There is finally proof for what many Connecticut College students have always suspected: improv is a lie.
Last Monday morning, two students in General Chemistry 104 who arrived early for their class in Olin 014 discovered a script beneath the first row of chairs, the cover of which bore the headline “Super Secret Scuds Show Script”. An examination of the script revealed it to be a verbatim copy of everything that was said in the most recent Scuds show, right down to the breaks in character and pauses for laughter.
It is assumed that the script was left behind by a reckless Scud in his or her haste to get to the show’s after party.
Despite the now infamous improv group’s ardent cries that this found document was a transcript rather than a premeditated script (which they say they planned to sell as a limited edition piece of Scuds memorabilia), every student in attendance of their show confirmed that there was no stenographer present. The Scuds are clearly grasping at straws.
As such, the only logical assumption to be made is that the Scuds create meticulous scripts for each show, which they then memorize flawlessly and perform to students under the guise of “improvisation.” It’s probably also fair to assume they have always done this, and that they have been pulling the wool over camels’ eyes since they were founded in 1992.
A further examination of the script revealed the devious system of audience “plants” the Scuds employ at every show to ensure that when they ask for a word from the audience, the predetermined word that the script was built around is yelled out by someone planted in the crowd by the Scuds disguised as an authentic fan of the group. As a result, excited genuine fans could scream “pineapple” or “underwater” until their voices gave out, but their efforts would be in vain because the seemingly innocent improv group in front of them had made their word choice weeks ago in the writer’s room.
The script even included directions for the plants to make them seem like harmless audience members: “Before yelling out the agreed upon word, yell out ‘penis,’ partially because that’s always hilarious, but also because when you then yell out the actual word, it will seem like a spontaneous generation of thought to the audience members around you.”
The script is also littered with stage directions for the Scuds themselves, each one carefully constructed to trick the audience into thinking everything was being made up on the spot. Some examples include, “When you enter a scene, pretend like you don’t know what to say at first, and look like a deer in headlights to really drive home to the audience the idea that we are making this stuff up,” and, “In the scene where you’re screaming at your husband Bob for forgetting to pick up the guacamole, ‘accidentally’ call him ‘boob’ in a fit of rage and then crack a smile when you realize your ‘mistake’—the audience will eat up your Freudian slip and they love it when improvisers ‘mess up’.”
In the wake of what many are now calling Script-Gate, countless students have come forward to disparage the improv troupe. Nico Fertita ’17 said, “I always knew something was off about them.” Crystal Mall-Lowes ’16 said, “Their shows totally felt scripted.” Even JT Tornado ’15 said, “Told ya so,” insinuating that he knew about the Scuds’ complicated network of scripts all along.
The discovery is considered a big victory for that guy who challenges how improv isn’t really improv at all because it exists within the structure of established games, and argues that real improv should be able to be performed immediately and flawlessly whenever he locates someone he knows to be in an improv troupe and says, “You, do improv for me.” You all know that guy.
Although the Scuds are now trying to rebrand themselves as a sketch comedy group, it’s safe to say they can never show their script-writing faces around campus again.
