Review by Katrina Couzens of How to Seduce Your Dragon by Improv Queensland
Having seen the tiny stage area of the Raven Hotel’s cellar, I wasn’t sure how a show about seducing dragons would fit without feeling close and cramped. Turns out I shouldn’t have worried. The olde-worlde stone pub walls set the ideal vibe for Improv Queensland’s uproariously funny, audience-driven swords-and-saucery jaunt.
Our audience on Saturday decided we wanted to see the tale of a bar wench who leaves her humdrum life to find excitement and danger in the arms of a werewolf. From that starting point, the performers neatly dropped us into a world, painting sets with words, and drawing from a minimalist set of props and costumes.
The troupe from Improv Queensland were a delight to watch. There was a clear mix of experience and comfort levels, and seeing the more experienced members support, encourage, and extend their colleagues brought me a lot of joy. Every performer had moments where they absolutely shone. There wasn’t a single dry eye in the audience by the end. We were all laughing too hard.
The biggest difficulty in creating a show like this is the unknowable, the audience. Will they be shy? Raucous? Where on the scale of werewolf to cheuksin (on the tip of my friend’s tongue) will their suggestions fall? How thirsty for sexual tension (controlled by the ring of a bell or the squeeze of a rubber chicken) will they be?
How to Seduce Your Dragon had mechanics for dealing with most of these questions (though it’s hard to fully assess from only one viewing). Mad libs style prompting and audience sound effects will draw shy audiences out of their shells. Pressing the audience for more details about their suggestions transforms even basic ideas into great comedy and throwback opportunities. (I’m not saying I wanted a romance story about a Korean toilet demon, but I’ll admit to some bitterness that in our choose-your-own-spice, we got a mythical creature romance that already features in most mainstream romantasy stories.)
One thing I’m not convinced the troupe were prepared for is how trigger happy the audience could be over sexual tension. The bell chimes were constant; the rubber chicken barely had a look-in. The result was scenes that quickly reached the ceiling of comfort for the less experienced performers and pairs with less natural chemistry, with change brought only by scene breaks. One potentially simple fix would be to reframe the chicken as not simply a reduction in sexual tension, but as a trigger for drama—miscommunication, overstepping boundaries, interruptions by other characters or events. This would give the performers a chance to reset, while providing the audience an interesting lever of narrative control.
This is a show that will get better and better as the troupe interacts with more audiences, exploring the dynamic tension between audience desire and good storytelling. And heck, it’s already great. If you love tropey romantasy, throwing out curveballs, and doing your best impression of a crackling fireplace, this show is for you.
