In UCB / FA style improv the “straight” or “grounded” character often exists to:
- Clarify the unusual thing
- Ground the scene in reality
- React on behalf of the audience
- Heighten the premise
- Keep the logic intact
It’s a mechanic that works, but it also produces a binary dynamic of “the weird one” and “the reasonable one,” which can settle into predictable rhythms, and even block the forward movement of the scene.
Used well, the reasonable one helps the other person play their game and accentuates weird behaviour. At its extreme, the grounded character becomes an explainer or referee and the scene starts to feel mechanical, and we miss the opportunity for two people truly encountering each other.
I had a chat with Chris Mead recently and he said that there’s no need for anyone to play the voice of reason if we are playing characters with humanity. I like that.
And in life no one is the voice of reason. At least, no-one that I want to spend time with would describe themselves as the voice of reason. The idea of ‘Who is being reasonable?’ changes all the time. Sometimes no one is being reasonable. Sometimes we’ve lost track of what reasonable even looks like.
In UCB-style improv the risk of waiting for ‘the first unusual thing’ and then stepping into the ‘voice of reason’ is that ‘being reasonable’ becomes a predictable functional identity. You just fulfil a role: calling out the weirdness. It’s useful, and it can be very funny, but improv has more to offer.
So if we dare to do something different, where else might we go?
How to Get Stuck — and Unstuck
I’m not rejecting the need to ground a scene or to highlight what’s weird. That’s important stuff and fun to play.
But I think there’s a difference between:
A. “I am the rational one.”
and
B. “In this moment, I am responding to what’s happening.”
In A, the character’s purpose is structural and their response pattern easily becomes fixed.
In B, the character is human and their responses can shift. They can surprise us, they can learn, they can still say “Yes” and go on some adventures.
If we’re aiming for improv that resembles life, then scenes feel more alive when each person has a point of view and everyone influences each other (that’s what makes a relationship, right?) – so there’s no space for anyone to just be a utility. The audience doesn’t need a spokesperson – they want to relate and see things unfold.
In improv that resembles life you can be reasonable — but not exclusively so. You can highlight consequences — but you’re not the living embodiment of consequence. You can ground the scene — without being a fixed anchor. You don’t get to be just one thing.
You can be a rounded character with wants, needs, fears, contradictions. You can shift status. You can change your mind.
The audience needs emotional coherence which is why ‘weird vs reasonable’ plays out so often, but it can be a great surprise when the grounded character reveals a flaw, or hidden agenda of their own.
“That’s Crazy… But Alright.”
Instead of getting stuck as the reasonable one who always says no to things, you can say, “That’s crazy… but alright…” and go long for the ride.
I like to think that no-one just arrives from central casting. Any two characters that exist in the same world have a connection – so they might do some crazy things together.
If you’re the more grounded character then you can say “That’s crazy, but alright…” and do the thing while keeping your eyes open. You can still name the stakes. You can still clarify consequences. You can be reluctant or hesitant. But you can’t use rationality to stop the progress of the scene.
If the crazy offer is to build a rollercoaster in the back garden we might expect some to-and-fro about the risks and consequences – that’s totally realistic. But we want to see the rollercoaster built, and we want to see both characters light up at the thrill – before they crash spectacularly into Mrs Milligrew’s conservatory and ruin her prize-winning tomatoes.
Grounding doesn’t have to halt momentum. It can sharpen it and raise the emotional stakes.
We sometimes talk about ‘resting the game’ and I think it’s in these moments when we need to let our humanity come through. We can rest the game by switching to a different topic, but the biggest risk and the best way to refuel a scene is with emotional vulnerability and we can look like saying “Go on then”, “OK if…” or “That’s crazy, but alright…”
Discovery over structure
So when we stumble on a predictable recipe for success like ‘weird vs reasonable’ I think we need to be on guard – lest we stop actually improvising very much at all. In improv the process is more important than the outcome, and the final goal is to enjoy the thrill of saying yes to discovery, encounter and emergence.
There’s no need to rule out “voice of reason” as a mode of dialogue, we can simply widen the lens and say:
“No one gets to be only one thing.”
Or
“Every character has a point of view and does stuff.”
Then all of our characters can answer questions like:
- What do I want?
- What do I believe?
- What do I fear?
- What line won’t I cross?
- What am I protecting?
- What will I risk?
If we’re playing for relationship (which we always do at Here & Now), then we might also ask:
What do I need to stay in connection?
Now the dynamic becomes elastic. Status and power can shift. Either character can name stakes, respond with a contrasting point of view, anchor the moment AND make mistakes, reveal more and escalate what happens next.
I picked up the phrase “That’s crazy, but alright…” from Ed Fagher who learned it from Billy Merritt.