Blocking

Blocking: When we steal the show from ourselves

Blocking — or just "blocking" — is honestly the classic improv mistake we all make on stage. The idea is dead simple: your scene partner offers you something, and you turn it down, ignore it, or talk it down. The energy drains right out of the scene, and we all stand around looking a bit silly because the common ground is gone.

Why do we do it? Most of the time it's an unconscious reflex. We get a quick jolt of panic because we don't know where the journey is heading, and we want to keep control. When we block, we're basically building ourselves a little safe room so nothing can happen that we didn't see coming. But we know how it goes — without the risk of not knowing what's next, the stage usually turns flat pretty quickly.

A small example from the floor:

A: "Look, I got us tickets to the opera!"

B: "I'm your tax accountant, and we're in a meeting. Also, I hate music."

Oof. That doesn't just kill the offer — it kills the whole mood with it.

Blocking is the exact opposite of the "Yes, and" principle we keep drilling. Without first signing off blindly on the other player's offers, we can't build a world that feels real to the audience.

How to spot a block

Blocks come in many shapes — some obvious, some sneaky:

• Fact block: Your partner says, "We've finally landed on Mars!" and you say, "Nonsense, we're standing in line at the bakery." — Scene deleted.
• Emotional block: Someone makes themselves emotionally vulnerable and you reply, "Don't get worked up — where are my socks?" That cuts off any depth in the relationship.
• Physical block: Your partner is dragging a heavy crate across the stage and you walk straight through it. The physical reality of the scene is toast.
• The logic trap (rationalising): My personal favourite. Your partner brings something magical or weird, and you immediately explain it away with logic so you can stand on safe ground again. A: "The flower is singing!" — B: "Nah, that's just the wind in the leaves." Bam — magic gone, boredom in.
• Stalling: "Let's talk about that later." — and the offer just starves.
• Buck-passing: Staying passive and dumping the whole scene-building on your partner ("What do you think?", "You tell me!"). You're refusing to take any initiative.
• Empty rambling: Talking a lot without making a decision or moving the action forward. It's verbal walking-on-the-spot — just buying time.

Why does this happen to us?

Most of the time there's no bad intent behind it, just:

1. The pre-rolled movie in your head: You've already mapped the whole scene out and you want to push your version through, no matter what your partner offers.
2. Fear of losing control: Accepting means committing to something whose ending you don't know yet.
3. Protection against vulnerability: We often block when a role hits too close to home. We crack a joke or get ironic instead of leaning into the real emotion.
4. The urge to be "clever": We're trying so hard to be original that we miss the simple, generous offer right in front of us.

Going pro: how to spice it up

Once the simple "yes" is solid, you can add some seasoning:

• The emotional escalation (over-acceptance): Take something tiny and blow it up into a huge deal. If someone says, "Your shoelace is undone," don't reply "Oh, thanks." Try: "Not this too! That's the end — first the firing, and now even my shoe is abandoning me!" Make a mountain out of a molehill — it gives the scene instant drive.
• Roll a stone into the path (encumbered acceptance): Say a full "yes" to the idea, then drop in an obstacle. A: "Let's jump out of the plane together!" — B: "Absolutely! But I have to tell you — I've forgotten how to open a parachute." You take the offer, but make it harder for the character. Perfect for conflict.

How we shake the blocking habit

Here are a few things we run during warm-up:

• Unconditional yes-and: The classic, to wire your brain for "accept".
• Last word response: Start your sentence with the last word your partner said. Forces you to listen.
• Radical agreement: A scene where one player has to say "Yes, awesome!" to absolutely everything. Great for parking your own agenda completely.
• The correction game: When I, as your coach, call "stop" the moment a block happens, we rewind a few seconds and you try again with a clean "yes".
• Drawing together: Take a sheet of paper, and each of us adds one stroke at a time. You feel it right away — am I trying to dominate the picture, or am I afraid to contribute at all?

In the end it's pretty simple: a block slows us down, a "yes" carries us forward. Just dare to give up control once in a while — usually nothing bad happens, except that the scene gets better.