WEvolution
Improv is carrying dead weight and you shall know it by thy name, Harold.
I coach a team who has been knocking it out of the park. They consistently push boundaries, relentlessly support each other and foster fearlessness through boisterous laughter. I told them they should be getting an hour every week. I’d give it to them, but that’s not my model. I can’t sustain my business off of hour shows that charge for tickets. Even $15 tickets. I don’t know anyone that can despite the prevalence of such theatrics. I just don’t think the demand to watch improv shows is there. But by every metric I can conceive of, they are doing the most with improv. They have created worlds, collaborated on ideas, become closer friends, extended their creativity into other forms, and stretched the imaginations of their audiences. In my opinion, they are the new model. Unfortunately, the system is built around The Harold and we are in the midst of trying to wrestle the old model from its cold dead hands. Improv needs a new choice.
I almost didn’t post this. I started working on something new. I got cold feet. I was worried I was working off of a narrow bias that was not strong enough to support my claim. Basically I felt my argument that we were affording the Harold too much attention was undercut by all the energy I was putting into criticizing it. But then Will Hines wrote about the Sound and Movement opening as way to revitalize long form improv.
While Will’s piece is more focused on the merits of the sound & movement opening, we seemed to be sharing in our observation that the heyday for long form improv’s mainstream appeal has passed. It seems a pattern is in fact emerging. And fearing the scene would move on before I could make my move, I’ve decided to go ahead and tag in.
I am aware of how it can sour some folks to read me criticize something I was so obsessed with and achieved minor success in. Maybe it makes me seem ungrateful or hypocritical or sanctimonious. And perhaps I am. It worked for me. So how dare I? But that type of thinking perpetuates the system. It’s cushy lawn-sign liberalism. I uphold the system so long as it benefits me. I decry unfairness for the people I see as having less than me, but I still participate in it because I have benefitted from it. Which, not to totally turn everyone off, is how an oppressive system remains in place. Sorry. Any guess how I spent my weekend?
A little (3500 words) pushback is healthy. The structure is such that challenging it either makes you ungrateful or bitter, depending on which side of the audition gauntlet you find yourself on. My argument is that infallibility is a logical fallacy. The Harold structure has weakened improv. And when I say the structure I mean less the form and more everything built to support the form from the auditions, to the schools and theaters. The Harold was this successful conduit for long form improv and then systems and structures started getting built around the success of the Harold. But somewhere the dynamic flipped and the Harold was the thing being supported instead of doing the supporting.
Historically, the Harold was a form that allowed for people to learn how to improvise in a specific way. It narrowed the focus and required discipline for an art form that is unscripted and spontaneous. If improv was a stallion, the Harold was the saddle a cowboy (improviser) could use to break it. Acclimate the wildness into something malleable and productive.
People got very good at wielding the Harold. When working together, the improviser and the form could produce outstanding pieces of live entertainment. The Harold made it so improvisers could showcase their talents of acting, writing, and collaborating in a controlled environment. This was novel. People who excelled at the Harold were able to leverage their skill set into more lucrative careers.
I was on the improv sub-Reddit and someone posted “The Living Room,” a pilot presentation shot on the iO stage in The Nineties starring Tina Fey, Neil Flynn, Miles Stroth and the UCB four (Amy Poehler, Matt Walsh, Matt Besser, Ian Roberts). The premise is pretty simple. The improvisers sit around, like in a living room, and they chat like the improv opening known unsurprisingly as a “living room.” Then anytime they have an idea for a premise, they run across to the open side of the stage and do an improv scene inspired by their conversation. They do fake movie trailers, date scenes…It’s not a Harold per se, but it leans on the conventions.
The pilot never went anywhere as far as I know. The performers, however, went lots of places. They achieved varying degrees of success. Showrunners, Emmy winners, Golden Globe Winners, HBO and network series regulars. While the early adopters went on to great degrees of success, the actual field of improv has continued to struggle to be self-sustaining.
Second City was purchased by Private Equity. IO Chicago was purchased by two real estate executives. UCB was purchased by Venture Capitalists. Both Second City and iO’s west coast locations have closed. Nearly every independent improv theater in Los Angeles has run fundraisers to stay afloat. I’m not sure what other proof you need that the current model is not sustainable. Yes, those from the pilot who achieved mainstream success all did it with the financial backing of corporations and institutions. That relationship may be unavoidable. However, those individual successes led to the potential for more creativity. The improv ecosystem nurturing the Harold is growing but I don’t know if it’s evolving. So why hold to it?
