Can I ask you a question? In our improv scene?

Can I ask you a question? Do you ever ask questions in your improv scenes? Or do you ever answer them?

I just finished up putting together an improv training chatbot, Questioning Carol. It is designed to help improvisers practice strategies for improvising with a scene partner who asks too many questions. Given that, I figured it would make sense for me to share some thoughts on questions in scenes and how to deal with them.

Carol, getting ready to ask something she's been pondering.

(Let me be clear, this post is for beginning to intermediate improv students and I am not considering how questions can be used to frame a game. I am only looking at how questions arise in the base realities of scenes unrelated to Voice of Reasoning.)

First off, asking questions in long form improv scenes is bad. When you ask a question in an improv scene you are delaying adding information that you could have added in the same amount of time it took you to ask the question. As the central challenge of almost every improv scene is to figure out what is going on, delaying the addition of scene defining information is counter to your primary objective.

Because of this dynamic, questions tend to be more problematic at the beginning of scenes than they are at the end of scenes, when hopefully you already know what is happening.

Let's take a look at a few examples of common questions in improv scenes and statements that might have been made instead:

Question: Good to see you, Karl! How are you feeling today?

Statement: Good to see you, Karl! Oof, it looks like the flu really hit you hard.

The statement is obviously much more helpful than the question. The question only tells us that you're curious about how Karl is, while the statement gives Karl a playable gift; something to do in the scene.

Question: What are you doing for work these days?

Statement: I’m so impressed that you work at a nuclear power plant.

Again, the question tells us nothing, while the statement gives us an interesting topic to explore. Depending on the player, they might take the job defined in the statement as a gift and run with it.

Question: You hungry? Should I make dinner?

Statement: Piping hot lasagna is ready for dinner, Liz. I made you a plate.

Think about this, the question tells us nothing while the statement gives us the WHAT of our scene, a full third of the base reality we need to establish at the top of every scene. It even highly suggests a location of a kitchen or dining room. That’s two thirds of our base reality vs nothing at all.

Do you see how, in this example, the question hurts more at the top of the scene when the base reality remains a mystery, than it does at the end? Say you did a very funny scene set in an apartment between two roommates, one of whom was cultivating an apartment wide ant farm. If at the end of that scene, after ants had attacked and taken over the kitchen and the main bathroom but were then repelled, it wouldn’t be a terrible button for one player to turn to the other and ask, “You hungry? Should I make dinner?”

But you put the same line as the initiation to your scene and I don’t see how you are doing anything other than wasting your time.

Interestingly, the problems caused by asking a question in an improv scene point to a good strategy for how to handle questions in your improv scene. If the problem with a question is that it delays the addition of new information, then the solution to being asked a question in your improv scene is to provide even more information than you typically would. Let's look at the same questions and good responses to them that thwart their destructive power.

Question: Good to see you, Karl! How are you feeling today?

Statement: Terrible, I was up all night coughing and sweating and a lot, a lot of vomit. But I didn’t want to miss work, so I dragged myself in. Catch me! I’m falling!

Question: What are you doing for work these days?

Statement: I run security at the Riverneck Nuclear Power Plant. You know, it isn’t so tight. I can get stuff out if I want to.

Question: You hungry? Should I make dinner?

Statement: I’m famished, but I’ve taken a vow not to eat again until the Knicks trade for a real center.

Eh, I put jokes in all of those because writing blogs is boring, but you can see (hopefully) how the addition of information clears up the cloud of confusion a question causes. Let me do one question with a bad response followed by a not funny good response so you can see you don’t have to include jokes when effectively clearing up a question in your scene.

Player A: Where you been all day?

Player B (bad response): You know, around. Pretty normal day.

Player A: Where you been all day?

Player B (good response): Well, I noticed your watch was broken, so I took it to Stewie’s and, well, here you go.

Nothing too funny about that second response, but it tells us a lot about the characters’ relationship and it grounds the scene in the here and now. That’s the power of adding useful information in your scenes.

Bad responses to questions are more likely than good ones because they put players on the spot. They creates an unhealthy dynamic in the scene where one player is asked to generate all the information, while the other leans back and can almost seem to be evaluating answers. That’s why questions often come in bunches.

Consider the below:

Player A: Where is the Henderson file?

Player B: Didn’t you tell me you were holding onto it?

Player A: Are you telling me you lost it?

Player B: Why is it always like this, working with you?

If you have been studying improv for a while, then I’m sure you have seen a few variations on the above. It’s like Player B is saying, “Ask me a question? Oh Yeah? Two can play at that game.”

That’s because asking a question of your scene partner is inherently unfriendly in improv. Your scene partner might tell you they don’t mind. I still wouldn't do it intentionally.

Hey, your roommate might tell you they don’t care when you’re late with rent, but I wouldn’t recommend it.

Buried within the unfriendliness of asking questions is once again a good solution. If you are asked a question it is a good time to reassure your scene partner that you are there to support them. If asked the initial question from above, on a good day, I might respond with something like the below.

Player A: Where is the Henderson file?

Player B: Right here, Sergeant. I’ve been holding on to it for when you asked. And I’ve been reviewing your observations inside. You’re a hell of a detective!

I’m adding information while complimenting and gifting my scene partner, hopefully this will squash whatever fear is driving my scene partner to be inquisitive.

Now some people might say, can’t you ask leading questions that add information to the scene by their nature? Such as:

Player A: How are you holding up after Donald’s passing?

This does tell us a lot, but your partner may nonetheless register the question as an unfriendly move. Leading to…. Well you already know.

And why not this instead?

Player A: I know Donald’s passing is devastating for you, Marcy. I’m here to support you. I brought a pot roast.

The second option is far less likely to start a fight and adds more information.

Okay, but some will say it doesn’t always feel realistic to never ask questions in your scenes.

Yeah. Is that what you’re going for? Realistic improv?

Like do you and your friends buy tickets for a fun night out at a Realism Club to see some high octane Improv Realism? Hey, does it feel realistic how everyone is always facing the same direction when you do improv? Does it feel realistic when you mime holding a phone? Or when you're in a robbery scene, so you whisper to acknowledge that reality, but you have to whisper super loud so everyone in the audience can hear you? Does that feel realistic?

Let’s face it, improv is a pretty dopey pastime, and while we are after truth, we don’t typically pursue realism; leaving stage for just the right amount of time to get a cup of coffee at the local bodega before returning with it.

Improv is about collaboration and asking questions of your scene partner is not a good way to collaborate.

I've heard others say that questions are okay because there are no rules in improv, only guidelines. Fair enough. Great improvisers do routinely ask questions without hurting their scenes.

But hey, great improvisers also break (start laughing) on stage without hurting their scenes, start scenes with accusations and have them go great, play caricatures instead of characters and thrill audiences. If you're a student of improv, should you really be trying to do what great improvisers do? Or should you be trying to master simple principles on your way to becoming great yourself?

I remember watching a Knicks game once in which Nate Robinson threw a bounce pass off the backboard on a fast break. His teammate caught it somehow and dunked it. Does that mean high school players should be doing that?

Hey, and finally, since this post feels a little soap boxy, I want to just come clean and say I ask questions in my scenes all the time. But that is just because I'm a student of improv like you are, and I'm working on it!

You want to work on it too? Try Questioning Carol and see if you can resist the urge to answer her questions with more of the same!