Moving Along: Rob Norman’s Dynamic Improvisation

On Friday, August 11, 2018, I entered the International Comedy Copenhagen theatre, a cozy one-room affair on a cobblestone street in the old part of Copenhagen. I sat in the front row, and all the rows of folding chairs behind me quickly filled. The lights dimmed, and a gray-haired man came onstage, where he announced his fellow improvisors in a chipper British accent, with a special note that the mostly Danish cast would be joined tonight by a well-regarded improvisor from Canada, a Rob Norman.

            I have seen improvisation shows before, and so I thought I knew what to expect: fumbling plots, somewhat-offensive stock characters, crude humor, and absurd scenes that dragged on for too long. I thought that these drawbacks were just part of the condition of improvisational comedy, and were worth it for the delight of seeing people invent worlds on the spot. But the show that now unfolded before me far exceeded my expectations.

            The scenes, though separate, played off of each other. Characters came back at unexpected and hilarious moments. The scenes didn’t all take part in a world of extreme absurdism; some felt very real. Each scene had dynamism and plot, and wasn’t given time to droop or stagnate, before a new scene would begin. The cast worked wonderfully with each other, and each had good ideas, but the star of the show was clearly the Canadian guest, Rob Norman. This did not mean that he dominated the show. Instead, he offered ideas in participation with the other actors. His characters, from the beginning, were fully embodied. They had body-language, and agenda, and a physical place in space: with a few mimed motions he made it clear that he was in a kitchen, getting a beer from the fridge, or getting ready in front of a mirror, whereas the other actors often had scenes that floated in a nowhere space. I hadn’t known what made for truly great improvising until I saw two scenes in which Rob performed alongside another actor.

            In one, an actor began by pretending to urinate in the direction of the audience, and Rob came in as an over-eager bathroom attendant. Each time Rob spoke, he moved the story, either escalating its absurdism, or changing the direction of the plot. His scene-partner tended to take the cues and play more of the bewildered ‘everyman,’ responding to Rob in a way that maintained but did not move the narrative. I have observed that it is easy for improv to fall into a back-and-forth plateau, in which the current situation drags on, perhaps becoming slightly more farfetched, but not in any way that is truly surprising or delightful. Rob surprised and delighted with every line.

            Another scene in which Rob shone was one in which he started by sitting in a chair, and the older British fellow came in, looking baffled and distressed. So: the British fellow had given the first emotional cue, the offer for starting the scene.

            Rob sat back coolly in his chair and said, “You’re confused.”

            “Well, yes,” spluttered the British man. Rob waited unless the British man was going to explain himself, but he didn’t seem to have anything more to say, so Rob forged on ahead.

            “You’re wondering how I got in your house,” said Rob. “Why I’m sitting on your bed.”

            And this went on, with Rob offering suggestions. He always gave space for his scene partner to speak, but his partner ended up mostly spluttering, so it was up to Rob to move the scene along. This was the most dynamic scene of the improv show. With each line, Rob revealed a new layer to the story. He was a Las Vegas magician. He had seen this fellow in the audience of the show. He had stolen his identity. He had emptied his bank account and cavorted with his wife and now he was moving into his house.

            Here, again, Rob gave space to his scene partner, but the scene partner was at a loss for words, so Rob held out a mimed set of cards and said, “Pick a card.”

            The scene partner splutteringly obliged, and then Rob said, “That’s for a divorce lawyer. You’re going to need it.”

            At this, the audience, including me, burst into laughter and applause. Perhaps in a regular play, the joke would have been merely funny, but knowing that it had been concocted just moments before made it hilarious. Soon after this, that scene ended, before we could get weary of it, and the show moved onto other things.

 I do not wish my praise of Rob to belittle the other actors. They were all expressive, quick-thinking, and cooperative. Throughout the show, their incorporation of audience suggestions, combined with the intimacy of the venue, made it feel as if the audience were an essential part of the action onstage. However, it was Rob who really showed me the dynamic possibilities of improvisation: that the best improv could be like a tightly-written story, where each line had purpose and contributed to the movement of the piece.

            At the end of the show, the cast held an ‘improv jam,’ in which audience members could come on stage and try improvising with some of the experienced cast members. At first I had no intention of volunteering, but after watching some fellow amateurs fumble around, I had enough confidence to give it a try. I did not move along the scene with my every line. My character was not complex or particularly embodied in space. But I found it exhilarating and comfortable to be up on stage. It reminded me of the joy of make-believe play as a child. Trying improv myself drove home just how much there was to learn, and made me eager to try again, or at least to catch Rob Norman on his next tour.