I know it isn’t always realistic to pigeonhole improvisers into one bracket or another, but in planning a rehearsal for the Maydays, I realised that there are things that we get into the habit of practising and avoiding depending on our innate style and on what the groups we play with NEED.
I read something interesting in a book called Why Men Don’t Listen and Women Can’t Read Maps. It points out that in a romantic relationship, we sometimes work like a two-person ant-colony; if one of us can do one job, then there is no point in the other taking up brain space to do it too. One of us learns everyone’s names at a party so the other one doesn’t bother, one knows how to make the surround sound work so the other one doesn’t bother. We have one double-sized brain between us. In an improv troupe, there is something similar. After years of playing with the same people, we can end up having a specific role in our company shows and rehearsals. The positive aspect of this is group mind. The downside is habit and stagnation. Without really thinking about it, I know that within the Maydays, we have improvisers who are stand-out aces at character, singing, rap, game of the scene, follow-me initiations, object work, clowning, emotion, lateral thinking, topics, support and of course cock jokes. Because individuals are so good at their particular forte, sometimes it is easy just to leave it to them. The only reason we don’t leave it to them the whole time is because we generally have a cast of 4-5 per show and our company has 12 improvisers. Each show has a different vibe and we find that there are golden combinations. An argument for getting good at all the stuff you normally avoid is so that when you’re in a show where everyone you’re on stage with is character-driven, you can be the one remembering names at parties or sorting the surround sound. I guess what I’m saying is; to be the best improvisers we can be, and to be able to play excellently with improvisers we’ve hardly even met, we have to have the whole set. If you don’t practice all your improv keepy-uppy, you won’t be good enough at it when the nerves kick in, when you’re under the weather or tired, or when your mind goes blank. What type of improviser am I (or what role do I play in my company)? The Clown Clowns love to come on stage with a strong character or emotion. They sometimes pull their character idea off the call-out/scene before and sometimes just pick an arbitrary emotion, choose to lead with a certain body part (stacking), or alter their face or voice. They love to sing or rap - and find it easy - because it is a way of channelling their emotions. Clowns avoid driving the plot of a show or the journey of a scene and they don’t like to be the initiator. Their reasoning is often that they aren’t ‘clever’ like that or that they can’t think of anything in time. If they do initiate, it is often just an initiation for themselves. They don’t want to be in charge of the other improviser and their journey through the scene. Bad clowns are particularly scared of initiating and just wait for their scene partner to do the work, partly out of misplaced politeness. The other type of bad clown is someone that will just cock-about until they get a laugh. It’s often funny, but can end the scene abruptly and make the show pretty shallow. Bad clowns can also get stuck in stereotypes or in their regular go-to characters. Good clowns really listen to the show as a whole and allow their rich characters to embody the themes and feelings tackled. They can change the rhythm of a show and take the audience into deeper states of emotion. Good clowns often get the audience feedback ‘wow, you were just like this person I know’. The Conceptualiser Conceptualisers love to initiate and drive scenes and help tell the story of a show. They love to talk. They’re very good at conversational topics, verbal games of the scene and reincorporation. They always remember names at parties. Conceptualisers avoid playing big characters or characters that are wholly different to themselves. They also don’t tend to go for full-on emotional responses or very physical scenes. Their songs will be all about the lyrics, less about the melody. Bad conceptualisers tend to talk about action or plot instead of showing it to us. They get cross when the scene or show isn’t panning out how they thought. They fight against ‘bad’ or ‘wrong’ moves by other improvisers (which are actually just different than theirs). They sometimes announce out loud what will decidedly happen in the next scene in order to control the show. Good conceptualisers are ready to drop their heavy concepts at a moment’s notice. They also let the show as a whole be determined by the group and not by them as an individual. They are great lateral thinkers and inspire originality. The Adaptive Adaptives love to help their scene partner. They see what’s happening in a scene and do whatever is needed. They are just as happy playing strong characters as they are initiating a verbal follow-me scene. They will initiate just as much as not. Adaptives avoid freedom. On paper they are the perfect improviser, doing whatever is needed. And though you’ll get a good solid show every time from an Adaptive, it won’t be a life-changer. Adaptives avoid just fucking around. They want to know what is needed and how they should do it. They don’t take enough risks or really surprise themselves. Bad Adaptives do too much. They see a fun scene going on and they want to get in there, as a walk-on, as a scene-paint, as another character. Sometimes scenes need it of course, but bad Adaptives overdo it. It’s not a lack of trust, they just want to play. Good Adaptives are just as happy ending up as the lead as they are being one of the chorus line. They see what the show needs and they do it. No one type is better than another. We talked about whether it was a good idea to have a balance of these types cast in our shows, but were more excited by the idea that we could all be freed up to serve the show. How Can I Work On This? Well, that's a whole other blog for the future, but here's a taster: I gave the Maydays piles of post-it notes for each type to draw from. Each had a mission on it, based on what their type avoids doing. They used these as the inspiration for a set of scenes. We did a few sets with everyone working against their fears and into the skills of other types before looking at how that worked out or didn't work out. We learned that when Clowns initiate a game, when Conceptualisers do a silly voice and when Adaptives fuck around: magic happens.
