Authenticity

Authenticity: The art of getting out of your own way

We talk about it all the time in training, we go after it in every scene like it's the Holy Grail, and when it's there, everyone in the room feels it instantly: authenticity. But what is it, actually? A muscle you can train? Or some kind of enlightenment that hits you mid-warm-up?

One thing up front: authenticity on stage is a paradox. We're standing there claiming to be surgeons on Mars or a family at the dinner table, and yet the audience demands that we're "real". The moment we try to "play authentic", we usually land straight in the kitsch trap or get stinkingly boring, because we're trying so hard to seem truthful.

The thing is, authenticity isn't really a goal you reach by working hard for it. It's more like what's left over when we stop putting on faces, pulling tricks, or doing the "funny improv clown" routine. It's about letting the mask drop — even when at first that feels naked and dangerous.

So that you don't just run through roles in your next set, but actually create moments that get under the skin, let's look at what the big names of the improv world have to say. Surprise: each of them has their own (and sometimes wonderfully contradictory) take.

1. Keith Johnstone: "Being average" as a superpower

Let's start with the classic. For Keith Johnstone, our biggest enemy on stage is the urge to be original or clever. We've all been there: you're standing on stage, your partner says something, and your head is spinning: "What can I say now that'll make everyone laugh? How do I come across as wonderfully witty?"

For Johnstone, that's exactly the death of authenticity. Why? Because in that moment, you're no longer in the moment. You're up in your head, filtering your impulses, trying to impress the audience. Johnstone's reply to that is dry: "Don't try to be original. Be average."

The obvious is your true self

Here's the kicker: what's "obvious" or even "boring" to you is completely unique to everyone else. If you simply say what comes to you first, without sending it through the inner censor, you reveal how you actually think. That's authentic. So in Johnstone's view, authenticity is permission to be "boring". Paradoxically, that's where the most interesting scenes come from — they feel human instead of like a manufactured punchline.

Send the censor on holiday

As kids, we were all masters of authenticity. We played, screamed, laughed, never asking ourselves: "Am I allowed to do that? Does it look stupid?" Through upbringing and the fear of being judged, we built ourselves an inner censor. On stage, we have to switch that censor off. Whoever lets themselves into the moment and gives up control reveals their real dreams and fears. Yes, that's scary — but that's exactly what the audience wants to see.

2. Del Close: "Truth is funny" — the naked truth

If Johnstone is the psychologist of improv, Del Close was its high priest. His motto was radical: "Truth is funny." He was firmly convinced we don't have to invent jokes. Life itself, in its unvarnished honesty, is absurd and comic enough.

No fear of the ugly

For Close, authenticity meant searching for the emotional reality. If you get sad news on stage, don't play "funny sad". React the way you actually would in real life. If that means the scene goes dark, painful, or even ugly for two minutes — so be it. Close hated it when players "rescued" a real emotion with a cheap gag because they couldn't sit with the discomfort in the room. Authenticity here means: the courage to leave space, and the courage to feel pain.

Play at the top of your intelligence

Another of his big points: don't dumb yourself down. Plenty of improvisers escape into goofy voices or clichés (the "stupid farmer", the "dumb blonde") to fish for laughs. That's the opposite of authenticity. Close demanded: bring all your knowledge, your opinions, your intellectual depth onto the stage. Be a complete human being, not a cartoon. When we stand on stage as "whole people", we give the audience permission to drop their façade too. For Close, that's the actual point of theatre.

3. Mick Napier: The breakout — "Do something!"

Now things get a little wilder. Mick Napier (Annoyance Theatre) has no patience for too much philosophical brooding. For him, authenticity comes from self-confidence and action. His approach is a rock-'n'-roll attack on every rule that makes us seize up.

Stand by your "first decision"

Napier says: we often come across as inauthentic because we hesitate. The audience watches us think ("Should I do this now? Is this good?"). In that moment of uncertainty we lose our presence.

His solution: make a decision immediately. Doesn't matter which one. Be furious at a stain on the wall, or claim you're an expert in quantum physics. By backing your first impulse without compromise, you come across as real. Authenticity here isn't deep digging into the soul — it's vigorously standing behind your own decision without apology.