I suspect it’s because we are still grasping for the mainstream success that was achieved in the nineties. The Harold form reflects TV storytelling. It has three “plots,” three “acts,” and two commercial breaks. It synthesizes the imagination into something akin to an episode of television. The Harold has done and continues to do a lot for comedy creatives. It’s just not the juggernaut it once was because equal in measure to the form itself was the innovation.
The Harold and the people who performed it thrived because it was revolutionary. It was reactionary. Comedy succeeds when it reacts, subverts and resists the mold of the time. Well now the Harold is the mold.
The Harold went from the means to the end. The lore that being on a Harold team would get you to NBC distorted people’s view and relation to the form. An obsession with operator proficiency has dampened enjoyment for anyone who might want to ride differently. The view of the Harold transformed from a saddle to the horse. This has led to a surprise deficiency and replaced it with a system of cutthroat conformity.
Another way to put it is the Harold is the bathwater, and improv is the baby. We haven’t thrown the baby out with the bathwater though. Because we haven’t changed the fucking water. We keep washing the baby in filthy suds because we are under the impression that the water is what makes the baby. But the baby makes the baby! We should be changing the water, heating it up, adding bubbles, trying a shower. Hell, turning on the sprinkler and letting the pint-sized pigpen frolic about. Anything we think might get that little tyke looking fresh.
Improv I see today is far more creative and polished than anything I saw on that pilot tape. It might be unfair to compare a single sample to the vast majority of improv today (let us not forget that the best improv happens in living room), but this was a pilot presentation featuring the top performers of the time so it was at least the best of what was happening. Today, I see more entertaining improv on any given night. I refuse to believe that the improv from thirty plus years ago was somehow more imaginative, or collaborative or better than it is today. Human learning plus increased resources leads to improvements. Broadly, comedy content has embraced this recipe. From clowning to Dropout to TikTok, comedians are expanding the genre. Improv however is holding onto a form.
The improv culture continues to confuse the Harold with the baby. Harold teams are seen as elite because of their history of launching the careers of actors, writers and comedians. So theaters teach the Harold and dedicate nights to the Harold. Other spaces not only replicated the form, they replicated the theater model from ticket sales to house team auditions. These auditions drive people to take classes, see shows, and they fuel the community discourse and focus.
The Harold is hard and the competition to be on a Harold team has only grown. In Los Angeles, fewer than 10% make it on. Since such an emphasis is put on the form and making a team, people are looking to do whatever they can to make the cut, even if that means quieting their own creative impulses in favor of proven techniques. People would rather get on a Harold team than do something original. I’ve seen it. I’m guilty of this conformity both as a player and as a teacher perpetuating it.
When I started teaching premise-based, Harold focused improv techniques, I attempted to reduce the possibility for crossed wires. I created an acronym BURL to help improvisers get on the same page. I think it was successful. When improvisers agreed on their Base reality, they had expectations that made it easier to identify an Unusual offer, which then became easier to Recognize, and then provide a Label to give the audience new expectations that could be met in surprising and inevitable ways. The trouble was humans, as is their want, started to look for ways to ensure they achieved these benchmarks even if it meant sacrificing something unique to their perspective and presence on stage. This cost has paid for improved Harolds. At least the execution of them. They are more clear and textbook. But to what end? We have capped innovation.
Lloyd teams are a good example of what I’m talking about. Lloyd teams are made up of improvisers who the theater identifies as good or having potential, but they are not at the level to put them on a Harold team. So what is the Lloyd? There is no Lloyd form. Harold teams perform the Harold, and Lloyd teams perform the Harold. Why create a new name for a subset of teams that performs the same form as the old name? To indicate that there is a skill discrepancy? Why not make a new form called The Lloyd and put people more equipped to that form on Lloyd teams? Or eliminate the unnecessary distinction and just call all teams that are doing the Harold, Harold teams. Am I crazy? Skill level, which is subjective, is the only variable for the central focus. This isn’t double-A to triple-A to MLB. I would know. I use all sorts of sports analogies and what happens on that stage ain’t fucking sports. Even when it is improvised sports, it’s not sports. If it were, I would have faked an injury to sit on the bleachers a decade ago.
