Some Stuff About Formats
On mastering the Waterfall, the PDQ Brown, and the Inverted Double Blind Decon with an Extended Clown Interlude (a Christmas classic)
Deep down in my reptile brain, there is a part of me that abhors formats. The very nature of improv, the very soul of it, is rejection of structure and rigidity. If you’re going to force us into a box, you might as well write a script! But a more well-tempered improviser can see that first we must learn the rules in order to bend or break them.
I’ve been seeing some trends lately that irk me, trends being pushed even by more veteran players; lately I’ve been seeing formats that don’t do much of anything. And this dovetails into another observation I’ve made in my travels, where I’ve been second-guessing the value of my own unsolicited advice. Lately I’ve been couching all criticisms in the phrase, “it’s good but it could be better.” This is not even really a problem. As the old adage goes, no one goes to an improv show hoping to see teams nail the structure.
The other day I went to watch a group perform. Their flyer advertised a certain kind of narrative format where certain beats would be hit. They even promised at the beginning of the show to hit such-and-such beats. I’m being as vague as possible because I’m fairly certain at least one of them subscribes to my Substack. The show was still very funny and the performances were still very good. But did they hit the beats around which their entire show was based? Dear reader, you will be shocked to hear that they did not!
Did I talk to any of the performers or the director? No I did not. Am I going to leave a scathing Yelp review or even publicly name the show I went to see? Also no. And here’s why: because it’s already good but it could be better. If the performers had done what they advertised, the show would have been much better off for it. Maybe one I would be naming publicly right now and tell everyone and their dog to go see it ASAP. But as it stands, they did some perfectly serviceable improv and I did not feel cheated out of my money.
This leads me to believe that there is something special about their show, though. They skipped a chunk of their format and the show diminished slightly. Compare that to so many shows I’ve seen where the groups timidly waltz across the stage, running into each other haphazardly. What the hell was that supposed to be? It’s a cross between Close Quarters and Del Close’s Impressionistic Horror. Well it looked like you were doing a simple montage and then forgot what step you were on, something that should be impossible. This is something I’ve written about before but I’m going to keep hammering it home: your format should serve the show and the show should provide some sort of value to the audience. Why are they watching you now instead of waiting for Ben Schwartz to swing through town?
In my workshop there’s an oft-overlooked second half which even I haven’t fully explored yet: addressing the wants and needs of everyone in the theater. The perfect improv show has to provide value for three discrete groups who have all entered into the social contract together. The show has to be personally fulfilling on a creative level for the performers. It has to be fun to do. The show has to lend legitimacy to the venue, in terms of quality, in terms of professionalism, and from an economic angle. It has to sell tickets and ensure future ticket sales, and get Butts in Seats. And to do that, it has to provide value for the audience. And that’s the easiest and most on-the-nose value proposition to fulfill: just be funny/entertaining/interesting/impressive.
I think where performers get tripped up, both new and old, is that their idea of “interesting/impressive” is skewed. We know how much work goes into pulling off even just a harold. We know how much more work goes into making it look effortless. I think we have visions in our heads of 90s sitcoms whose subplots naturally interweave to reach a satisfying conclusion. Or maybe some sort of comedic Game of Thrones episode with 30 main characters who each get their day in the sun. But that’s not what the audience sees, and not necessarily what the audience came to see. The audience wants SNL and will be completely blown away by anything more ambitious than that. This is why callbacks are the backbone of good improv. The easiest and somehow also the most satisfying laugh is the simple laugh of recognition of a thing that came before it. We discover that the parts fit together! Everything is connected! Haha! Wow!
So here’s the pile I’ve thrown on the floor thus far: format is important, to a certain extent. You should make a promise to your audience, and you should deliver on that promise. But you should also make sure the promise means something to the audience. But also, you should make sure you’re serving yourself, and the theater, as well. You can sift through this pile and find the stuff that works for you, or discount it entirely. But this is where I’m at right now with my show. I’m doing the show that I want to do, but also making everyone else walks away happy.