Improvisation with a partner
"Yes, and . . ." is a technique taught in Improvisational Theatre classes. The idea is to create a very brief scene together. Whatever your partner says, you receive as a gift and must respond to enthusiastically by saying: "Yes, and . . ." which means that you will add some detail to build a scene.
For example:
The nurse clown says, “Dr., I understand that you were called in for an emergency surgery this morning.”
The Dr. clown says, “Yes, and I removed a defective funny bone.”
Nurse says, “Yes, I heard, and I wondered if that is an inherited condition?”
Dr. says, “Why, yes, it is. In fact, I now have a collection of defective funny bones in my tent back at the circus. Would you like to see them sometime?”
The nurse could end the scene with her next line or just by rolling her eyes at the doctor.
Or the doctor could end the scene by switching the focus back to the patient. “How’s your funny bone today?”
In a hospital, while visiting a patient, just 4 –5 lines can be enough of a scene. Once you get good at the game, you can drop the words "Yes, and" after the first few lines and just respond in that spirit.
Remember, you have to listen carefully and play moment to moment. Every response is accepted and built upon.
Don’t be afraid to pause and think. Silence is a very dramatic tool. You can even scratch your clown head or pace before answering. With practice, you will be amazed to learn that there is a part of your brain that knows how to do this work quite well.
Last week my partner and I met a patient who played the "Yes, and" game with us without realizing it. As we were passing down the hall, a woman sitting beside the patient’s bed invited my partner and me into the room. “Come right in,” she said. “My husband is blind, but I’m sure he’d like a visit.”
Her husband was wide-awake, sitting up in bed. Turning his head in my direction, he nodded in enthusiastic agreement.
“Thank you,” I said, going over to stand right beside him. “Good Morning. My name is Heart Throb.”
“How do you do,” he responded in a deep, cultured voice.
“I’m sorry that you can’t see me because I am movie star beautiful! I have shining orange curls. Big brown eyes. A red heart on each cheek. A red heart on the tip of my nose. And I even have heart-shaped lips.”
He laughed, and his wife said, “It’s true, Charles, she does.”
“And this is my partner, Dr. Wiggles.”
“Yes,” Dr. Wiggles added. “And underneath my baggy yellow pants, I’m wearing red boxers.”
The patient nodded and laughed. Leaning sideways toward us in a gesture of intimacy, he asked, “Are you two married?”
“Well,” Dr. Wiggles piped up. “I asked her, but she hasn’t answered yet.”
“Yes, that’s true, Sir,” I explained, “Wiggles lives in a plain old brown tent. You see, I’ve always dreamed of living in a white tent with lavender ties.”
“Hmm.” The gentleman brought his hand to his chin, index finger pressed against his lips, thinking. “You know, I happen to be an expert on marital affairs.”
“Oh, Goodie. Would you help us?”
“Yes, Yes I will. Does Chuckles ever talk about wanting to move?”
“No. He’s a happy-go-lucky sort of guy. It’s part of what I like about him. I’m a bit of a brooder myself.”
“Hmmm.” Silence followed while he gave the matter his full consideration.
His wife was looking at him as if she were falling in love with him all over again. “Charles is a professor. He’s a great problem solver,” she said.
Charles sighed. “Well, my dear. Let’s face facts. What we have here is a brooder and a doodler.”
“Oh, my gosh. You’re right. You really have a way of getting to the heart of things.”
“And, I’m wondering: Have you thought of compromising?”
“How in the world could we do that?” Dr. Giggles asked.
“Well, what about starting out in a beige tent?
“ A beige tent. Of course!” I cheered.
“Of course.” The patient offered a graceful, thin hand, and we shook hands all around, with the wife joining in.
Holding on to my hand, the gentleman said, “You helped me, too. I’ve been here for ten days, and the doctors can’t find out what’s wrong. Every day they put me through another test of some sort. Everyone who comes in the room wants to stick me with a needle or prod me. Except for you two, that is.”
“Oh, dear.” I held his hand another moment. And then, reaching into my pocket, I said, “I have something for you. Here’s a red, heart-shaped sticker to remind you of our visit. It says, ‘I met a clown today.’ ” I pressed it into his fingers.
