Serendipity

One popular view sees improv as a way of solving problems. Photographers often speak of improvising a light reflector from white foamcore or a foil-covered cookie sheet when they can’t afford or locate a pro version. You’ve no doubt improvised dinner when some stock ingredient is missing. Or fabricated a shelter from cardboard boxes for kids to pretend they are camping out in the backyard.

But in this craft of digital storytelling I have experienced another way of defining my topic: improvisation as serendipity. Making documentary videos and a website to hold them can be described as a step-by-step process. But like anything else, the more variables you introduce, the more questions you raise.

Unpredictability. Uncertainty. Delays. Mistakes. The messiness that comes with producing a documentary project like The Improvisers is a source of frustration but also one of its pleasures. Little goes according to plan, it seems, when (usually) single-handedly scouting story leads, approaching potential narrators, arranging access, then lighting, micing, shooting, editing, tweaking, polishing. It can feel like an endless string of unplanned moments. And yet even after the swallowing hard, finger-crossing, second-guessing—and yes, re-doing of some parts—the complexity of the process makes it all worthwhile. We study and we prepare, and still we realize that we are often up against unknown forces—forces that can have a profound effect on the final product. I think ultimately the reason some steps feel out of my control is because non-fiction filmmaking involves other people. If I were sitting alone in front of my webcam telling stories, not much is likely to go wrong. But this is a conversation, and it has to be a conversation. Improv always involves a dialogue.

How does this lead to serendipity? So far it sounds as if more headaches occurred than successes. Not so! I learned in all of my conversations/dialogues—both off and on camera—that the best improvisers know their stuff. They have a deep knowledge of their area, and then when it is time to perform, they let go of the thoughts on technique or facts and free themselves up to, well, to improvise. This holds true for any performative act—music, theater, painting, dancing, gardening, unicycling, piloting, talking. And yes, shooting video. I like to think of improvving as somewhere between composition and performance, planned and unplanned, borrowing from both. The more you think about these performances in the act of doing them, the less spontaneous you will be. This was proven to me later when I reflected on my footage and some of my favorite shots—light-emitting hula hoopers and basketballers in the Dominican Republic—are events I stumbled upon.

When I visited Missouri to interview Prof. Sawyer at Washington University in St. Louis, my discussions with him lead to a chat with a video producer working at the education department who received an email as I sat with him. The message was a request for a shooter at an arts event the next night! Well I was expecting opportunities for additional footage to present themselves, and that meeting evolved into a fabulous concert shoot in a cool section of the city, with improvising in the arts context happening in several places all at once. It also yielded new friends, young artists I immediately admired, dancer/journalist Malena Amusa and painter Kennedy Yanko. It was reinforced for me that obtaining the materials I needed and building relationships can come from being open to what comes.