Physical truth

A brilliant Napier trick: when you don't know who you are or how you'd authentically react — start working. Mop the floor, fix a car, cook a soup. Through the physical action, your head forgets to put on a face. Your body becomes authentic because it has a task. Your words then follow that physical reality very naturally. Anyone who's busy doesn't have time to worry about their "effect".

4. Viola Spolin: Authenticity through self-forgetting

Viola Spolin, the mother of theatre games, takes an almost technical view of the whole thing. For her, authenticity is a by-product of focus.

If you have a task that fully demands your attention (e.g. "move as if the air were jelly" or "speak only in rhymes"), your brain is so busy coping with that task that there's no capacity left to want to "look good". You disappear into the play. This self-forgetting is the highest form of authenticity. You're real because you're simply too busy to lie.

5. UCB & Patti Stiles: Logic and generosity

The Upright Citizens Brigade (UCB) comes at the topic from the analytical side. Authenticity here means emotional consistency. When we build an absurd world, we have to react "for real" inside that world. If your character is afraid of toast, you can't play that as a joke — you have to treat the fear with the seriousness of an actual phobia. The audience laughs at the absurdity, but they believe the character because you stay loyal to your own logic.

Patti Stiles, in turn, sees authenticity as a gift to your partner. If I hide behind irony or gags, I leave my partner alone in the rain. But if I react authentically and vulnerably, I give them something "real" to build on. Authenticity here is an act of generosity: "I'm showing myself to you so we can create something true together."

The two paths to realness

If you sum it up, there are two main currents:

1. The seekers (Johnstone, Close, Stiles): They say, "Dig deeper! Drop the mask, look for the truth inside, be vulnerable." Here authenticity is a discovery.
2. The doers (Napier, Spolin, UCB): They say, "Stop overthinking! Decide, do something, trust your body and the logic of the scene." Here authenticity is a brave assertion.

Which path is right for you? Depends on the day. Sometimes you need to go inside yourself and find the courage to be "naked". Sometimes you just need to start scrubbing the floor so your head stops getting in the way.

How do we actually spot when we're being inauthentic?

There are a few classic warning signs — we like to call them the "authenticity killers":

• The "gag reflex": A scene gets emotional or serious, and we fire off a joke to kill the tension. That's a defence mechanism. We block the real emotion away because it scares us.
• The "improv face": You know that exaggerated mimicry where the player wants to show everyone in the room: "Look how TOTALLY angry I am!"? That's the opposite of real. A real human being who's angry often actually tries to hide the anger — which is much more interesting to watch.
• The "safety distance" (irony): When we comment on everything ironically instead of really committing to the situation. We're standing outside ourselves saying, "It's just a game." That strips the scene of any meaning.
• Hesitation: The "uhh…" before we answer. It shows we're thumbing through the catalogue of "best possible answers" instead of listening to our gut.

How can we train this (homework for the head)

You can't force authenticity, but you can prepare the ground for it. Here are a few approaches for our sessions:

1. Embrace the "boring": Play scenes where absolutely nothing special needs to happen. Two people waiting for the bus. Talk about the weather, but mean it. Notice how the connection changes when the pressure to be "funny" disappears.
2. Physical tasks: Run scenes while doing a demanding physical task (push-ups, building an imaginary wardrobe, painting a room). Pay attention to how your voice and reactions become "more real" because the body takes the lead.
3. Status work: Try out how authenticity changes when you physically shift your status. A high status that's actually felt (not just played as arrogant) lands very differently with the audience.
4. Radical honesty: Try exercises like "what I'm really thinking right now". Tell your partner in character (or even briefly out of it) how you're feeling. "I'm scared the scene is going to fail." — Boom, the air is out, the truth is in the room, and we can get back to work.

Conclusion: dare to be yourself

In the end, authenticity on stage is the same as authenticity in real life: it's about trusting that you're good enough as you are. You don't have to be a brilliant author, a stand-up comedian, or an Oscar winner.

The audience didn't come to see a perfect show. They came to see human beings reacting truthfully in risky situations. If you dare to give up control a little and just be "there", the magic moments happen all by themselves.

So: mask off, censor on a coffee break, and onto the stage. We're looking forward to your real self!