Improv Six weeks of foundations
A first term for people who have never improvised. It buys safety before skill: the first two sessions are about daring to be seen, and nothing else. Rushing this is the most common mistake of new teachers.
A copy is made. Changing it later changes nothing here — and we will never change your course behind your back.
Hover a game to read what it is and how to run it — no need to open a single tab.
Dare to be seen
90 minNo skills tonight. Only play, and failing together.
Stand in a circle. A player sends energy to someone with a sharp clap-and-point and "Zip". That person passes it on with "Zap", the next with "Zop", then back to "Zip" — always in that order. The energy flies around the ring, faster and faster. It's the first warm-up for a reason: it asks for nothing but eye contact, a clear gesture, and the nerve to commit out loud. Nobody has to be funny — they just have to be present and awake.
💡 Commitment beats speed. A slow, sharp "Zip" with real eye contact is worth more than a fast mumble — coach volume and clarity before pace. When someone fumbles the order, keep it moving. The point is presence, not perfection. Add rules once it flows: reverse the direction, or a "Boing" that bounces the energy back to the sender.
Read more →One player makes "bunny" hands (paws up, teeth out) and chants "bunny bunny bunny" straight at a neighbour, while the two players either side flap their hands like ears. The target instantly becomes the bunny and fires it at someone new across the circle. It never stops moving. High-speed, high-silliness, zero thinking allowed — which is exactly why it works. It blows past the part of the brain that wants to look cool, and gets a group loud, physical and laughing before any real work begins.
💡 Speed is the medicine. The faster it goes, the less room anyone has to feel silly — so push the pace once the pattern lands. All three roles must be full: the bunny AND both ears. Half-hearted ears are where the energy leaks. Keep passing to new people, not back and forth between two — coach players to spread it across the whole circle.
Read more →Anyone shouts an idea — "Let's all paint a fence!" The whole group roars "YES, LET'S!" and does it, fully, together, until someone offers a new activity — "Let's all be seagulls!" — and everyone commits to that. No idea is refused, ever. It is the purest "yes, and" drill in existence, stripped down to its core: accept every offer, and throw your whole body behind it. Players feel, physically, how good it is to be agreed with — and carry that generosity straight into their scenes.
💡 The "YES, LET'S!" must be loud and unanimous. A mumbled yes teaches the opposite of the lesson — demand full-throated agreement. Do the activity for real. Half-miming while waiting for the next idea is where commitment dies. Encourage quieter players to launch ideas too. Everyone should feel the rush of the whole room saying yes to them.
Read more →Throw an imaginary ball across the circle. As you throw, you make a sound — the catcher receives that exact sound with their body, then invents a new sound as they throw it on. The ball is never silent and never dropped. It does two jobs at once: it wakes up the voice and it trains real give-and-take. Catching the sound fully — matching its size and weight — is a listening exercise in disguise, and it primes the vocal freedom that scenes need.
💡 Catch before you throw. The catcher must receive the exact sound they were sent before making a new one — that reception is the whole point. Commit the body to the sound. A big sound needs a big throw. Coach against polite, small offers. Deepen it by changing the ball: heavy, tiny, boiling hot. The object's physicality pulls richer sounds out of people.
Read more →- 20 minFree play: anything, as long as it is silly
- 10 minClosing circle: one word each
💡 If nobody laughed and nobody was scared, the evening worked.
Yes, and
90 minAccept, then add. Nothing else.
In a circle, you pass a single clap by clapping in unison with the person beside you — you both hit it at the exact same instant, then they turn to their other neighbour and pass it on. The clap travels around the ring, and the whole game is landing that shared beat together. It looks trivial and isn't. It trains the split-second eye contact and shared timing that every scene runs on. A group that can pass a clap cleanly is a group that has started to listen.
💡 The two claps must land as one sound. If you hear two, they weren't watching each other — slow right down until the clap is single. Eye contact is the whole mechanism. Coach players to turn fully to their partner before clapping, not after. Once it's clean, break it open: reverse on a missed clap, or send it across the circle to anyone.
Read more →In pairs or a circle, build a shared plan one line at a time, each sentence beginning with "Yes, and…": "Let's throw a party." "Yes, and we'll invite the whole street." "Yes, and we'll hire a brass band." Then run the same plan again with "Yes, but…" and feel it wither. The contrast is the lesson. It's the most direct drill of the core improv reflex: accept the offer, then add to it. Players feel in their body how "and" builds momentum and "but" strangles it — and they carry that felt difference into every scene, where blocking is almost always a quiet "yes, but" in disguise.
