the monkey by the ladies' fancy hat rack.

Woman: (looking) Oh is that it? No, that's a sloth. Sorry, no Pete.

 

This scene is about the absence of Pete the monkey and the sales la dy being okay with the fact that animals run rampant in the store.

I want to enter. If I enter as the monkey and staaayyy in the scene, I risk violating what the scene is about: absence of monkey. But what if I pop in and out as the monkey preferably without the characters on stage "seeing" me? (Even if the actors actually see me, hopefully their characters won't. If the characters see me—the monkey—then the scene might shift to pointing out and chasing a monkey, as opposed to looking for a monkey that they don't know is there.) They still play can't find monkey. I pop in every once in a while as the monkey, get a laugh for the scene, and pop out. My entrance is of the scene. It doesn't squelch anything that the scene is about, it allows my fellow players to continue playing their scene without calling it up, and it adds a bit of energy and a laugh. In this kind of entrance, enter as an element that is of/from the existing scene and get the hell out.

Watching a scene, running into the scene, and tapping a person's shoulder and switching places with them as a new character is called a tag-out. You tag out a player on stage. The other character or char­acters almost always remain the same. If you want to enter and tag out someone, hold on to some element of their point of view. For example, Character A is making fun of Character B. Let's say both characters are kids in a schoolyard. Character C tags out Character A. C portrays a teacher and further mocks Character B. Character D tags out C. She is the mother of B, and mocks him even more. By tagging, the players can advance what the scene is about, switch locations and characters easily and further the scene quickly. Sometimes it even becomes a rapid succession of one-line tag-outs based on a single theme, like little blackouts. Tag-outs can be a fun device for entering, but use them sparingly and know what you are doing and why.

 

Improviser 1: I think Johnny the clown will be here any minute.

Improviser 2: Yeah, that clown is two minutes late!

 

Now, do you enter the scene as Johnny the clown? If the scene isn't absolutely about that they are waiting, help them out with Johnny the clown. But if it is about that they are waiting, don't be Johnny. Godot can't show up in Waiting for Godot because the play is about that they are waiting for Godot. The three sisters can't get to Moscow.

If someone calls for a character and that character's presence would add to what the scene is about, enter strongly with what is called for.

A special circumstance: Sometimes improvisers call a character into the scene because they have nothing going on and are floun­dering. They get freaked out and rely on calling someone in as a crutch to save them. In this case, enter that scene with a very strong declarative character or point of view. It will be your unfortunate burden to create what the scene is about.

Be careful of entering a scene just because some random thing is referenced.

 

Woman A: Peter and I have been fighting constantly.

Woman B: This Kool Aid is delicious. Yes, Fred and I have been tense, as well.

Man A: (enters, his arms outspread and yells): Hey! Kool Aid!!

 

This scene above is obviously about mutual trouble at home, not what Woman B was drinking.