GET UP STAND UP

The other night Scouse Doris and I went to Standup World, the British comedy club in Brussels. The theatre was packed, mostly with Brits, which tells you something about how many of us there are here in the Big Sprout. On the bill were two acts, Jeff Green, and an act called “Priorité à Gauche”, who are a couple of French rappers. I must say the two French boys were very good value, and bravo to them for doing their patter in English, although their accents would have made Antoine de Caunes wince. They’re a bit of a specialty act, inasmuch as it helps to have a basic knowledge of French language and culture to understand such songs as “Le Pen in ze Ass”. The dear boys were delighted to be in Belgium, which they described as their second-favourite country in the Benelux region, before going on to sing a very short song about Luxembourg, their third-favourite. I wonder why young people are all so keen on the Netherlands. Can’t be the tulips.

Jeff Green was one of these bloke-next-door types who just rambles on about anything and nothing, and manages to have the audience in stitches. He did the standard greeting to an expat audience (“What are you all doing here then, tax evasion?”) but once he warmed to what is obviously his favourite subject – men and women – we were rolling in the aisles. My cheekbones ached and Doris’ mascara ran. Isn’t it funny though, as soon as you come out of a comedy show, you can’t remember a thing that was said. I vaguely remember seeing him in something on telly. Anyway, he’s very funny.

Whose Line is it Anyway? was the nearest the UK ever got to embracing improvisation theatre, or “improv”. In Belgium and a number of other European countries (as well as the US, to some extent, and Quebec, where the concept was born) the improv match www.ligueimpro.be is a popular spectator sport. The teams of players are organised into leagues, and matches attract a big following. I wouldn’t recommend it unless your French is pretty good, as the material is fast, topical and quite slangy.

The crowd is warmed up by two “animateurs”, one who does the patter, and the other who provides the incidental music on a synthesizer. Loud rock music plays as the audience take their seats. Spectators are provided with a reversible two-colour card for voting, and a slipper to throw into the ring if the performance is particularly dire (or if the referee makes a hugely unpopular decision). The 5-a-side teams are made up of jobbing actors (the sort of people who make their living doing voiceovers, dubbing films or when things are really bad dress up as chickens and hand out freebies in Super GB) or sometimes professional groups, some of which have an innate talent for improvisation, for example lawyers. They are dressed in team colours with their names on their backs.

In a small enclosed ring, or pit, in the middle of the theatre, the two teams compete in an orchestrated improvisation “match”, policed by a referee and two “linesmen” dressed in the black and white striped shirts usually worn by ice-hockey referees, who ham up the bad-guy image by scowling, slouching around, chewing gum and snarling at the audience, who boo back enthusiastically. The two teams of 5 actors run in to loud music and thunderous applause from the warmed-up audience of regular improv followers, and indulge in a parody of American-style team bonding exercises, such as high-fives and rhythmic team routines between bouts. There is even an improv anthem, which is sung with cod solemnity at the beginning of each match. The ice-hockey parody comes from Quebec, where the whole thing started.

The aim is to win points for inventiveness, throwing the other team off, picking up the “line” from another team member skilfully and seamlessly. They can be ticked off by the ref for deviation from the subject, gratuitous vulgarity (although that doesn’t stop them), and anything else the ref decides to make up. If they commit a serious fault they are sent to the sin bin for five minutes. There are about 17 categories of fault, which the referee will indicate with a particular gesture. It’s a bit like a cross between “Just a Minute” and a boxing match, with extra twists, such as sketches where the teams “tag” each other, picking up where the other team left off. At the end of each bout the spectators hold up their cards to vote for one colour or the other. Where penalties are awarded, the two team captains are called in to be ticked off by the referee. This is where most of the slippers are launched into the pit, those which make contact with the referee’s head eliciting loud cheers from the audience. It is all very tongue-in-cheek, and the more hamming it up that goes on, the better. The “rules” are a bit of a blind, since the spirit of Mornington Crescent prevails, and a team captain’s defence can sometimes be even funnier than the sketch.

Like graphic novels, a subject on which I shall pontificate on a separate occasion, impro is something almost exclusive to the francophone world. Which is a shame, because with our competitive spirit and our capacity for bullshit, I think we Brits would be pretty good at it.