By Guilherme Meletti Yazbek
Last night, I found myself laughing—a lot. Sitting in the audience at City Theatre, watching The Second City’s Laugh Harder, Not Smarter, I was carried along by the show’s fast pace, the performers’ agility, and the audience’s contagious energy—although the man sitting right next to me did not laugh once—gently reminding me that everything in art, as in life, is deeply subjective. The show is, without question, an effective machine of laughter. And yet, as the evening unfolded, I became increasingly aware that this was not exactly the kind of comedy that most interests me. Or, more precisely, it is in its very effectiveness that the performance begins to reveal its limits.
The stage is nearly bare: four chairs, constantly rearranged to suggest different locations, and, off to the side, a musician—Michael Oldham—armed with a keyboard and a computer from which he triggers sound effects and musical cues with remarkable precision. The structure alternates between rehearsed sketches and improvised scenes built from audience suggestions, often following the classic prompts of “where,” “what,” and “who.” Lighting remains minimal and strictly functional, carving out the space of each scene through simple, clean isolations, while transitions occur almost entirely in blackout. Sound, however, plays a more active role. While it helps punctuate transitions, it also establishes atmosphere, supporting the rhythm and tone of each scene. Oldham’s timing is consistently sharp, and at times, one senses that certain moments rely heavily on his musical underscoring to land. Everything moves quickly. The performers speak with precision and speed, relying on well-honed comedic devices—repetition, escalation, vocal intensity—that keep the energy consistently high. At times, perhaps, too consistently so.
What emerges from this structure is a theatrical logic deeply rooted in improvisational practice. For those familiar with Viola Spolin’s theatre games, many of the mechanics at play here are immediately recognizable: the constant negotiation of “where,” “what,” and “who;” the activation of given circumstances in real time—principles that are central to her pedagogical approach, even as they extend beyond any single methodology. At the same time, the scenes unfold through a broader improvisational ethos grounded in acceptance and continuation—the imperative to say “yes” to what is offered—accepting the given circumstances and building upon them, sustaining the flow of action in the present moment. Founded in 1959, The Second City is historically tied to this lineage. Paul Sills, the company’s co-founder and Spolin’s son, was instrumental in bringing these practices from the realm of actor training into professional theatre, transforming pedagogical structures into a performative language. What we witness on stage, then, is not simply improvisation, but the continuation of a tradition in which play becomes structure. Having spent a full year working with theatre games during my undergraduate training in Brazil—where Spolin’s pedagogy has had a significant and lasting impact—these dynamics are particularly legible to me. And yet, this legibility also produces a certain tension: what is at stake here is not only improvising, but performing the very idea of improvisation itself.
This dynamic produces an interesting blur between rehearsal and performance. At times, what unfolds on stage feels less like a finished theatrical product and more like the visible trace of an ongoing training process. The audience is invited not only to watch scenes but to witness actors thinking, negotiating, and responding in real time. There is something undeniably compelling about this exposure. The risk is tangible. The performers are present, attentive, and often genuinely amused by what emerges in the moment—and that pleasure, when it holds, is contagious. At its best, the show offers precisely this: the thrill of unpredictability, the sense that something could fail, collapse, or unexpectedly take flight. And yet, this same structure also reveals its limits. When the logic of the game becomes too apparent, or when its mechanics begin to repeat themselves, the sense of risk gradually gives way to familiarity. What initially appears as openness starts to feel structured, even predetermined—not because the scenes are scripted, but because the framework within which they operate becomes increasingly visible.
This is perhaps most evident in the show’s tonal register. The energy remains consistently high—voices projected, reactions amplified, emotions pushed outward—leaving little room for variation or subtlety. At times, this results in a certain histrionism that flattens the range of possibilities within a scene. The audience is carried along, but also, occasionally, nudged—if not gently pressured—into laughter and applause. In this sense, the performance seems to take its own title quite seriously: Laugh Harder, Not Smarter. The emphasis falls on intensity, speed, and immediate response, rather than on the development of more nuanced or layered comedic situations. The material itself draws frequently from familiar comedic territories—taboo subjects, bodily humor, dysfunctional family dynamics—spaces where laughter often emerges from the release of what is socially restrained or repressed. While this approach proves effective at generating quick, frequent laughter, it can also produce a sense of saturation—an effect not uniformly shared, as the silent spectator sitting beside me seemed to attest. When everything is heightened, little stands out. And when laughter becomes constant, it risks losing some of its critical edge.
Among a cast of talented performers, several moments showcase the ensemble’s skill and precision. Michael Oldham’s musical presence, already noted, proves essential not only as atmospheric support but as a structuring force for the scenes’ rhythm. Zoe Agapinan stands out for her sharp comedic timing and a distinctly articulated stage presence, often operating within a sarcastic register that borders on the absurd in productive ways. Her work, particularly in scripted sketches, carries a level of control that allows the humor to emerge with clarity and precision. Cat Savage, in turn, brings a playful dimension to the stage—almost childlike, in the best sense—especially in moments where she embodies animals or inanimate objects. Her transformation into a bat, for instance, reveals a deep commitment to theatrical play that is not reducible to the mechanics of the game. One of the most effective segments of the evening—a talk-show-like improvisation hosted by Dominic Rescigno, featuring Kevin Noonan as a “professional extra”—further illustrates the show’s central tension. In this scene, audience members are invited to suggest films, and the performers reconstruct fragmented memories of these fictional appearances. Positioned as students in an acting class within the scene, the audience becomes part of a pedagogical fiction, reinforcing the impression that what is being staged is not only performance, but also a form of training made visible.
Ultimately, Laugh Harder, Not Smarter delivers precisely what it promises. It is an engaging, fast-paced, and often genuinely funny evening of theatre that foregrounds the pleasure of play and the immediacy of shared laughter. It also serves as a reminder that theatre is, at its core, an agreement between stage and audience—a set of conventions collectively accepted and sustained in real time. Here, that agreement is built around rhythm, responsiveness, and a willingness to follow the performers wherever the game may lead. And yet, one is left wondering whether the critical potential of comedy might not lie precisely in its ability to modulate that agreement—to create not only louder laughter, but more attentive ways of listening. If the show insists on laughter that is harder, more immediate, and more constant, perhaps it is equally worth asking what might emerge from a comedy willing, at times, to laugh smarter.
TICKETS AND DETAILS
City Theatre’s presentation of The Second City’s Laugh Harder, Not Smarter has performances now through April 18, 2026. Tickets at: https://citytheatrecompany.org/production/101445/list_performances
Guilherme is a Brazilian theater practitioner and scholar, currently pursuing a PhD in Theatre and Performance Studies at the University of Pittsburgh. www.guilhermeyazbek.com
Categories: Arts and Ideas
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