The percentage of Harold performers who have gone on to receive larger career opportunities has shrunk, many of them having to wear multiple hats (and wigs!) but the number of talented improvisers performing the Harold has grown. People are better at improvising now. I would argue that’s objective. I submit that the growing gap between fewer opportunities and growing talent is due to the exclusivity of the Harold discouraging innovation. It supports conformity and competition. Two factors I don’t believe improve creative exploration. People aspire to Harold team readiness and because improv is collaborative, this leads to competition and judgment. People avoid playing with people they see as not up to snuff or insist on exclusively playing with house team alumni. People feel critically judged on stage, and this stifles creativity and vulnerability. Art for public consumption comes with opinions, that’s to be expected, but where does the opinion lie in evaluating if an initiation was done correctly? Experimentation has given way to artificial survival. The creative shortage is manufactured. We have no tariffs to pay to play. We only have the need for other humans who have points of view.
I have enjoyed the aftermath of mash-up Harolds during the holidays when too many people are out of town to schedule the regular season teams. And you know what people say? How fun it is because the shows don’t count. None of the shows should count. That’s the beauty of improv. It’s a celebration of rough drafts that go towards nothing but the entertainment and the experience. This system of examining every Harold and every attempt at Harold under a microscope generates a deep emotional and psychological toll on its participants. If this were the only way to sustain the system, I suppose I could see the argument, but a) it isn’t sustaining the system and b) there are alternatives.
I am not saying don’t do the Harold. If you like it, do it. Go see talented performers do great ones. If you want to expand your skill set, study it. But maybe try doing a bad one, and if that experience doesn’t teach you anything you can come give me a wedgie. The Harold is a square to long-form improv’s rectangle. But not all rectangles need be squares. You do not need to perform or even learn the Harold to maximize the benefits of improv. Here is a non-exhaustive list of things you can get out of long-form improv without ever doing the Harold.
Learn comedy structure
Make friends
Perform
Laugh
Make others laugh
Learn social skills like active listening, collaboration, agreement
Get comfortable on stage
Conquer fears
Develop skills of self-advocacy
Find your comedic voice
Be exposed to, and learn about different cultures, backgrounds, and interests
Confront your own biases
Learn to write sketch
Get invited to weddings
Harness and hone your voice
Develop confidence
Expand your creativity
Launch a career
Write a book and/or substack
Hang out in parking lots for no reason
Recognize your undeniable value as a human being with lived experience
And here is the list of things that you can only exclusively get from doing the Harold:
A Harold team (and this is debatable depending on your definition of “doing.”)
I have still not found a place on either list for getting fairly compensated.
Solution, or at least Silly, -Oriented
I don’t just want to criticize. Because the real reason I even started writing this was that in the last six months I have witnessed something extraordinary. As WE has given shows to every workshop from foundational to advanced and created mashups through a membership program, and held spots for independently formed teams, and continued not to charge, show nights have become electric. I can feel everyone in the audience giving over their attention and watching with enthusiasm. The team I mentioned up top has been crushing, but they have been doing so in an environment where everyone seems to be flexing. So here’s where I make my case.
Because the show is free, no one is expecting to get their money’s worth. Improv requires the giving of grace.
Because there are no auditions, people in the audience aren’t watching someone they lost their spot to. They aren’t watching with skepticism. They are open to, and rooting for, everyone up on that stage to do something that will level up the reason we are all here.
Because the audience is made up of improvisers, they want the same thing as the people on stage: to be valued and to be surprised.
Do New
The Harold caught fire not because it was the Harold, but because it was doing something new with the art form. It was exciting and revolutionary. It is now the standard. Improv benefits from being the alternative. There has to be more to improv’s potential than a single form or a celebrity guest. If there was a place that was putting up improv at a higher level than everywhere else, we would hear about it. Second City wore the belt until iO came along. Then UCB dethroned iO. Since then we’ve had Seeso and the Universal deal and now Ab-Solutely. The only thing changing it seems is the gatekeepers. The execution of the art form has remained stagnant. Yes a good Harold can be good improv, but a good Harold does not guarantee good improv. Conversely, good improv can be a good Harold. But it doesn’t have to be. Good improv can be a mash-up or a new form or a self-built improv team. We have an abundance of resources. We’re long overdue for a revolution.
All Play
This one may be more resigned to Los Angeles. There are enough stages and time slots to give everyone a chance. We have conflated exclusivity with originality. Remove the barriers. Instead of having people pay for classes with huge sums of money and pay for a chance at stage time with their sense of self and dignity, have them pay a small fee to participate. I have been criticized for a pay-to-play model. But the pay-to-learn-one-form-and-then-audition model does not work. I refer you back to all the institutions that had to sell or raise money to stay in business. If improv was in demand and audiences were abundant, then sure, be highly selective and charge for undeniable performances. But that’s not the case. The hit ratio is not that high and the audiences are not that feverish. Right now, improvisers need audiences more than audiences need improvisers. So let them come for free and treat the theater like a rec league. Pay for the logistics to run the machine.