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I’ve been making some improv film shorts over the last month and have more planned over the summer. It’s not a new idea, Mike Leigh and Christopher Guest being the most famous pioneers in this area, but it continues to be re-invented. The Office has much of the feel of a Guest mockumentary and Gervais nods his head to the likes of Spinal Tap as his inspiration, although the series is scripted. Likewise Parks and Recreation with Amy Poehler. But where is improv better – the stage or the screen - and what’s the difference for performers?
First off – how do you improvise a film? With stage improv you can create the who, what and where in the moment, so how can that work on film? The who?: In improv there are a billion ways of finding a character – starting with a genre idea, leading or stacking with a body part, loosely impersonating someone famous or someone you know, mirroring your scene partner, finding the opposite to your scene partner, building on an accent or way of walking and many more. These are general acting tools but we pick them up as self-suggestions as we walk into a scene. On stage they are instantaneous or they might come from a scene before, when such a character was described. On film it’s good to know the connections between characters in advance so that some kind of plot can be worked out, but I give my improvisers the gist of who and they come along armed with what they might wear, what their point of view might be, who they might like or dislike and what they are cool or not cool with in the story. A detailed character back-story helps some improvisers too. I enjoyed Kate’s personal character trait of carrying mini post-its with her to mark any health and safety faux pas. The where?: On stage we can create an imagined set or location through scene and person-painting as well as through our words and with object work but these don’t work on film. Or rather, they can, but you’d be looking at a style that’s not immediately congruent with mockumentary. Even Lars Von Trier’s Monster had props, costumes and set dressing in the massive black box studio where it was filmed. The where is still pretty loose in our films in that we will have an idea for a setting – we filmed the first one in Richmond Park and the second in a community centre – but we will look around for fun spaces on the day. These will influence the scene’s content and game. We had a lovely where for Jen’s character monologue when someone had the bright idea right before we shot it to have her walking along in a river! The what?: Or what’s going on or what is being talked about. Having the what nailed down means that there is a storyline ahead of time. It would be possible to create a story from filming characters (who) in locations (where) but it’s not quite as interesting if it’s not headed somewhere. There’s the technique of making a storyline in the edit – which is how a real documentary is often made – but that requires an awful lot of footage and more time editing and we’re interested in quickly turned around episodes with a clear direction. Confetti managed this approach very well. Also – when a great game is discovered late in a filmed scene, you can edit out a long lead-up and perhaps even pause the scene to tell the actors to play the game more or heighten it, or just emphasise to them what the game is. Many British shows like to use this safety net on stage whereas I am more used to long form where we just have to get good enough to find a game quickly! Which is better?! On stage you get audience feedback, which can tell you if you’ve hit a good seam of comedy or found a character that people empathise with. On film you have to trust the director with this and you lose a bit of the fun of getting laughs (which we all like, let’s face it). The plus side is that the improvisers will more likely go for truth than comedy and the show will have a bit more depth whilst still being funny. We thought we were doing fine on this score before one of our crew lost himself in laughter and we had to have giggle breaks from Jon’s bird-hating monologue. Of course, there are times when we can’t help ourselves... With filming you also have a number of goes. If a scene doesn’t work, we can just reshoot it, or if we get a different idea as we work, we can try both. Film will last and be re-watchable, whereas a stage show will never be seen again. But our stage shows don’t date and our films can never be perfect. As we are making mockumentaries, the screen demands more subtlety than the stage, though I think me and Rach have a similar feel in our 2-person show inspired by TJ and Dave. So for me there is no real best, apart from the fact that I love and dislike both for all these reasons. The shorts provide a nice contrast to the freeform work I do with the Maydays and Katy and Rach, but I love both forms – one with a tight backbone and one whose skeleton comes into being at the same time as the rest of its body. When it comes to commercial success of course, many comedians and bands find that their TV series or their downloads bring more people to their live shows and that’s what they really love to do. So what is the structure? I write a loose Harold ahead of the filming. One of these will fit onto one side of A4! Each scene just lays out the situation and perhaps a gentle game or character suggestion for those involved. We have found that with this grounding we can improvise all the dialogue fairly easily. I have the actors watch each other’s performances where possible, so that strands of story unfold during the filming