Ms. Plunkett envisioned the hybrid, a reincarnation of a reboot of a Chicago show called “Under the Influence,” as a way for the two genres and the communities that produce them interact, for the longform and the poems to “look at each other.”
In the context of a theater performance, the poetry readings function as dramatic monologues. Narrative content and character elements are treated more heavily and in more obvious ways by improvisational reinterpretation.
Ms. Bain’s poem interacts with Marino’s semi-regular troupe of improvisors like crystal seeds in solution, the players form narrative stalks that branch out and, on a good night, trace their way back to the point of inspiration. Improviser Beth Newell introduces us to a Glinda more befitting of the longform genre, one who is shopping a detective screenplay around Oz. Glinda struggles to explain to the munchkins such basic concepts as swimming pools and subtext. “A cop is someone who imposes order on other people who don’t want it,” explains the improv Glinda. “So,” replies the munchkin producer, “It’s a wizard!”
Mr. Marino insists that this conversion of poetic content into an improv context must never mock the poet. He describes watching each poet in the audience after they read, unable to relax until the poet is laughing along.
The September 22nd performance of “Kiss*Punch*Poem” featured storylines dramatizing the relationship between creators and their texts. Glinda crumbles and asks for script doctoring from her sister the Wicked Witch of the West, a novelist’s wife banishes him to a netherworld where incomplete texts are banished. Marino plays a misshapen, suffering beast of an eighth grade poem, left unfinished because his creator found a new boyfriend.
Plunkett also explains her desire for this improv-poetry cross pollination to free each genre from its tonal constraints, “I wanted the poetry to be free to be funny and the improv to be serious.” The final poem, performed on September 22nd by Thomas Fucalora, mirrored the opening exquisite corpse in its joyful, nonlinear obscenity, “Nipples are the crystal balls of finding the right lover.” It is appropriate that the poets have the closing word; their product will by nature be the last one standing.