Good improvisation is led by the subconscious. It is sub-liminal linkages in someone’s head informing and shaping that person’s thoughts and choices. Of course, those unfiltered ideas are built on, twisted, subverted, and developed by the other performers.
And it all comes together neatly, as improv always does.
More or less.
Something I personally have not done, despite years of being an improviser is sleep-deprived improv – certainly not to the tune of 50 hours(!)
But any endurance-based marathon of improvisation is a perfect union: one made in a billowy dreamstate by a hallucinating character actor and an overtired comedian.
In other words: gold. Shiny, shiny – Bright! Shimmering! Shiny! – gold.
This weekend, starting in just some hours, is the 3rd Annual London Improvathon. I will not be participating, but I will be watching. It starts on Friday evening and carries on until Sunday evening. It is “a 50-hour improvised comedy set in Victorian England.” So it will also be a surreal history lesson. Nice.
I’m planning a visit to The Sticking Place early on Saturday afternoon to see how things are going after a single sleepless night, and then another visit later on Sunday – when shit will undoubtedly be its most nuts/inspired.
Also, not everybody will be doing the whole 50 hours, which, if you ask me, makes some sense, because you don’t necessarily want the inmates running the asylum.