day – even when we’re filming out of sequence. I have to be a careful listener just as I am on stage to make sure that the dialogue does not contradict. Sometimes the cast can’t be there all day or have to be quiet off set in which case I fill them in with as much detail as I can. The prep the actors bring to the floor is their own costumes, character back-stories and points of view. With everyone taking this much responsibility we can make rounded characters exist within a real-feeling comedy vehicle. Each episode is independent so it’s also fun for me to cast my regulars in differing roles to challenge their range and give us a bigger world to dip into throughout the series. I have also found that scenes work better with improvisers that have worked together before. It helps them get to a place of group mind much more quickly. Though I’m working with Del Close’s Harold structure at the moment, we are evolving to look at the La Ronde and Time Dash. None of these are original film structures, but all serve to build a backbone. Memento for example is a Time Dash and Le Ronde is the namesake of the 1950 film with this structure. To start, I sometimes pick a venue, sometimes a random word or idea and I find a venue to fit. This is me giving myself audience suggestions. My crew are improvisers too. We have no storyboard of shots and all I tell Arash (the director of photography) is whether the characters know there’s a camera or not. We have filmed two shorts to date and will be doing our first editing session this week. There are more skeleton scripts waiting on my laptop. We hope to film 6-8 over the summer with a variety of improvisers, comedians and actors dropping into the team. It’s like film repertory. I love it. Thanks to the cast and crew of the last two films as well as the venues which let us film (and boo to the venues who didn’t). The films will launch at the beginning of September with a new London arts website. I’ll keep you posted with details. Go see some of my improv favourites: Vera Drake (not a comedy!), Reno 911!, Factory, Waiting for Guffman, This is Spinal Tap, Confetti. You’re in a dark, damp tunnel under Waterloo Station. As you glance to your side, you realise that there is an auditorium so sold out that people have to stand at the back. With a mix of armchairs, sofas, kitchen chairs and velvet curtains it looks like a Terry Gilliam set (approved by David Lynch). Now comes the beginners’ call and you know that you will shortly be on stage with more than 15 people, some of whom you’ve never met. There’s not only no script, but you’re also required to make up songs in the moment. For most people this is an actors’ nightmare, but for the participants of SlapBash it is BLISS! SlapBash is a wonderful improv event that took place last Thursday at the Old Vic Tunnels to raise money for London’s improv festival Slapdash in July. When a large group of musical improvisers turned up from different companies - many of whom had not met let alone worked together – with barely an hour in the space before the doors opened, I was thrilled. The levels of experience were quite different – from a glut of full time professionals to a couple of part-time hobbyists. We warmed up (and met) with Big Booty, Hot Spot, gift-giving and a pattern game, all of which told me that I was working with a fun, enthusiastic and capable bunch. For the show we had a possible list of mostly musical short form games, including a couple of ‘set pieces’ from the different troupes, but mostly simple set ups that anyone could join in. We had no MC and it was decided that we would just jump on stage when there was a gap to introduce any that took our fancy. I was delighted that almost every formulaic short form game was assimilated by the long-formers into a whirl of colour and movement! A blues number has a huge chorus line at it’s feet, all in perfect time and motion, a game reading from a book (and then having it taken away and continuing in the same style) is beautifully illustrated in tableaux from behind, a game of Machines is filled out with glorious harmonies from all over the theatre. We played for two 40-minute sets in a fairly seamless ménage of music that enthralled the crowd. It was very interesting to see how the various styles of improv fitted together. Showstopper endowed, led and directed from within, the Maydays connected with the audience using their real stories to make glorious playback songs, Music Box came from a place of character and monologue to find wonderful counterpoints, Friendly Fire spoke through physicality and sound to form abstract and beautiful theatre and Marbles kept it real with some awesome rap. Somehow all of these styles and games were brought together wonderfully. Any number of improv styles can be combined successfully if each accepts the common ground of listening, accepting and building. I think the main difference between British and American long-form musicals is that the British say their intentions out loud, whereas Americans keep it unsaid and communicate with their group mind. The British like to see the workings, they want to be shown that it is improvised, to have storyteller and a familiar style named and called out before it is parodied rather than for someone to spot the style themselves. I for one am excited after Thursday that these are not mutually exclusive styles, they can live and breathe together for any good improviser and any audience. I’m a very lucky (and talented) girl – in the last few weeks Katy and Rach, Music Box and The Maydays have all got fantastic reviews (see the end for links). Well done us.