Embrace Failure
Create an environment where people feel supported to get weird and fail. Every single thing on the list above cannot happen through success alone. There are no fucking stakes to this art form, but those that we impose. And we do not need to impose any.
Most of the audience at improv shows are improvisers and so when the performance becomes a measure of qualifications for executing a form or an offshoot of that form, the sets are played safe and routine. The fear of failure and judgment creeps in and people make the moves they know will be adequate, but not always adventurous. The eyeballs watching do so through a critical lens. “This person missed an offer,” or “that was a denial,” or “that’s not a very effective label,” or “that person’s move was uncomfortable.” All of those things are fine to observe, but the weight they carry should be proportionate to what we’re doing, which is trying to make a collaborative rough draft entertaining. It is challenging, but that doesn’t mean it has to be consequential.
Level Discomfort with Encouragement
Real quick, so I went to the No Kings rally and I was moved by the turnout and I was also a little uncomfortable by some of the slogans and sentiments. I didn’t agree with all of them. But that felt important to the cause. If I want to make an impact, but I only march with those that make me feel comfortable and who I align with, then I’m going to have leash train my cats.
Under the banner of hobby, improv allows for social and open ideologies. You get to share in an interest with someone you might not otherwise have contact with. You get to make something with someone unlike you. You get to watch your experience come to life for someone else. This can lead to discomfort. It can also lead to change and community. I’m not advocating for intentional discomfort. I’m advocating for an openness to march alongside someone who made a sign you don’t think is funny for what I would argue is a great cause. For great causes, see any item from the list of 21.
I want to share three anecdotes from recent shows. I’m going to do my best to describe the improv examples without using team names or specifics because I think the freedom to play without fear of being written about or fear of not being written about is part of what I’m driving at. Until we make the field less competitive and stage time less exclusive, I think live-streaming, and recapping can only add to the anxiety of being evaluated over an art form that does not need to be evaluated to be elevated or entertaining.
A student was playing a somewhat whimsical royal figure in modern times and his bouncy enthusiasm was a hit with the audience. This character was confident yet misguided and the his positivity was infectious. His team supported him by putting him in all sorts of situations where his character traits were in high contrast. Each tag got bigger laughs. At one point, Sir Eeire told another character to kiss him and immediately he lost the audience. No laugh, even a few uncomfortable hems and haws. The improviser registered that and returned to the more asexual buoyancy he had been playing before. The audience returned with booming laughter. The improviser took the note, and the audience rewarded him for it. The improviser, I hope, didn’t worry about how that move would reflect on his identity or transcript. He gave the room what they wanted and they gave him the feedback he was looking for.
In the last class of a four week workshop, a team found themselves looking down the barrel of a hot-button topic. They approached it, and without panicking explored angles that felt accessible and funny. I was admittedly nervous for every move, but by the end of a ten-minute run of ideas they landed the plane so gracefully I was stunned into an effusive ramble. They made something none of them would have been able to make on their own. They felt comfortable enough to play with confidence and to take creative risks.
At a recent hour-long show, the content of the sets went from PG to R. I have tried to repeatedly to write about the sets without giving too much away and still trying to get the message across, but it is near impossible, and I’d rather preserve the experimentation in the room. You’re going to have to take my word for it when I say lots of what was performed worked really well and some of it did not. Now you’re probably thinking that sounds pretty standard for an improv show. And it was. But what struck me was how engaged the audience was and how much they were rooting for every scene to work. Even the uncomfortable and taboo ones. Whether the scenes succeeded or not, the audience seemed to be celebrating the effort and desire to explore. They were patient. They were supportive.
When improv is being performed by people at various levels and from diverse and unique backgrounds, the improvisers in the audience lean in. Experienced improvisers sit up when authenticity drives the choice, not technique. Students take note of how more experienced players are navigating the scene. And everyone is curious to hear a take that doesn’t resemble their own. There is investment and engagement because the space to play is available to all, not just the people deemed worthy. The laughter comes from game moves made by people who know better and honest moves by people who do not. The laugher echoes sentiments like “Whoa I can’t believe they said that,” or “well now I don’t know what’s going to happen.” It’s been exciting. It’s been encouraging. It’s been novel. It’s improv.