Raising both hands to his forehead, he applied it exactly in the middle. “How’s that?”
“Perfect.” I answered. “You’re perfect.”
For example:
The nurse clown says, “Dr., I understand that you were called in for an emergency surgery this morning.”
The Dr. clown says, “Yes, and I removed a defective funny bone.”
Nurse says, “Yes, I heard, and I wondered if that is an inherited condition?”
Dr. says, “Why, yes, it is. In fact, I now have a collection of defective funny bones in my tent back at the circus. Would you like to see them sometime?”
The nurse could end the scene with her next line or just by rolling her eyes at the doctor.
Or the doctor could end the scene by switching the focus back to the patient. “How’s your funny bone today?”
In a hospital, while visiting a patient, just 4 –5 lines can be enough of a scene. Once you get good at the game, you can drop the words "Yes, and" after the first few lines and just respond in that spirit.
Remember, you have to listen carefully and play moment to moment. Every response is accepted and built upon.
Don’t be afraid to pause and think. Silence is a very dramatic tool. You can even scratch your clown head or pace before answering. With practice, you will be amazed to learn that there is a part of your brain that knows how to do this work quite well.
Last week my partner and I met a patient who played the "Yes, and" game with us without realizing it. As we were passing down the hall, a woman sitting beside the patient’s bed invited my partner and me into the room. “Come right in,” she said. “My husband is blind, but I’m sure he’d like a visit.”
Her husband was wide-awake, sitting up in bed. Turning his head in my direction, he nodded in enthusiastic agreement.
“Thank you,” I said, going over to stand right beside him. “Good Morning. My name is Heart Throb.”
“How do you do,” he responded in a deep, cultured voice.
“I’m sorry that you can’t see me because I am movie star beautiful! I have shining orange curls. Big brown eyes. A red heart on each cheek. A red heart on the tip of my nose. And I even have heart-shaped lips.”
He laughed, and his wife said, “It’s true, Charles, she does.”
“And this is my partner, Dr. Wiggles.”
“Yes,” Dr. Wiggles added. “And underneath my baggy yellow pants, I’m wearing red boxers.”
The patient nodded and laughed. Leaning sideways toward us in a gesture of intimacy, he asked, “Are you two married?”
“Well,” Dr. Wiggles piped up. “I asked her, but she hasn’t answered yet.”
“Yes, that’s true, Sir,” I explained, “Wiggles lives in a plain old brown tent. You see, I’ve always dreamed of living in a white tent with lavender ties.”
“Hmm.” The gentleman brought his hand to his chin, index finger pressed against his lips, thinking. “You know, I happen to be an expert on marital affairs.”
“Oh, Goodie. Would you help us?”
“Yes, Yes I will. Does Chuckles ever talk about wanting to move?”
“No. He’s a happy-go-lucky sort of guy. It’s part of what I like about him. I’m a bit of a brooder myself.”
“Hmmm.” Silence followed while he gave the matter his full consideration.
His wife was looking at him as if she were falling in love with him all over again. “Charles is a professor. He’s a great problem solver,” she said.
Charles sighed. “Well, my dear. Let’s face facts. What we have here is a brooder and a doodler.”
“Oh, my gosh. You’re right. You really have a way of getting to the heart of things.”
“And, I’m wondering: Have you thought of compromising?”
“How in the world could we do that?” Dr. Giggles asked.
“Well, what about starting out in a beige tent?
“ A beige tent. Of course!” I cheered.
“Of course.” The patient offered a graceful, thin hand, and we shook hands all around, with the wife joining in.
Holding on to my hand, the gentleman said, “You helped me, too. I’ve been here for ten days, and the doctors can’t find out what’s wrong. Every day they put me through another test of some sort. Everyone who comes in the room wants to stick me with a needle or prod me. Except for you two, that is.”
“Oh, dear.” I held his hand another moment. And then, reaching into my pocket, I said, “I have something for you. Here’s a red, heart-shaped sticker to remind you of our visit. It says, ‘I met a clown today.’ ” I pressed it into his fingers.
Raising both hands to his forehead, he applied it exactly in the middle. “How’s that?”
“Perfect.” I answered. “You’re perfect.”
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