Improv in the cost of living crisis
If a once-in-a-century pandemic wasn’t enough to dampen audience enthusiasm for crowding into dark dank rooms above pubs, spiralling inflation and the energy crisis might be. Most major cities where improv lives are facing a cost-of-living crisis that is only showing signs of speeding up this winter.
As improvisers, we’re up against it. Good luck shifting tickets for your make-em-ups when a bunch of households are going to be choosing whether to eat or put the heating on.
A smart theatre go-er can grab rush tickets for a hot West End show for £15. A show where they know exactly what they’re going to get: some of the best performers in the world performing a story they already know, with a load of spectacle around it. Or they can forego live culture altogether. I don’t know if you’ve heard about this, but a subscription to any streaming service is about £10 a month.
If an improv show is at the same price-point, we need to give them a host of fantastic reasons to see it instead. We absolutely can, by the way. The things improv doesn’t have versus a scripted show are also its strengths.
Let’s truly value and celebrate what makes improv special. It’s a democratic, collaborative, artform with a low barrier to entry. Through the 40s, 50s and 60s, via Viola Spolin, The Compass Players, Nichols & May, Second City and more, modern western improvisation was founded on being accessible to anyone. That this took place alongside a massive social revolution and sweeping away of deferential norms is no coincidence.
If the start of the 21st century marks another chaotic upending of the way our society and economy works, we should make sure improv grabs that moment too.
Luckily for our theatres’ bottom lines, we don’t need expensive props, sets or expensive costumes to do our work. In fact, those things often get in the way. We can conjure up entire worlds with nothing but the performers on-stage.
The audience is a uniquely and inherently part of the creative process in improv. A show might take a one-word suggestion, or spin out from a deeper interaction with one or more audience members. We should make a virtue of the fact that you have to be in the room to experience a one-of-a-kind show. That you could come again and it’ll be another show entirely.
That’s all marketing. Improv is also singularly placed to respond immediately to the current moment in its actual content. The latest headline show at The Free Association, Tragedy + Time, debuted the day Queen Elizabeth II died. A show that was already about processing transformational and traumatic experiences on an individual level found itself taking place during a massive transformational time for the UK. The show was a welcome puncture to the professional mourn-ography over the period: It was magical.
That’s not to say we have to mirror what’s going on in the world on an improv stage — the host of dramas set during the pandemic are already pretty tiresome and we’re nowhere near done with those. In fact, improv’s best sell might be as a cathartic hour of total silliness. Some of the most popular emerging TV comedy is really surreal, and that may well be a response to the perennial state of crisis the world has been in for at least the last decade. We’re exhausted by it. there’s value in spaces where we don’t have to think about that stuff at all and can leave the outside world behind. That our artform can do both is a superpower.
As performers, this all requires us to SHOW UP. Prepare for shows professionally, respect your audience by doing your best work. What we do is very very silly, but we can still do it well. We had the opportunity to perform live torn away from us for the best part of 18 months — it’s a privilege and we should put our best foot forward.
It’s expensive to live in the big cities where many of our improv communities live. This hurts the diversity and vibrancy of our stages, and is only getting worse as costs of rent, food, and continue to rise. Our training schools are less expensive than drama schools and don’t typically share their onerous audition process. This is good. But we can do more to make our spaces more welcoming to people from all backgrounds and ensure that our spaces reflect the diversity of our local communities. Poor inclusion in the arts, and improv specifically, is well-documented. The cost-of-living crisis places this challenge in even shaper-relief and compels us to change, to listen to marginalised voices and to prioritise inclusivity in our communities. Our shows will be all the richer for it.
There’s no getting around it. The next few months will be tough on the arts, those who work in it and those who love watching it. Coming to watch an improv is the most discretionary of discretionary spend. But we have a ton to offer and we should be vocal about it. Nothing can do it like improv can!
