Stay positive, don’t argue, be nice to each other. If you have ever been to an improv class, you will have heard some version of that. Justifications vary, but the stay-positive instruction is so often repeated, it is worth examining. 

And when I say ‘examining’, I don’t mean ‘tearing down’. Things that last do so for a reason. Tradition is not a reason to do something, but it is an invitation to examine it. Let’s trace this one back.

I think there are two reasons to avoid conflict in a scene. One is valid and one is complete nonsense. 

Firstly, you might avoid conflict to avoid a situation or dynamic you find uncomfortable. Maybe you had an abusive parent and therefore find negative parent/child scenes distressing. No one should be in a scene that is painful to them. See this previous post about how improv is not therapy. There is plenty of improv left. Do something else.

The second reason goes something like this: the audience came to watch something fun and light. They came for a laugh, so give it to them. Don’t fight, you’ll scare the children!

There is a problem with this: we all know arguments can be delicious (or devilish) fun. The discomfort is part of the joy. The sh*t hits the fan, the worst comes out, and two people finally say the thing they have been avoiding for years. Most important of all, it’s not happening to you. Popcorn, please! Not all drama is conflict, and not all conflict is fun. But don’t you dare tell me no conflict is ever fun. Not all dogs are puppies, but some definitely are. 

The question becomes when and how much and how. And that’s more complex. 

Here’s another very useful distinction, taken from Monty Python’s argument sketch: There is a difference between an argument and a contradiction. As Michael Palin’s character says, ‘An argument is a collective series of statements to establish a definite proposition, while a contradiction is just the automatic gainsaying of what the other person says.’ An argument coherently builds to a point, a contradiction is just saying ‘no’. (No it isn’t.)

You might find this definition fiddly to read, but I bet you can feel it in a scene. 

Contradiction is flat-out, unconsidered denial. It’s four o’clock. No, it’s two o’clock. What now? I guess we have to start again. The engine of the scene refuses to turn over and maybe we can’t quite feel why.

While we are here: conflict has a subtler sister, whose name is ‘I’ve told you before’. It looks like this:

A: Shall we have Chinese food?

B: I’ve told you before, I don’t like Chinese food.

Not a flat-out denial of reality (few things are, in the end), but a refusal to engage with the scene offered by A. It does the same job as a contradiction. I am not, says B, playing the game of a couple working out what to eat. I want to play the (easier) game of a couple who can’t communicate. I want something else! I may not know why. I want control! This is unhelpful, but understandable.

Two conflicting worldviews expressed in action makes for rich and complex character drama; blunt denial often deflates the scene*. 

We may not have the time (or desire, or skills) to build a logical conclusion from first principles, but we can detect when characters’ worldviews are not aligned and lean in. My character values order, your partner’s character values self-expression. Interesting. Let’s unpack. My character longs to be in love, your partner’s character longs for the security of a good pension. How is this going to pan out? These are ugly, incomplete sketches of scenes, but they could work. The joy of a scene is more in the ‘how’ than the ‘what’ anyway.

Because arguing takes some improv skills which are, at least, intermediate. Including, but not limited to: Listening to your partner while disagreeing with them; maintaining your point of view; agreeing on the relationship and scene that surrounds the argument. These things aren’t easy. It is always, in every circumstance, easier to just say ‘no’. Contradiction is easier than agreement, which is easier than argument. 

I suspect what our imaginary audience member don’t want to see is this: inelegant, unearned conflict. Two performers lacking the skills to cooperate or too tied to their egos and forcing an agenda. Nothing quite happens because neither player will let it. The scene, deprived of nutrients, wilts and dies. 

* Not ‘never’, it’s never ‘never’.