Asserting

Asserting: Creating the world instead of just managing it

If blocking is the handbrake of improv theatre, then asserting (often called "making statements" in English) is the gas pedal, the fuel and the compass all at once. It's the art of filling the empty stage with reality. At its core, it comes down to one central decision we make over and over, second by second: do I take responsibility for the scene, or do I dump it on my partner?

In training, we often end up in a dead end of questions. "Where are we?", "What are you doing there?", "Who are you, anyway?" That feels safe at first, because we don't have to commit. But for your partner it's heavy lifting. You force them to carry the entire creative load on their own. An assertion, on the other hand, is a gift. If you say, "Welcome to my torture chamber!", your partner immediately knows where they stand. You've defined reality and given them a stable platform to land on safely.

But "asserting" isn't always the same kind of asserting. Over the decades, different schools and philosophies have developed, each with its own take on how we put facts into the world. Let's look at how the great masters of improv understand this tool.

1. Keith Johnstone: Asserting as a power move and a gift

For Keith Johnstone, the father of theatresports, an assertion is above all an antidote to the fear of emptiness. He sees the "statement" as a kind of dare.

• The status angle: Johnstone realised that every assertion changes the power balance on stage. If you say, "Sit down, I need to talk to you!", you're asserting dominance. If you say, "Please don't hurt me, I don't have the money!", you're asserting submission. For Johnstone, a scene only comes to life once the status of the characters shifts through assertions.
• Good vs. bad asserting: Johnstone warns against "inventing". Bad asserting is when someone keeps tossing in new, unrelated facts ("It's raining", "I'm a dog", "The car is broken"). Good asserting, in his view, means making one assertion and then accepting the consequences. If you claim to be a king, you have to carry the weight of the crown for the whole scene.
• Naming the game: One of his most powerful tools is saying the obvious out loud. If your partner is hesitating, assert: "You're afraid of me." That turns the unspoken dynamic into the official truth.

2. Del Close: Truth as an ethical duty

Del Close, the architect of modern long-form improv (like the "Harold"), comes at the topic in a much more philosophical way. Where Johnstone is about control, Close is about group intelligence.

• Your partner as a genius: For Close, an assertion is an act of appreciation. If you say, "You're the most skilled surgeon in the country," you're elevating your partner. You make them look good.
• The no-question rule: Close was famous for almost completely banning questions in training. He called questions "subtle blocking". Anyone who asks is refusing responsibility. Instead, he demanded the "initial agreement": we behave as if reality already exists, without laboriously explaining it.
• Truth is funny: He didn't believe in invented punchlines. Assertions should be "emotional truths". "I feel lonely when you talk like that" is a stronger assertion than any flat joke, because it creates a real bond.

3. Viola Spolin: Asserting with the body

Viola Spolin, the mother of theatre games, takes asserting away from the head and into the body. For her, a verbal assertion without a physical counterpart is "heady" and worthless.

• Physicalisation: If you assert that it's freezing cold, saying it isn't enough. You have to assert it through your shivering body. Reality emerges from the way you handle the "space object" (the invisible item).
• Point of concentration (POC): Spolin gives players tasks demanding enough that there's no time left to think about "good" ideas. If you focus on carrying a heavy suitcase, your muscles automatically assert its weight. The brain switches off the inner censor and the truth simply happens.
• The "where": Through the physical assertion of the environment (opening doors, feeling walls), a shared space comes into being. If you walk straight through your partner's table, you've "deleted" their assertion.

4. Mick Napier and Bill Arnett: Courage to make a radical choice

Modern approaches like Mick Napier's (Annoyance Theatre) or Bill Arnett's go a step further and demand an almost aggressive form of personal responsibility.

• The big choice (Napier): Napier says: don't wait for your partner! Walk on stage with a fully formed assertion in your head before a single word has been exchanged. "I hate this wallpaper" is a choice that carries you through the whole scene. Whoever doesn't assert is just waiting. And waiting kills the flow.
• Opinion before fact (Arnett): In his "three pillars" concept, Arnett says fact-assertions ("Here is a tree") are okay, but only opinions ("I love this tree") and emotions ("This tree makes me sad") create real theatre. His advice: get the facts out of the way fast and switch immediately to asserting how you feel about things.

How to recognise good statements (and where the traps lie)

Good asserting has a rhythm. It's about giving the scene a skeleton without forcing it into a corset.

• The danger of the "information dump": Patti Stiles (a Johnstone student) warns against burying your partner. If you say, "Here's your passport, your 500 euros, the tickets to Paris and your fake beard", you're building a wall instead of a door. A good assertion leaves room for your partner to build alongside you.
• The "fact block": This is the classic mistake. Partner A says: "We've finally landed on Mars!" Partner B replies: "Nonsense, we're queuing at the bakery." Scene deleted. When we assert, we have to sign off on the others' assertions as absolute truth.
• The logic trap: We often assert something only to logically "explain it away" in the next sentence. A: "The flower is singing!" B: "Nah, it's just the wind." That kills the magic. A good assertion stands, even when it's absurd.

Why we often don't assert (and how we learn to)

The main reason for the lack of assertions is plain and simple fear. Fear of saying the "wrong" thing, fear of losing control, or the urge to come across as especially clever or original. We often block when a role hits too close to home and then escape into irony or questions.

To train the asserting muscle, we use targeted exercises:

1. Radical agreement: A scene where everything has to be met with "Yes, exactly, and on top of that…" That parks your own ego.
2. Last word response: You have to start your sentence with the last word of your partner's. That forces you to listen and stops you from running your own internal "movie".
3. Statements only: An exercise where questions are strictly forbidden. You feel right away how much faster the scene picks up speed.

Bottom line: Become the creator of your world

To sum up: asserting means stepping out of observer mode and becoming a creator. Whether you go Johnstone and clarify status, go Close and chase deep truth, or go Spolin and physically bring the space to life: in the end it's always about offering your partner and the audience a world they can believe in.

Dare to give up control by committing. A statement isn't a prison, it's the foundation you can dance on. Stop wondering what would be a good idea. Just assert anything and then figure out together with your partner why it has to be true. The stage is empty until you say what's there. So: make a choice!