But before I celebrate, let’s remember the Baz Luhrman singing ‘Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)’ offering advice to college leavers. There is one line that says ‘whatever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either. Careful if you listen to it, though – it always makes me cry. Stand-up teacher Jill Edwards echoed this advice to me in Brighton. You can go on too much of an ego rollercoaster if you’re not careful and that’s why a lot of comics and performers become depressive or alcoholic. One night people think you’re great, one night people think you’re not. So, are you great? Or shit? Let’s not do a Tony Hancock and fire everyone around us to prove to ourselves that we’re the funny one. Reviews however cannot be ignored. They are often the main point of marketing that connects you with your audience and a bad review can curb your audience numbers. My first directorial experience at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe in ‘99 coincided with my first Scotsman review. We got 1 star. The review described my cast as ‘rampaging toddlers’ and despite flagging it as a great idea for a show, and pointing out ‘an impressive backwards farce skit’, we were damned. I remember the first line clearly, though it was around 12 years ago now: ‘This is the hell that is student theatre’. I had to take my cast to one side before the next show and explain to them that it was one person’s opinion and that if they believed it was a 1 star show, then it was certainly going to come across like a 1 star show. To add insult to injury, we failed to get any other reviews for the whole festival and therefore our Scotsman diatribe was the only voice out there. If we’d had another terrible review at least it would be consolidated. If we’d had a good review, we could understand that people have different tastes or perhaps we’d caught the Scotsman on a bad day or a bad show. The cast went on to be on the Big Breakfast spot ‘Edinburgh Cringe’ and I was too sore to be a part of it. At the tender age of 20, it was a big blow. I have read the Artist’s Way several times. It’s a 12 week course in creativity and quite clearly a self help book, but it’s a good self help book and really looks at some interesting issues that come up for all creatives. There was a section on criticism which I found particularly useful. The author pointed out that poor criticism just makes you upset, whereas constructive criticism makes you happy, because you can see a way to make your show (painting/book/dance) better. ‘Yes’, you think, ‘that bit didn’t work and now I can see that if the audience understood Clive’s motivation, then it would be a stronger piece’. Or whatever. A good technique for dealing with bad reviews is to review the review. Take apart the reviewer’s language and point of view. Also, if you’re particularly cross, Google them, find their own failings and attribute your bad review to their personal experiences. Don’t send it to them, it’s just a catalyst! It’s always nicer to be part of a group for reviews – being part of an improv troupe instead of a lone stand up for example. One of my favourite reviews of all time was a 2 star Threeweeks review for the Maydays’ first show at the Edinburgh Fringe in 2006. Regarding our revolutionary new short form show, the reviewer summed it up as ‘reused drama workshop games’. She wasn’t wrong – I mean, that is the root of modern short form improv (thanks, Viola Spolin). Over the next few weeks, we thoroughly enjoyed describing Richard Allston dance as ‘just a bunch of people keeping fit’, Rhod Gilbert as ‘just a bloke doing a bunch of jokes’ and Camille O’Sullivan as ‘just a woman talking at various pitches with some people on musical instruments.’ Incidentally Chortle came to the same exact show and gave us a glowing 4 star review that we still quote on our publicity. This is all very well, you say, but you started this with ‘I got three great reviews’. Yes, but I strive to be no more affected my high praise than I am by being rubbished on paper. I have a good idea about what was wrong with all of these highly praised shows and they are things that we strive to improve continually. There will never be a point in improv when you are done. Even TJ and Dave, Baby Wants Candy and all my favourite shows vary in quality and as an improviser that is satisfying in a way. If your show feels safe, it probably isn’t that great. If you’re not pushing