I love ping-pong. I’ve practiced it on and off for almost 40 years now, and two years ago I joined a proper ‘table tennis club’ in Paris and even signed up for local tournaments. It’s fun and frustrating, it’s made me think a lot about performance, competition, what the nature of a game is, and… improv of course.

What do you mean, “of course”, Julien?

Parallel & Divergence

I’ve always felt there were many parallels between ping-pong and improv. I think that’s because I’ve always enjoyed ‘twoprov’ (two-person improv shows) more than anything else. To me, this is improv at its purest, simplest, most challenging and most enjoyable level. It’s the basic level of ‘yes, and’ and the most creative format. It’s Laurel and Hardy, Bert and Ernie, Abbott and Costello, Key and Peele, etc. (For French readers, you’ll remember Eric et Ramzy, Bourvil et de Funès, Pierre Dac et Francis Blanche, Chevallier et Laspalès, Omar et Fred, Kad Merad et Dany Boon, etc.)

Ping-pong is a two-person game (I know, I love doubles, too, but that’s a rarer format and the core principles are the same). It’s a game in which you have to adapt to your ‘partner’ (I’m not saying ‘opponent’ for a reason) — you must complement each other. If one strikes the ball hard, it’s really hard to do the same, otherwise the ball goes off the small table. I believe this echoes the dynamics between two performers through the ‘listening and taking risks’ mechanism. A more ‘defensive’ player will ‘listen‘ and analyse their partner to respond in the best possible way. A more ‘attacking’ player will take risks. Obviously, we want to be able to switch from one attitude to the other, but I believe we each have our own go-to characters and patterns. I tend to be the more ‘defensive’ one onstage, although like to take more risks on the table (which my coach berates me for, and demands more ‘precision’ than strength).

Another big parallel I’d like to draw is about patience and timing. They are key elements of a powerful improv scene, be it dramatic or absurd. One of the most common mistakes in ping-pong is to make contact with the ball a little too early. We’re talking tenths of a second here but this detail is paramount. Why do we make this mistake? I believe because we have a mental representation of ping-pong being a fast game, a knee-jerk reaction kind of game. Granted, you cannot be too slow. But there is something to be said about speed (strategy) and precipitation (accident). Audience members are often awed by how fast performers bounce back from each other. Apart from hours and hours of practice, they know they have a little more time than we all think. A relaxing, discreet breath onstage, even if it may feel like an eternity to the performer, will appear as a perfect, welcome ‘rest’ from the audience’s perspective. It will make the flow of conversation more natural, easier to process. It will allow the performer to act/speak in a more thoughtful and specific way. In both ping-pong and improv, being patient and taking your time can make you more powerful.

The game paradox

Reflecting on these ideas made me question the very nature of ‘game’. What is it? How does it work? That’s a very philosophical endeavour that I may not master. I will try my best.

A game is a human activity disconnected from any personal gain other than ‘pleasure’ or ‘entertainment’. A game usually has a name and rules. For kids, it may help learn some skills. For adults, it may reinforce social skills, social rules, implicit or explicit. It may just act as ‘social glue’ or ‘social oil’ so that we don’t all just kill each other like stupid beasts.

Games, according to Brougère (2005), must include:

• the recognition of participants that it is indeed a game, not ‘real life’;

• that participants are ‘free’ to enter/leave the game (one of the contentious points in Squid Game);

• that there are rules, whether implicit or explicit, even if they may change over time;

• that there is an element of uncertainty; and,

• Other authors also point out that participants must be able to win or lose at different times, and influence the game in a meaningful way.

Obviously, all these easily apply to both ping-pong and improv. The stage and the ping-pong table are proofs they are games. We assume everyone is free to perform or engage in ping-pong. Improv (and stage performance) “rules” are more implicit than the ones in table tennis (at least to the audience), although in ping-pong there might be implicit, local, personal and fairplay rules pertinent to a specific game, time, and situation (in Paris, usually, we play the old 21-point games in parks vs. the more modern 11-point games in the club). Uncertainty is the DNA of improv, and ping-pong, like any two-person sports, certainly has a lot. The last point is also very obvious, although one might fight the concept of ‘winning’ and ‘losing’ in improv. Let’s clarify this.

