I’ve found that a lot of my friends and family don’t have a full grasp on what improv is, especially not long-form improv. It’s easy to explain what short-form improv is. (“Have you ever seen Whose Line?”) It’s easy to explain what stand-up comedy is. (“Have you ever seen Seinfeld, or one of the thousands of Netflix/Comedy Central/HBO stand-up specials?”) I’m quite certain that most of my extended family thinks I do stand-up.
Although it’s starting to trickle into the public mind thanks to high-profile improvisers like Ben Schwartz, it’s not so simple to describe long-form improv. For a long time, I tried to describe is as “sort of like a play, but there are no scripts, props, sets, and costumes, so we make everything up as we go.” I guess that’s not a bad definition, but it’s still a bit limiting. It also sounds sort of derogatory to just say we’re “making it up as we go.”
These days, I most often describe improv as “a spontaneous artistic expression usually inspired by audience feedback.” I encourage my students to accept the fact that an improv show can be whatever they say it is. If someone has a great idea for a one-minute improv show, great! As long as they’re sure to set audience expectations and ticket prices correctly, they can create the best damn one-minute improv show in the world.
I’ve seen improv take all sorts of forms, from outdoor short-form sets on 100-degree asphalt to long-form drinking games with the audience, with a million half-steps in between. One of the neat things about improv is its unpredictability. When I watch an improvised show, I don’t want to feel confident that I know what’s going to happen. If I can predict what the beats are for a show, then why am I in the audience, and why are the performers on the stage? Pushing against the boundaries of what constitutes improv is a challenge we welcome wholeheartedly.
Family, if you’re reading this, improv is NOT me standing in front of a brick wall telling jokes into a microphone.
And, no, I can’t use your joke in my act.