boundaries then why are you improvising? If you’re wheeling out your five favourite characters for the umpteenth time then why don’t you write a script for them? The magic of improv lies in risk. If you’re lucky, your risks will pay off and you’ll get a good review. If not, well done you for expanding your range and striving for something better. Another sage piece of advice from Jill was that you learn nothing from a good gig, but you learn loads from a bad gig. I think that translates very well from stand up to improv. So, my advice is that if you want to get ecstatic about 5 star reviews, you have to be depressed about 1 star reviews and your ego isn’t worth all that trauma. In my opinion, we didn’t deserve a 5 star review for Saturday’s Music Box show, but I also believe that we have done some brilliant 5 star shows that weren’t reviewed. I’m very pleased that we get to use that review to tell people how good we can be. I don’t feel like we can sit back and enjoy that we’re perfect. Still, I might quietly crack open a beer... Well done guys. “Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how.” – Everybody’s Free (to wear sunscreen) Katy and Rach Argus review The Maydays 4 stars Fringe Review Music Box 5 stars Fringe Guru review My Mum passed away last Wednesday. I wrote this comedy song for her the next day and played it at the funeral. Doctor Theatre has been getting me through NewsRevue at this tough time, but there's nothing I'd rather be doing. What could be better in grief than being paid to go out and have fun and help others have a laugh four nights a week? Thanks to my family and friends for all their support and thanks to my Mum for being the most amazing woman I ever met. It’s odd doing a scripted show. I did the Treason Show for 2.5 years, which is scripted, but I’ve been solely improvising since August and I’m reminded of how different - and how similar – sketch and improv are. The writing process itself is very much like improvising. Writing is improvising on paper, it’s only the looking back over it and editing it that’s different. In Tonight’s Top Story with the Maydays, we pick up a newspaper article and then start a scene with an interesting angle. Perhaps an extreme situation can be paralleled with something everyday. What’s a dictator like over breakfast? Or can we look from a different point of view; is any world disaster the Gods having a violent game of Risk or Battleships? With writing, you can put in all the ideas (and jokes) that annoyingly come to you after an improv scene. That’s the plus, the minus is that sketch is unforgiving. If you improvise a scene, there is an audience joy and forgiveness for the instant way you are coming up with what you are doing. The audience often get the joke at the same as the improviser. If the audience know it’s pre-written they are expecting more. Re-hashing improv would be like trying to relive a funny conversation you had in the pub; ‘you had to be there’. That’s what improv is: ‘you had to be there’ because THERE it’s really funny. The tip for sketch to take from this, is that it always needs to come across as fresh, you have to be enjoying it and finding it as funny as you did the first time you did the sketch. My Dad’s a children’s author and one of his best tips to me as a child was to always remember how you felt about an idea the first time it came to you. If a joke made you laugh, if a plot made you excited, if a character made you empathise, that’s how it’s going to come across the first time someone else hears it. Happily in the Treason Show I was working with other improvisers in the cast and there was an improv language we used beneath the script. I’m gonna do something funnier than my line now because I just though of it and you’re gonna go with me. I’ll be back in improv land at Music Box next Tuesday (15th March) and doing NewsRevue Thursday–Sunday for the next six weeks. Come see some funny stuff; scripted or instantly scripted. Let me just start by saying that Becca's nipples were one of my favourite things in Ay, Caramba, Tuesday's Music Box musical. Becca was playing a Brazilian carnival dancer and as it was mentioned that she had nipple tassels, I let my hands become them. My real delight, however, was that throughout the show, most of the cast fulfilled this role of scene painting at one time or another. And these tassels - they pointed, they gestured and they definitely went round and round. Ah, improv.