Actors in improv do not ‘win’ or ‘lose’, characters might. Actors all ‘win’ if the scene is successful, if the audience cheers. This is pertinent in improvised ‘conflict scenes’. In ping-pong, or any sport, I may try and make a difference between “today I win/lose this game” (like a character), but this does not define me as a player in the long run (like an actor).

We’re reaching the limit of this metaphor. A ping-pong game, beyond a friendly rally, ends with a mistake. The ball is out — end of rally. First one to reach the maximum number of points, effectively wins and is declared ‘the winner’. End of game. This may happen in Theatresport® (since the 70s) in which improv uses the format of a competition for dramatic effect.

In improv, a mistake opens possibilities, if dealt with intelligently:

• Do not point out the mistake as such;

• Accept the mistake as new truth and explore; and,

• Repeat it to make it look intentional and justifiable.

In ping-pong, a mistake is damning. You do not want to repeat it. You need to acknowledge it as such to stop the rally (and give a point). It does not become a new rule.

So, what is the paradox of game? In ping-pong, to enjoy the game, you need to freely engage into the activity together according to a set of rules; however, it all ends with a mistake, and the game stops. In other words, there is a built-in finality to the game that stops the very activity that you willingly started together. The paradox is, you accept you’ll stop the game by the very act of starting it.

Theoretically (ideally?), in entertainment, you could go on and on. One could improvise for ever (after all, we all do, in every day life, until we die). Rules, time, and physical exhaustion, will prevent that from happening. Improv is complex, and I’ve never felt like I wanted it or expected it to end as soon as it started. I always joke to students that if possible, I could improvise for hours on end if people '(and my body) just let me.

Caveats — a scene ‘game,’ as defined by UCB, will quickly run its course; an improv scene usually ‘ends’ with laughter, a transformation of some sort, suspense (then you start another scene); a short-form game is closer to ping-pong as it usually has a built-in finality (more often than not it’s just… time); a whole show has a format and a time slot. But the very nature of improv (the unscripted part, that is) blurs the idea of beginning and end in the pure artistic sense.

I guess entertainment is only valued because we know it’s going to end.

Anyway — I’m delving into deep philosophical waters away from the specificity of ping-pong. And I’m sure I could replace ping-pong with tennis, badminton, squash, etc., and even chess to some extent.

By now, you’ll understand my love of metaphors and parallels.

So what does this all teach us?

Improv is like a sport. You can’t rehearse it, yet you must practice it. You need to be mentally and physically healthy. You need to work as a team most of the time.

Like ping-pong, you need to be precise, specific, and take your time.

Like ping-pong, you quickly have to accept to lose but it will not define who you are.

Like ping-pong, it is, at its core, a two-person relationship in which participants complement each other.

Like ping-pong, it may have a built-in ending device, which makes it paradoxical.

Like ping-pong, it is fun, and more interesting to me if the ‘rally’ goes on and we can play well together. I’ve had beautiful losses (so much fun, so much appreciation of my partner’s skills) and horrible ones (there was no camaraderie, no matching skills of any sort).

Find your partner(s) so that the fun game(s) can last the perfect amount of time. Don’t keep playing with people you do not match with. Competition is overrated: it might make you focus on results when improv is about process. And it does not define who you are.

Have a great week!

Julien.

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PLUGS -

Come see my improv shows in Paris (in French):

Digressions — duo d’impro

Impro Columbo

Come see the augmented version of this show at the Nancy Improv Festival.

My two workshops at the Nancy Improv Festival are full (Eco-friendly Improv / Commedia dell’arte & Improv) but you can join the waiting list.

I am also a fully bilingual corporate trainer in several fields: public speaking, team-building, conflict/crisis management, workplace discrimination and harassment, etc. Ask me!

I co-lead two other workshops in French late June/early July with Arnaud Pierre (How to play stupid / Commedia) in Paris.

I will also debut my one-man-scripted-show (about my 15 years in China) on June 3rd, more info here.