Most people I encounter in the world have either never seen improv or have only seen Whose Line is it Anyway (the Drew Carey version), probably on YouTube. If you’re reading this blog, I assume you’re familiar with it. To most non-improvisers, that is the canonical improv format—the host says, “In this next scene, these players are going to do a scene, but they have to follow this difficult rule the whole time.” The audience watches to see if they will succeed in creating a coherent scene or fail spectacularly in sticking to the rules. In either case, it’s funny. After a few minutes of this, the host switches to a new setup. This is known as short-form improv (to distinguish it from long form, which we will discuss later). It sometimes gets a bad reputation, so let’s talk about what makes it great.
Why do people dislike short form?
I think short form has fallen out of style. When I started doing improv in 2015, I saw many more troupes doing short form. Of course, I’m a little biased, since my college improv troupe did mostly short form. In addition, some improv schools focus more on short form in the early levels and long form in the later levels. All put together, many people have the impression that short form is for beginners, and once you reach a certain level, you “graduate” from it.
Another complaint I’ve heard is that short form feels “gimmicky”. Part of the appeal of short form is seeing players struggle with the constraints of the scene. However, these scenes can start to feel similar. E.g., when most of the laughs in the Alphabet Game are from players struggling to remember the alphabet rather than from funny moments within the scene.
Improv, in general, has a reputation of being corny or cringeworthy, so many of us end up with a chip on our shoulder. Whenever it comes up in conversation, we are already getting ready to defend it. We’re assuming whoever we’re talking to has the worst impression of it—and that impression is most likely a bad short-form show. We desperately want them to know improv can be more than that imaginary short form set, so we try to create as much distance as we can between that and the type of improv that we do. It helps if there’s a categorical distinction separating the two.
What makes short-form great?
I’ve written before about how comedy and high art do not mix. In other words, comedy, especially live comedy, is about being accessible. You want everyone in the room to be laughing. There’s nothing to gain by making comedy “only for the real fans.” To that end, short-form is extremely accessible. Any show with a halfway decent audience will have someone who has never seen improv before.1 Having a host/director/referee come up and explain the games is essential. It tells them what’s going on, but also sets expectations. Remember that this is not unique to improv. If you’ve ever seen a juggler or a magician (or any variety performance that isn’t a song), then you’ve heard, “What you’re about to see is the most dangerous stunt we perform…” “Now that you’ve seen me juggle these tennis balls, let’s see if I can do the same with these chainsaws…” “Pay attention to the hat. Notice that it’s empty…”
I’ve made the stage magic analogy before because it illustrates the importance of the second show. Improv audiences are aware of not only the story of the scene (the first show), but also the story of the improvisers on stage (the second show). This distinguishes the experience of watching improv from watching a play or sketch comedy. Short-form in particular highlights the second show by directly calling it out. It invites us to think of the improvisers as athletes, challenging them to do things that seem impossible for the average human and cheering when they succeed. It’s no wonder that short-form shows are often compared to sports (ComedySportz, Theatre Sports).
The decline in popularity of short-form improv makes some of its most iconic elements seem like a lost art. Short-form games often involve calling up an audience member or playing a naive game. Call them gimmicks if you like, but I still enjoy these games as an improviser, and audiences adore them. While many audience members are shy, the audience as a whole loves to be involved in the show. This interactivity is the soul of live theatre, and improv has the potential to take this further than any other form.2 Maybe you think that naive games feel too much like games for kids. Well, so are basketball and soccer, but it’s still exciting to see these played at an expert level.
When short-form excels, the “gimmicks” are only embellishments, and I always coach improvisers to push past the Valley of Competence. The “game of the scene” and the “short-form game” can be different. Many improvisers leave short-form behind in their Level 3 improv class, and therefore, they’ve never experienced the full potential of the format.
Conclusion
In Austin, there’s a short-form show called Maestro that happens every Saturday. It’s been around for so long that it usually gets a good audience turnout. It’s a rotating cast, so anyone can sign up for it, often including people visiting from other cities. I sign up as often as I can, because it’s a great way to play with folks I normally don’t get to play with. Occasionally, I’ll see an improviser there that hasn’t done short-form in a long time, and the response is always the same: “I forgot how fun short form can be.”
It feels like all the cool kids are doing long-form or narrative these days. Short-form is relegated to the side stage, performed by folks wearing high-waisted pants in black and white footage set to swing music. I’m here to tell you those things are cool again (especially the high-waisted pants). Short-form is still out there, and if you haven't done it recently, you should give it a shot.
Further Reading
In Defense of Long Form (coming soon)
In Defense of Narrative (coming soon)
At least for now. Perhaps in 10 years, improv will have spread to the point where meeting someone who’s never seen an improv show is like meeting someone who’s never seen a movie. Nevertheless, audiences today are mostly other improvisers or friends of someone performing, so if you poll the audience with “Who here has seen improv before?”, you’re going to get an extremely biased sampling.
Except maybe clown. But I haven’t taken a clown class (yet), so I don’t feel qualified to comment on it. There’s a Venn diagram between improv and clown, and many of the audience interaction short-form games are in the middle section, I think.