If you’ve found this blog, you’ve already heard of “yes, and”—the first rule of improv: Players in a scene must agree about the reality of the scene. Even people that have never taken an improv class have heard of “yes, and.” Nevertheless, students in a level one class will constantly be contradicting each other, what we call a denial. After some corrections from the teacher, they begin to follow the rule, but they are only doing the bare minimum. It takes much longer for them to believe in “yes, and” and follow the rule deeply. This idea of deep “yes, and” can be broken down into multiple levels.
The reason new students are quick to deny in scenes is because they are still under the misconception that they are supposed to be funny. When I tell them they should not, they do not believe me. After all, they’ve seen improv before. It was funny. They probably took the class because they wanted to make people laugh. Don’t be funny? I did sign up for a comedy class, right? Additionally, level one students are terribly afraid of saying the “wrong thing,” even when you tell them that’s not a thing. Getting a laugh feels good. Surely, if I get a laugh, I must be doing comedy correctly. Therefore, instead of agreement, they look for punchlines, and punchlines subvert expectations, the opposite of “yes, and.”
Let’s represent each idea established in the scene with a dot. Dots closer to each other are similar ideas. An improv scene that has just begun is a little cluster of dots. When someone says a line in the scene, it adds a new dot. Improvisers trying to get a laugh will try to go as far from the scene cluster as possible. When the teacher introduces the rule of “yes, and,” it establishes a boundary, which the players in the scene may not cross.
However, students will still try to go as far as they can while obeying this rule, staying on the outer rim of this circle. For example, if a scene begins with, “My cookies turned out better than ever! I think it’s this new flour,” a student eager to get a laugh might say, “yes, [and] I can see you used the petunias from my garden.” This offer isn’t a denial, technically, but it is being cheeky. It gets a laugh, but it immediately thrusts the scene into a weird reality where either flowers are actually used to make cookies or this character is so incompetent that they do not know better. Really, beyond the basic “yes, and,” there is a deeper level of agreement which is semantic agreement. Agree not only with the words that are said, but also the semantic meaning behind the words. Although “flour” and “flower” are homophones, it’s clear what the first player meant. To change it is still kind of a denial.
With this new boundary, students will again try to remain on the outer rim. In response to the opening line from before, a student might say, “yes, [and] ever since you started sleeping on bags of flour, it’s really helped your baking.” Yet again, a subversion. The player agrees with the semantic definitions yet still disagrees with the intended meaning. This doesn’t completely derail the scene, but is still a little hard to work with. The next level of agreement is intent.
At this level of agreement, the scene is probably going pretty well, but there is a deeper level, emotional agreement. Beyond agreeing with the words that are said, try to agree with the why. If the other character is excited about the cookies, that means something for the scene. Honor that choice. That could mean matching their happiness, (“[yes, and] I knew you’d figure out the recipe! Can’t wait for the grand opening of our bakery!”) but emotional agreement doesn’t necessarily mean having the same emotion. It means agreeing with the reality of that emotion. A contrasting emotion can still be agreement. (“[Yes,] and it’s about time! This is the seventeenth brand of flour you’ve tried! Our pantry is full!”) Examples of agreeing with intent, but not emotion would be responding with disinterest or shifting the subject.
Not every offer needs to live at the very center of the diagram. Only the outermost circle is a hard boundary for improv. It’s okay to have some offers that playfully subvert expectations, but you must realize that these outliers detract from the cohesiveness of the scene. Staying close to the bullseye gives the scene stability.
Only after writing this did I realize the similarity to Keith Johnstone’s Circles of Expectations1, where he encourages players to play within the circle of expectations that the audience has for the scene. It is a macro view, which deals with the content of the scene as a whole, whereas the levels of agreement are a micro view, dealing with specific lines said within the scene. Both are ways of explaining how to avoid going for quick laughs at the expense of the scene. I think of them as different perspectives on the same topic.
Impro for Storytellers, Chapter 5