Working titles:

What?

High-risk, chaotic nonsense. Take risks, ruin scenes, cut quickly, gag, break character, call people out. Do everything we're not doing in Micetro, two-thirds of which we should do. Treat the audience and each other 'badly', intentionally.

It should be exhausting, fun, and fast.

Why?

Break tension and insecurity of players and just loosen up. Periodically remind people what bad habits are, why they're bad, and when you can use them to make really cool stuff happen. Reinforce the disposability and vitality of the form. Also, give players an opportunity to give each other feedback without stopping the scene or the show, and maybe defuse some of the cattiness that's building up. Or encourage it until explodes and isn't lingering under the surface. Get it out of the system where it won't hurt anyone.

How?

Other things:

Where?

I'd suggest doing this in the park, à la DaylightSavingsTheater.

The Audience

Don't get suggestions from the audience. They are not in control. They are more bystanders or victims, not paying customers to be served. Don't treat them badly. Treat them as peers or lessers, maybe like a lawyer defending them from/before a hostile jury of improvisors. We don't necessarily need to be nice to them or even polite but we shouldn't be actively malicious (cf. BarProv)

Bob's Crackpot Improv Theory

WCBH shows tend to hold the audience in high regard, following the creed 'treat the audience well'. Unless you're really avant garde or inaccessible, I believe this is the right way to treat a broad, paying, repeat audience. And I'm not some anti-commercial tard who thinks that treating an audience well is synonymous with tepid revivals of Grease and Cats, leading to weak, homogenized, non-transformative theater1?. Making enough money to keep the doors open, buy equipment, promote shows, and pay your theater staff is a good thing. Duh. But improv suffers from a strange paradox that what worked well once will never work again. Worry, doubt, and fear are perhaps the improvisor's worst enemies. In a staged and promoted show, the audience has a certain expectation of quality and the performers generally feel some obligation to give them what they paid for and otherwise treat them well so they come back so the theater survives economically. The downside is that there's pressure to be good which ironically is destructive to good improv. It causes players to worry and their performance suffers especially if they already have doubts about their competence2?. Worse, they don't have fun.

One point of this exercise is to drive out the demons of worry by setting no direct or implied quality goals on the show.

Another issue is that we were trained in a failure-friendly, tolerant, non-judgmental, loving, caring environment. Again, I think this is utterly essential for all beginning education for all the reasons given by Keith Johnstone, et al. After players have a grasp of the fundamentals and start playing real shows they run into post-mortem analyses, perhaps the first time someone is really critical of their performance. Even if they don't get notes, good improvisors will analyze their performance and guess at what skills they need to work on. So once you start performing improv, you will get internal and external feedback and you need to deal with that.

The problem with shows is that the audience's meter is running. In some sense, the stage is not a laboratory (unless it's explicitly labeled as such by the nature of the show or troupe.) This idea will bug some people but for a lot of improvisors, they're onstage primarily to give a good show, not to experiment or learn. Feedback either comes immediately from the audience (not necessarily good feedback, in the case of rewarding "gagging at the expense of a scene") or from side-coaching, or later from the director or other players, long after the scene is over. Also, directions are given to serve the scene or show, not serve the players3?. Again, I agree this is the way things need to work in most shows, but it doesn't necessarily help the players grow.

The problem with classes is the setting is kinda artificial and it's far too easy to stop a scene to give feedback. Sometimes the players need a slightly unsubtle reminder (like a bell) of what they could be doing better. Often we either let scenes crash and burn then sift through the wreckage for what went wrong or we bring the scene to a screeching halt to flog a point. The class may well serve the audience (those offstage) more than it does those onstage because again, the meter's running. And again, I don't disagree with this but I believe its better to have multiple styles of instruction because of the diverse ways people learn.

Another point of this exercise is to give immediate feedback without necesarily stopping scenes or giving offstage direction.

Finally, there are a number of intermediate issues the Rookies need to sort out, especially

Another point of this exercise is to practice intermediate and logistical techniques.

Logistics

The price should be $2-$5 (pass the hat or make them buy something in the lobby - no one admitted without refreshments!) and be at least as entertaining as No Shame on an okay night.

1? Heh. I spent eight years in Madison, WI, surrounded by more Marxists than remain in North Korea. I can speak the language but it always makes me want to put on a rainbow wig, big floppy shoes, and a red rubber nose for how retarded it all sounds. What part of Marxism told you that getting stoned , not bathing, and being an asshole was the path to freedom and happiness? Never mind, just give me my fries and my change, snoogins.

2? And if they don't doubt their competence, they shouldn't be doing improv. They should go off and be pretentious assholes for people who prefer that sort of thing.

3? Theoretically, what serves the show should always serve the players. Practically, I'm not sure this is true. The show is primarily for the audience (or we wouldn't take their money) and, sad to say, sometimes a player needs a lesson beat into his thick skull, especially where niggardly, detached, invulnerable, gagging players are concerned. Without dwelling much on it, some players either willfully ignore direction or they simply don't get it, causing friction between the body of generous, clueful players and the callous unfortunate who can't or won't take direction.