stranger than fiction: producer John Herman reports back from Japan on improv comedy in translation

At Logan airport, we pondered the nature of comedy. Is comedy universal across different cultures? Will our audience laugh? The guidebooks gave us nothing. We were performing two nights of comedy in Tokyo to an audience that very likely spoke no English. The five of us were selected to represent ImprovBoston, but it was soon apparent that we were more than theater ambassadors. Over the course of 10 days, we represented our country, our art form and, perhaps, even our mothers.

I am an improv comedian. I make things up. I liken it to comedy jazz. Unless one sees a live show, then the closest a casual reader may come to understanding what I do is the television program “Whose Line Is It Anyway?” That’s basically it, except the true magic of improv comedy is the audience-comedian relationship. In many ways, performing in
Japan challenged us to our core as comedians.

Without the clear connection of a common language, we flew into a comedic unknown where laughter was our only guide. Improv comedy can be like surfing. Comedians ride the laugh wave, adjusting position based on audience reaction. We were performing for Japanese urbanites, several blocks from the busiest train station in the world. The entire population of New Hampshire would need to enter Shinjuku Station twice to match the number of people that already use the station on a daily basis. The size of the Tokyo wave was immeasurable. It was impossible to judge its direction.

A wonderful feature of Japanese culture settled our initial fears. The Japanese are overwhelmingly kind to strangers. People were so nice that I began to reflect on what was wrong with Western cities. I’m familiar with Boston, New York and Seattle. I’ve visited London, Paris and Madrid. Frankly, people can be jerks in the city. But Tokyo is an exception. My mother taught me to be nice, but their mothers really meant it. People repeatedly went out of their way to help us at every turn. Whole restaurants taught us to use chopsticks. Station agents let us go through the turnstiles for free if we didn’t understand the pricing. For an improv comedian who relies on trust in his fellow performers to make it through a performance, the city of Tokyo was an instant dream.

To prepare for our performances, we took in the sights and sounds of the city. We somehow got involved in a culture parade in front of the Sensō-ji Temple. We rode bicycles around the Imperial Palace. And we ate incredible quantities of raw fish. One of the Boston comedians, Misch Whitaker, made the observation that we were living like children in Tokyo. In the travel blog she kept during the trip, she noted that no one expected us to know all the rules or to get them right all the time. We did not have to read signs or understand what retailers yelled to us from atop wooden boxes in the street. We tried to speak the language and were rewarded with smiles and nods, but no one insisted that we explain ourselves beyond one or two words. We looked at things we did not understand and appreciated them without understanding. We smiled at people just because they were other people.
By the time we performed, we were so filled with a sincere love for the place that our worries were all but gone. We stepped onto the Shinjuku’s Puk Theater stage with energy and confidence. And the Japanese audience laughed. With that said, it was hard to discern whether the audience was laughing with us or at us. American audiences are encouraged to be interactive. They shout, hoot, and holler throughout the show. We always know how they feel. Our translator told us not to expect the same interaction from the Japanese, and they were indeed polite. When asked for a room in the house in which to start a scene, American audiences will shout out “Kitchen! Living room! Bathroom!” When asked for their favorite American food, the Japanese audience politely awaited translation. After a few moments of quiet chatter, a single Japanese man spoke up. “Hot dog,” he said. Several others nodded in polite agreement.

One of our first scenes involved an American duck traveling to Japan, only to be served duck in a Japanese restaurant. Other scenes involved a dress with incredible powers and a man who deals with forgetting his wife’s birthday by singing her songs. The audience loved it, I think. Maybe?

In addition to our performances, we taught two three-hour workshops to Japanese comedians through a translator. At one point, I instructed my Japanese counterparts on how to improvise a monologue. I asked them to choose something they were sincerely passionate about and simply talk about it. I heard stories about chewing gum, unwinding tapes and a particularly elaborate tale about a man’s love for a reindeer. Afterward, one of the workshop attendees told me timidly that we, the Boston comedians, were very inspiring. It was some of the only English I heard him say.

The night of our second performance was filled with song and dance featuring two of our hosts, Iri and Naomi. The movement, the artistry and the sheer fun of the act impressed me greatly. I stepped away knowing that I had witnessed some of the most amazing improv comedy of my career. I laughed. I gasped. I applauded. It was in Japanese, and I didn’t understand a word of it.
In the end, the sheer number of people and lights and vending machines was awe-inspiring. Tokyo was like “Bladerunner” by way of a Saturday morning cartoon. The Japanese are a wonderfully kind people, and I would jump at the chance to visit again. The trip was about much more than what can be said in words. Smiles and laughter shared between strangers can be a powerful exchange. This is a lesson I think we can all learn from, no matter the culture. I feel honored to be given the opportunity to engage in such a profound conversation in the universal language of comedy.

John Herman performs regularly with New Hamphire’s improv comedy troupe, Stranger Than Fiction. For more information on local performances, visit www.strangerthanfiction.us. For more information on John Herman, check out www.johnherman.org.