Before the show, Jules Munns and I met over chips and found ourselves discussing the pros and cons of taking the first shout-out (audience suggestion). I kind of feel that by taking the first one, you are proving something, like you're showing that you can use anything and make it work. The whole idea of improv is that it's spontaneous and everything should be treated with a Yes, And. Jules was more of the camp that 'improvisers know what makes a good scene and therefore they should choose the best idea from the audience'. I know 'dildo' is the most over-used call out in the world, but for good improvisers, perhaps it forces us to come up with something really interesting and lateral that the punters didn't expect. I suggested to Jules a racehorse called Dildo and all the trouble it would have - despite its being the best racehorse ever - of getting commentated on in the Grand National. The friends it would lose, the lost love of other horses and then, finally, the day when it met another stupidly named horse and they made a beautiful foal together. I wonder if the best way of doing it, is prefacing what you ask the audience with the suggestions that you're sick of? I think I learned this from John Cremer. 'Give us a life event, like birth, marriage or death'; as the audience muddle their frown lines. At the top of the show, Becca had decided to pick the best of a few suggested settings for our story. From an amalgamation, we got a long form show set in a Brazilian graveyard with carnival overtones. Ay, Caramba! After playing Mark the Pagan geek in Katy and Rach last week, it was a total religious turn-around for me as I became the resident Sister of Futura's Brazilian church. I should maybe read the Koran for Katy and Rach next Wednesday... The other question that came to light for me was taboo. We'd started the show complaining that there was no more space to put the bodies in the churchyard and I had a flashback to another Music Box show. We did one just before Christmas that was largely about suicides on the Underground and there was at least one offended audient. Was it safe to do another musical about the hilarity of death? I was discussing this and other such awkwarnesses to 8bit recently. A lot of comedians and improvisers do taboo just for the sake of taboo - wheel out the graphic sex and the paedos and the steriotypes just to get a reaction. I figure it works only if there's a really good joke or a sound philosophy in there too. I also believe that your real opinion will shine through. I know Sarah Silverman is kidding, I know Bernard Manning isn't. Our tube suicide show was a satire on cutting corners to save money (at the cost of safety and integrity), on the life-and-death power of salesmen and... a chorus line of depressives just works pretty well in a musical. In Ay, Caramba! the carnival made the dead dance, which I think is a happy ending. Ay, Caramba! We never know what's going to happen in Katy and Rach and it's always a joy to find out. We met early at the Miller on Wednesday where director Alexis Gallagher took us through his genius warm ups. We had Jingo and Butterfield opening for us with some great characters such as the cabin boy and captain on a historical murder mystery voyage. We had a fairly small crowd, but though the Miller was only half full, the audience was warm, enthused and loved the show. With some eye contact and the position of my hands, we found we had started Katy and Rach with a little improvised close up magic. The show became about magicians, the magic circle and the hell of children's parties. I'm a big fan of object work in improv and had a ball playing Ian, pillar of the magic circle whose whole career revolved around his cane tricks. The favourite of these was turning his cane into his business card. The audience actually gasped as if it was a real magic trick! I love improv. People really join you with their imagination.
There was a crazy point in the show when Rachel's character 'Park of Darkness' (yes, that was her name) was attempting to go into trance for a seance but couldn't. She asked her geeky boyfriend Mark to help out. At this point - as Mark - all I could think of to do was to cast a magick circle. A real one. As a pagan I know how to make a sacred space by tracing the outline and invoking the quarters. It felt odd to use lines I know, but if you were a real vicar who ended up playing a vicar in an improv show, you would totally use scripture. I realised at the end of the show that I hadn't closed the circle, so I asked the producer Steve Roe if he wanted me to take it down. He decided he was cool with leaving it there for a couple of weeks and then we'd use the power that had built up in the circle to do some improv good. Nice one, Steve. I also had a man who claimed to be the Druid Mayor of London come up to me afterwards and say he loved the show! Brilliant. Among the audience were two fun Polish improvisers who were taping the show and interviewed us afterwards. See their thoughts and our improvised stories here. Robin has declared himself head of the Katy and Rach Polish Fan Club. Aww, cute. He asked us to improvise stories with the same opening line. After listening to them later, I was delighted that me and Rachel's stories took a similar romantic turn. Hooray for our group mind. Funny that Robin wanted to prove that our stories were different to show that we were really improvising and that I hoped they were similar to show that we were really improvising. Food for thought. Tomorrow is rehearsal time for Music Box and Tuesday is the next show, so get your fiver ready and I'll see you at the Miller! |
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AuthorKaty Schutte is a London-based improviser who teaches improv classes and performs shows globally. Recent Posts |