So I was chatting to 🚨IMPROV NAMEDROP KLAXON🚨 Inbal Lori and Gael Doorneweerd-Perry at a festival recently.

It was one of those magical improv nights where all the shows had gone well, but it was 1am and the audience had slowly started drifting away like dandelion seeds on the Amsterdam breeze.

We looked around us, there were only cast and crew left, our bodies still pleasantly adrenalised from the performances, so there was no way we were sleeping yet. And therefore only one thing to do.

Get really nerdy about improv.

Inbal was trying to solve the 35 minute problem. Despite its name, the 35 minute problem can happen at any stage of a show. When you dial in variables such as improv experience, show length and cast size, it can rear its ugly head anywhere from 5 minutes in to the very last scene.

But all things being equal, for a duo doing an hour long set, it happens after 35 minutes.

And it applies mostly to good shows, and also, but not exclusively to narratives. You’ve done some wonderful scenes, atmosphere and relationships have been established, there’s been at least one bit that has absolutely lit up the audience with laughter. Things are feeling great and you settle in for the long run.

And then you hit 35 minutes and you realise the audience is getting restless. Nothing has changed on the surface - you’re still doing good work, the characters are still charming and well played and the plot is solid and progressing towards a logical conclusion. But something is off.

There is a distinct lull.

Somewhere between the strong start and the satisfying climax lies the shadowy bulk of the 35 minute problem, half-submerged and waiting, like a naval mine ready to blow you out of the water.

But why does it happen? And what can we do about it? And how?

Why does it happen?

That first question is pretty straight-forward. You’ve settled into a rhythm. The show is working and so you’re sticking to what you know - the situation, the characters, the tempo, the broad strokes of the theatrical language you’ve agreed between you. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

But what seemed fresh and innovative in the first 15 minutes, can begin to feel a little stale beyond the halfway point if you’re not careful.

What can we do about it?

A number of things, and they’re all linked:

1. Be alive to the present moment. There’s a danger we can begin to live in the past (”that was a great beginning, let’s not fuck it up”) and the future (”wouldn’t it be great if we can engineer this ending I’ve just thought of?”) instead of staying in the present. What’s happening right now? Why is it important? Stay in the moment with your scene partner and continue to mine for gold in the connection you share.
2. Break the status quo you’ve established. Drive a wedge between characters, get into trouble, fall in love with the wrong person. Anything that feels safe and established - blow it up and see what happens. We’re resistant to doing this because we’re attached to the things we’ve created, especially if they’ve worked well up to this point. But believe in yourself. You created that last thing out of thin air, trust you can do it again even as the dust settles. The 35 minute problem is the equivalent of resting on your laurels - just in an accelerated time frame where a whole career flies by in the length of a show. Continue to experiment right up to your dying breath.
3. Conversely, don’t panic and throw things away just because they’re not getting an immediate response. Don’t live and die by the reactions of the audience. Sometimes, even they don’t know what they want. Continue to be guided by the needs of the show and the eternal logic you have built together with your partner. Big moves inspired by a genuine desire to experiment are GOOD, moves born from fear or desperation are BAD. Cultivate the ability to know the difference. (Look I’m not saying this is easy or straightforward in any way).

And how?