💡 Run the "yes, but" version too — the failure is the teacher. Feeling the plan collapse makes the point better than any explanation. The "and" must genuinely add, not just agree. "Yes, and it's nice" stalls — coach a real new offer on every line. Keep it fast and light. This is a warm reflex-builder, not a scene — pace keeps players out of their heads.
Read more →Pairs exchange imaginary gifts. The giver mimes handing over a wrapped box — the receiver opens it and defines what it is — "A puppy! You remembered!" — and the giver instantly justifies the choice as if they'd planned it all along. Swap roles and repeat, keeping the objects specific and the reactions warm. It drills two skills at once: endowment (the receiver names the gift, making a bold offer) and joyful acceptance (the giver says yes to whatever they're handed). It teaches players to give each other gifts on stage — to set a partner up to look good — and it quietly builds space-object work and the generosity that makes ensembles thrive.
💡 The receiver names the gift, so make it specific and surprising. "A thing" is a wasted offer — coach bold, precise endowments. The giver must justify with delight, never deny. "Why would I give you that?" blocks the gift — teach instant, generous acceptance. Keep the objects handled with real space-work. A gift with weight, size and texture teaches object permanence alongside endowment.
Read more →Rapid-fire two-handers. Player A initiates, B responds, A responds again — and the scene is over. Next pair, go. In three lines you must establish who you are to each other, where you are, and what's going on, then blackout. Drill dozens back to back. It trains the strong initiation and the ability to establish a scene fast — the skill that beats the deadly "vague first ninety seconds". Because there's no time to discover slowly, players learn to make a bold, specific offer immediately and to give their partner something real to play. It's the single best cure for weak, wandering scene openings, and the reps make it instinct.
💡 The first line must do work — a relationship, an emotion, a place. Coach against "Hi." "Hi." — a strong initiation is the whole exercise. Three lines then blackout, strictly. The constraint forces boldness — don't let scenes run on, the pressure is the point. Quantity builds instinct. Drill many pairs fast — the goal is that strong, specific openings become automatic, not laboured.
Read more →- 20 minDebrief circle
💡 Coach the acceptance, never the cleverness. The obvious answer is the right one.
Who, what, where
90 minA scene becomes clear in ten seconds.
An energy circle with three commands. "Whoosh" passes the energy to your neighbour. "Bang" blocks it and sends it back the other way. "Pow" throws it across the circle to anyone. The group keeps the energy alive and moving, reacting instantly to whatever comes at them. It's Zip Zap Zop with choices: now players have to decide, fast, and stay ready to receive from any direction. A superb wake-up that sharpens reaction and keeps everyone in the game.
💡 Big voice, big gesture. A limp "Bang" doesn't read — coach players to throw their whole body into each command. Nobody is ever safe: a "Pow" can land on anyone, so everyone stays alert. That alertness is the real exercise. Let the group invent commands once the base flows. Ownership makes them commit harder.
Read more →One player enters an empty stage and uses a single object with full detail — a specific mug on a specific shelf. Each new player adds another object, respecting everything already placed, until a whole space exists in the air. Then the group plays a short scene inside it, honouring every established object. It builds space-object work and shared spatial memory — the invisible set that most improvisers neglect. Players learn to make objects real and consistent, to remember where the door and the sink are, and to let the environment feed the scene. A group that can build and hold a space together looks instantly more skilled and grounded.
💡 Detail over quantity. One mug with weight, temperature and a precise location beats ten vague gestures — coach specificity. Respect what's placed. If the door is stage-left, it stays stage-left — teach shared spatial memory, the whole point of the drill. Let the space feed the scene. Objects established in the build should get used and referenced — a set that's ignored was wasted work.
Read more →One player delivers a flat, mundane line — "It's Tuesday", "The kettle's boiled", "You're wearing socks". Their partner reacts with maximum emotional commitment, justifying on the spot why this trivial thing matters enormously: relief, terror, heartbreak, joy. Swap and repeat with new nothing-lines. It trains reacting bigger than the offer — the antidote to flat, heady scenes where nothing lands. Players learn that emotion doesn't wait for a good reason, it creates one, and that a strong reaction gives a partner something to play. It's a fast, funny cure for the improviser who stays cool and comments instead of feeling.
💡 React first, justify second. Coach players to commit to the emotion instantly, then let the reason catch up — waiting for logic kills it. Bigger than seems reasonable. The point is to overcommit — a flat line met with real heartbreak is the whole exercise, so push past polite. The feeder stays deadpan. A mundane line delivered flatly gives the reactor the most to play against — resist making the setup funny.
