In HxH, Ren is a technique for generating lots of Nen very quickly.
In improv, Ren is when you make stuff up. Itâs the âandâ in âYes, andâ.
You and your scene partner step out on stage to do an organic scene. You engage Ten. Your aura is flowing smoothly around you. Youâre in a state of profound receptivenessâ if anything happens on this stage, youâll know it and affirm it.
Suddenly, your scene partnerâs aura flares!
âThanks for coming into my office.â
Their aura leaps from their body, manifesting a wide desk between you, made out of pure attention. They glow brighter as their aura creases their brow in concern. The aura leaps towards you as they make eye contact! Their aura impacts you, and in your state of Ten, you receive it. You allow it to crease your brow as wellâ the situation in this office is undoubtedly concerning!
You place your fingertips on the desk. In your state of Ten, the aura, the Yen, the attention of which the desk is composed, smooths and steadies. Its dimensions become more clear. You both know the desk is there, the audience knows it too, and they know you know.
Now, your aura flares!
âI assume youâve brought me in because Iâm dressed like a cowboy.â
Improvisers have a hundred ways to explain the follow constraint:
For your scene to be funny, it has to be about something.
Some versions Iâve heard:
Build the playground, then play in it.
Gather firewood, then light the fire.
Expand, then contract.
Establish a platform, then look for the first unusual thing
Ren is yet another entry in this catalogue of metaphors. It is building the playground, gathering the firewood, expanding the world, establishing the platform. The fine distinction I seek to contribute with Ren is, it is not merely something you do, it is a state you inhabit.
I have noticed in my improv, sometimes I feel like Iâm on fire. I feel activated and lucid; every offer I receive I instinctively meet with feeling and specificity, drawing on my memories, beliefs, and interests to fill out the scene with new-but-related ideas. This is a state of Ren!
Other times, doing a scene feels like Iâm pulling out my own teeth. My scene partner makes an offer. I support it. They make another. I support it. The scene doesnât build momentum, and Iâm confused as to why, since I was doing such a good job of staying out of the way. I am keeping up my Ten, I am saying yes, but I am not engaging Ren, and my scene partner is stuck âandââing themselves.
Ten without Ren is devious. You can look supportive while making your scene partner do all the work. I have found this trap easier to fall into as Iâve gotten more experienced. The more common mistake, among new improvisers, is to use Ren without Ten. Everybody in the scene makes offer after offer, but nobody is listening. All of those offers go flying off into the aether, wasted. I, however, in my infinite wisdom, will stop making offers altogether, opting instead to perfectly support every offer that comes my way. If the scene is bad, itâs not my fault! None of it was my idea, anyway.
Ten without Ren is giving up. Itâs a defense mechanism. Itâs lazy. I fall into it most when I feel like my scene partner isnât listening. Instead of pressing on and trying to connect with them, Iâll just start affirming without bringing my own ideas into the scene. I also slip into it when Iâm tired, or sad, or nervous. In this state, my memory feels cloudy, I judge all of my ideas, and thereâs nothing in the scene that I want to do. All the while, I can look like Iâm doing good improv, because Iâm listening and supporting.
This is simply not enough. You have to bring yourself to the scene. You are not a reflection of your scene partner, your whole self is there too.
In Hunter X Hunter, Wing explains that using Nen is like burning your soul. And so, while you have the stage, burn your soul.
On a bad day, you may not catch fire easily, but while you have the stage, it is your obligation to try. On a good day, the fire is self sustaining. You feel warm; hot. There are too many things to say, too many things to do, the scene doesnât have room for them all. Youâre spoiled for choiceâ which of the many inspirations dancing in your head do you want to manifest into the show? Which deep memory unearthed by your scene partnerâs choice do you want to use to inform your emotions and details? When Ren is easy, itâs beautiful. But even when itâs not, itâs necessary.
If youâre having trouble with the âandâ part of âyes, andâ, here are a few tricks that have helped me at one point or another:
Donât create. Remember. When the suggestion, or something that comes up in a scene, reminds you of anything that actually happened to you, use as much of it as possible. How you remember feeling. Details about the people and places from the memory. Bring them into the scene!
History, Philosophy, Metaphor. When something new about your character is introduced, expand upon it by either describing what happened in your characterâs past that made them that way, their personal philosophy that would make them say something like that, or just a silly metaphor explaining the same thing in a new, detailed way. This is also a great exercise to do with a coach, who can prompt the improvisers onstage by saying âHistory!â or âPhilosophy!â to cue whoever said the last line to expand on whatever they just said.1
âYouâ and âIâ statements. If youâre ever stuck in a scene, just say the word âyouâ or âIâ. Now youâve started a sentence, and youâre gonna finish it because thatâs how sentences work, and itâs gonna be connected to your characters because thatâs what âyouâ and âIâ mean. I mean it. Just say âyouâ or âIâ. The rest will follow.
The true key to Ren lies in Ten. Remember, listen like you. If youâre listening to honor your scene partnerâs (and your own!) words, then some part of whatever was just said will shine to you, and all youâll have to do is follow it.
[1]: Oh, but when doing âhistoryâ, donât say âMy parents were killed by Xâ. Thatâs a shallow well.