The Art (and Anxiety) of the Sketch

In the comedy world, you make certain choices. There’s different paths, and each one says something about you as a person. The improvisers are risk takers, the sketch folks are calculated, and the stand up comics just really really like themselves. Not really. I’m just jealous that they have the guts to get on stage – alone – and pray for laughs.

Types of comedy are not akin to a doctor’s specialties, although a good joke with solid timing arguably saves lives. That said, aspirational comics look to different styles for different reasons. Personally, I have always leaned into improv, not because I am into public humiliation (though that is often part of it), but because I like that it requires me to get out of my head and embrace the moment. Admittedly, I have always had a feeling I was better suited for sketch comedy or stand up, giving me time to think and plan and do what I have always done best. However, the spontaneous nature of improv is good for my growth and that’s why I do it.

I have always thought this is the best form for meeting people and quickly bonding over ridiculous improvisational ideas (I once played a polyamorous marble). In my head, it’s the ultimate form of trust and vulnerability – leaning on teammates to listen and craft scenes together with no prior preparation. That’s what I love about it.

I assumed sketch classes were different. I had heard the drama of my fellow comics of SNL hopefuls slamming each other to get ahead, and I honestly was not interested. It felt too competitive, and I was scared I didn’t have the confidence or will to fight for my pitches to get made. 

Upright Citizens Brigade sketch performer Deric Brown reflected, “You’re part of a trusted group of writers and performers who are all pushing each other to be better and who care deeply about comedy. I did feel some pressure, especially being one of the few minorities on the team. I found myself trying to bring in social commentary — hopefully in the least pretentious way. One sketch I wrote had the chestburster from Alien infecting a man, and the group around him debated whether it should be removed, while the infected man insisted that only he should have a say. Sketches like that helped me explore bigger themes through a ridiculous lens.”

I mean, who can argue with that?! I knew people like Brown were finding their place not only in the comedy community, but in all of Los Angeles through sketch comedy. Actors and writers work together to create 24-hour sketch shows (write, create, and put on a sketch show in 24 hours), create digital works for social media, and create tiny versions of writers’ rooms when forming sketch teams. Some of my favorite shows are sketch, and some highlights include sketches about small town panic about the cheese touch, coming out as a vampire, and a disastrous bachelorette weekend.  

Working in a sketch group is inevitably a unique experience. “It’s not just about writing funny sketches; it’s about learning to collaborate, taking notes, rewriting, working with performers, and building something together every month,” Brown said.  “I’ve been on other sketch teams before, but never at this pace. Writing three to four sketches a month pushed me to constantly take in new media, stay updated on pop culture, and talk to people just to find new fuel for ideas.”

As I became interested in the entire process, I knew I wanted to know more. After talking to performers like Deric Brown, I learned that – perhaps even more than improv – sketch comedy hinges on good collaboration. Forms like improv are essentially actors winging it on stage, and stand up is oftentimes just one person who writes, directs, and performs their own material. Sketch comedy is an entire ecosystem of writers, actors, directors, tech, and of course, the audience. When those things work together, the sketch works. All the pieces must work in unison, and like other forms, also becomes quite vulnerable.

“You’re putting your point of view out there, and it might kill or completely bomb,” Brown said. “Then you go home and ask yourself, ‘Maybe my sketch about a Cookie Monster intervention is only funny to me?’ But it’s all part of it.”

I don’t know why I dragged my feet on trying out a sketch class, blaming it on the sparse class offerings or not having a friend to take it with. Maybe it was just the fear that, even with ample time and preparation, my ideas (my own version of a “Cookie Monster intervention”) might not be good enough, and I will look dumb. (With improv, making everything up on the spot excuses a certain level of dumbness.) As it turns out, the risk is part of the thrill and part of what makes sketch comedy so special. It is inherently vulnerable and risky and pushes you to learn and grow alongside fellow comic hopefuls. 

I will start my very first sketch comedy class on November 8. I’m scared, and I’m excited. I’ll let you know how it goes.

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