Shortform v Longform

I, like so many of my fellow improvisers, started doing improv in college, and started by doing what is commonly known as shortform improvisation. This is in contrast to longform improvisation, and though there is no “official” definition or difference between the two, the generally accepted demarcation is that longform is any improvisation that lasts, uninterrupted, for more than five minutes. Shortform is, well, everything else. Shortform is by far the most common form of improvisation, and prior to moving to Chicago, I was only exposed to longform very briefly and very sporadically. Shortform is so common, that it is even known to people outside of the improv world; I can’t think of a single person who, when describing what improv is to a friend, parent, relative, or co-worker, didn’t say “It’s kind of like ‘Whose Line Is It Anyway?’”

In fact, shortform improv probably encompasses a good 75% of all improv ever performed. And with good reason: it involves the audience tremendously, is almost always funny, and allows for the kinds of outrageous characters and situations that audiences have come to expect of their modern comedians. Longform on the other hand, is unpredictable, often unwatchable if performed by even mid-level experienced actors, and if it uses crazy characters and situations, often collapses into a hot mess within minutes. The difference is largely in structure; while longform has attempted to codify itself by creating forms (e.g. the Harold, the Deconstruction, the Armando), adherence to the form is pretty much open to the interpretation of the director and/or performers and definitely not necessary. On the other hand, shortform is heavily dictated by rules and structure. In fact the success or failure of a game is largely a part of how well the players follow the rules and exploit the particular gimmicks of a game. Even the names show the difference in how seriously people take it: shortform pieces are called “games”, and longform ones “forms”. The former suggests that it is solely for entertainment, while the latter suggests a larger, more amorphous thing.

I like to think of shortform as ‘improv with training wheels’. Follow the structure of the games, and people will laugh. This is important in the beginning, as it allows improvisers to get a feel for the basics of improv, get comfortable on stage and with their fellow players, and most importantly have fun. The biggest plus of shortform is that the rules are designed to make nearly every attempt funny and by definition, the game can only last three-ish minutes. Even if it stinks, it’ll be over shortly with a bell ring, and you can start anew. (Whether or not those three minutes can seem like an eternity is discussion of relativity that is beyond the scope of this article.) Longform is generally not as popular among the general population, excluding of course, the forms that are very gimmicky. (The most significant is the various improvised musical acts, which consistently draw large crowds, probably not least of which because people love musicals in general.)

Now, while shortform is a crowd favorite, it is generally looked down upon by ‘serious’ improvisers. Shortform is seen as silly and valueless to longformers, while shortformers look upon longform as unnecessarily cumbersome and often unfunny. In fact, when I first started doing improv, my group watched one of our sister-troupes perform a Harold, and we all swore that we would never bother doing it. Uninteresting and unfunny. We’ll stick to our “Dating Games” and “Stand, Sit, Kneels”, thank you very much.

One of the big improv teachers in San Diego will only teach shortform, despite interest to the contrary. I asked her why, and she said that it wasn’t worth doing improv if it wasn’t on the level of “TJ and Dave”. For the benefit of those not in Chicago, “TJ and Dave” is generally considered to be the best improv show in Chicago, which pretty much makes it the best improv show in the world. To put it in perspective, they play on Wednesday nights at 11:00 to sold-out crowds. Every week. To say that these extremely talented players are the only ones who should even bother doing longform is like saying it isn’t worth living unless you’re going to be the smartest man alive. The point that I had trouble getting across to her was that improv takes time. Carol Hazenfield described longform as the “outback”, and to be honest, it takes time to cross the outback and see everything in it. You don’t become the best gunslinger overnight – you’ve got to rob a few banks first, and yes, botch a couple too. But shortform advocates see every longform failure as proof that the art is unworkable, and indeed many groups have fallen flat on their face as a direct result of not minding the gap between thirst and sense.

It’s true that longform is more challenging; I won’t argue that. It’s a full 27 weeks into the iO’s program before they let you attempt going for over five minutes. It’s scary being up there with no safety net; no team-member standing by the bell, no built in gimmicks, and no rules. But it’s also exhilarating and rewarding – a well performed thirty minute show blows away both audiences and performers alike. I won’t say that shortform doesn’t have its place; without shortform, I never would have been entertained with improv long enough to be still doing it. And audiences will always love shortform, but shortform has limited potential. Those rules are fences which keep improv focused and ‘normal’, but also limit its creative capacity, because just beyond those fences is a whole untamed, anything-goes world of scenes if you’ll just open the gate and walk outside.