Read more →Rapid-fire two-handers. Player A initiates, B responds, A responds again — and the scene is over. Next pair, go. In three lines you must establish who you are to each other, where you are, and what's going on, then blackout. Drill dozens back to back. It trains the strong initiation and the ability to establish a scene fast — the skill that beats the deadly "vague first ninety seconds". Because there's no time to discover slowly, players learn to make a bold, specific offer immediately and to give their partner something real to play. It's the single best cure for weak, wandering scene openings, and the reps make it instinct.
💡 The first line must do work — a relationship, an emotion, a place. Coach against "Hi." "Hi." — a strong initiation is the whole exercise. Three lines then blackout, strictly. The constraint forces boldness — don't let scenes run on, the pressure is the point. Quantity builds instinct. Drill many pairs fast — the goal is that strong, specific openings become automatic, not laboured.
Read more →- 15 minDebrief circle
💡 Ban questions for one hour and watch the scenes come alive.
Listening
90 minPlay what happened, not what you prepared.
The group counts to twenty-one, one number per person, in no fixed order and with no signals — no nods, no glances, no going round the circle. If two people say a number at the same time, the whole group starts again from one. Eyes down or closed makes it harder and purer. There is no trick, only attention. It trains a group to sense each other without looking — the shared awareness that lets a team edit a scene, start together, and end together. It's quiet, humbling, and unites a room fast.
💡 Ban all systems. Going in order or signalling defeats the exercise — insist on genuine listening, not clever workarounds. A restart is not a failure, it's a rep. Keep the mood calm and patient — frustration makes people rush and clash more. Silence between numbers is good. Coach the group to be comfortable waiting rather than filling the gap nervously.
Read more →Pairs face each other. One leads slow, continuous movement — the other mirrors it so precisely that an outside eye can't tell who's leading. Switch leaders, then dissolve leadership entirely so the pair moves as one, with no source. Silence and slowness throughout. It's a foundational connection drill. It forces players to give their partner total attention and to move at a shared, unhurried pace — the opposite of the panicked speed that wrecks scenes. It builds the physical listening and non-verbal attunement that underpin group-mind, and it visibly calms and focuses a room within minutes.
💡 Slow is the whole point. Fast movement is impossible to mirror — coach the leader to move slowly enough that the follower never falls behind. No tricks or catching-out. The goal is unity, not tripping your partner — teach generous, followable leading. Aim for the moment leadership disappears. When an observer can't tell who leads, the pair has found real connection — name it when it happens.
Read more →Each line of dialogue must begin with the last word of the partner's previous line. "I can't find my keys." "Keys are always the first thing to vanish." "Vanish is a strong word…" It's clunky at first, then it forces you to hear your partner all the way to the end of their sentence before you can even start. It's a listening drill disguised as a word game. Because you can't plan your opener — it depends on a word you haven't heard yet — you're compelled to stay present and truly receive the whole line. It cures the very common habit of planning your response while your partner is still talking, which is where most bad scene-listening comes from.
💡 The constraint serves listening, so protect it: the first word must genuinely be the partner's last — no cheating a planned line in. Keep the scene real underneath. Coach players to make it a true conversation, not a mechanical word-chain — story first, rule second. Expect clunk early and let it smooth out. The awkwardness is the listening muscle working — don't rescue it, let players adjust.
Read more →Two players perform a complete relationship scene with zero dialogue — no words, no gibberish, just bodies, faces and action in a real environment. Who are they to each other? What do they want? What changes between the start and the end? Afterwards, debrief what the audience actually read. It proves how little of a scene lives in the words. Forced into silence, players discover that relationship, status, want and change are carried by physicality and reaction — and that a clear silent scene is stronger than a chatty vague one. It cures verbal over-reliance and builds the show-don't-tell instinct that makes even wordy scenes clearer.
💡 Physicality carries everything, so make it specific. Coach clear objects, a real space and strong reactions — vagueness reads as nothing. Relationship and change are the target, not mime cleverness. Teach players to show who they are to each other and let something shift. Debrief on what the audience read. The gap between intention and what landed is the lesson — it reveals how much is communicated without words.
Read more →- 15 minDebrief circle
💡 Slow everything down. Speed is where planning hides.
Character from the body
90 minChange the walk and the voice follows.
Players walk the space and obey four commands: walk, stop, jump, clap. Once the group has it, invert the meanings — now "walk" means stop and "stop" means walk, "jump" means clap and "clap" means jump. Add and swap pairs until brains are pleasantly scrambled. It's a focus reset and a listening drill in one. The forced re-mapping snaps players out of autopilot and into present-moment attention — the exact state a scene needs. It also fills the space and gets bodies moving without any pressure to perform.
💡 Master the plain version before inverting anything. If the base is shaky, the reversal is just noise. Invert one pair at a time. Flipping all four at once overwhelms the group and kills the fun — build the difficulty in layers. Mistakes are the game working. Laugh them off and keep going — the scramble is the point, not clean execution.
Read more →Players walk the space, leading with one body part at a time — the nose, then the chest, the pelvis, the knees. Each lead changes the whole body, and from that changed body a voice, an age, an attitude and an opinion are allowed to emerge. Then they meet others and make small talk fully in character. It teaches that character starts in the body, not the head. Rather than inventing a personality and bolting it on, players discover one from a physical impulse — which produces truer, fuller, more surprising characters than "I'll be a grumpy pirate". It builds a reliable physical toolkit for finding people fast on stage.
💡 Body first, character second. Coach players to change the walk and let the voice and attitude follow — not to decide a character and act it out. Exaggerate the lead early. A subtle shift gives little to work with — push the physicality so a distinct person actually emerges. Test it in interaction. Small talk in character reveals whether the person is real — coach staying in the body once they start speaking.
Read more →Everyone draws a playing card that sets their social status (ace low, king high) and mingles at a party playing it — without ever naming a number. Then the twist: hold the card to your forehead so you can see everyone's status but not your own, and treat each other accordingly until you can guess where you sit. It's the clearest status drill there is. Players learn that status is played, not stated — through eye contact, space, interruption, how you offer a drink — and that it's relative, shifting with whoever you meet. Status is the hidden engine of most scenes, and feeling it in the body here makes it usable everywhere.
💡 Status is behaviour, not announcement. Coach players to play it through eye contact, posture and space — never by saying "I'm important". Keep it relative. The same person is high next to one guest and low next to another — teach status as a constant negotiation, not a fixed label. The forehead round is the gold. Being treated as your status before you know it teaches how much others' behaviour shapes you — debrief that.
Read more →Before entering, each player decides in silence what happened to them ten seconds ago — not yesterday, ten seconds. They've just been fired, they've just read a message, they've been running. You come in WITH that, and play an ordinary scene.
💡 Nine improv entrances out of ten are neutral: the player arrives from nowhere, available and empty. The scene then spends three minutes looking for the stake it doesn't have.
Read more →- 15 minDebrief circle
💡 Characters we love, never characters we mock.
First scenes in front of others
90 minPlay for an audience of friends — a low, kind stage.
Everyone shakes out their right arm eight times counting aloud, then the left arm eight, right leg eight, left leg eight. Then four of each, then two, then one — the count speeding up as it shrinks — and it ends on a single shake and a group cheer. Ninety seconds, no thinking, whole body awake. It's the fastest way to move a group from sitting-and-tired to standing-and-ready, and the shared countdown and final shout knit everyone into one energy before the session proper begins.
💡 Count out loud together — the unison voice is half the wake-up. A silent shake-out is just stretching. Keep the tempo climbing as the numbers drop. The accelerating build is what delivers the energy spike. Land the final cheer big. That shared shout is the button that flips the group from warm-up into work.
Read more →Two players improvise a scene with big, clear physicality — reaching, leaning, grabbing. At any moment anyone in the group shouts "Freeze!", taps one player out, and takes over their exact frozen position. From that same pose, they launch a completely new scene, justified by the bodies. It keeps rotating, fast. It is the classic shortform opener because it teaches two core reflexes at once: reading a physical picture and committing to a fresh idea instantly. The pose is the offer — the game rewards players who make bold shapes and jump in without a plan.
💡 Coach big, angular physicality. Two people standing and chatting gives the next player nothing to justify — reward strong, unusual poses. Encourage everyone to tap in, not just the confident few. The freeze should come from a new idea, not from rescuing a dying scene. Keep it snappy. Long scenes defeat the purpose — the joy is in the quick turnover of wildly different situations from the same shape.
Read more →A host is throwing a party. Three guests arrive one by one, each carrying a secret quirk, identity or condition suggested by the audience — a guest who thinks they're a lighthouse, who ages backwards, who can only lie. The host welcomes them and, through the scene, tries to guess each quirk, sending them off once they've got it. It's a character showcase built on endowment. The guests must play their quirk boldly enough to be readable but woven into real party behaviour, and the host must stay generous — guessing too fast kills it, guessing too slow drags. Great for teaching commitment to a single strong choice.
💡 Coach guests to show the quirk through behaviour, not to announce it. A lighthouse guest turns and beams — they don't say "I am a lighthouse". The host's job is generosity: react to each quirk, build on it, and guess at the top of its comic value, not the instant they know. One guest at a time gets the focus. Teach the other two to support and feed, not to compete for the spotlight.
Read more →- 25 minTwelve minutes of scenes, in front of friends
- 15 minCelebrate. Then talk about the next term.
💡 Twelve minutes of scenes, no more. Leave them wanting a second term.