The Rise of Solo Shows

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Earlier this year, I saw comedian Kate Berlant’s transcendent one-woman show at the Pasadena Playhouse. The century-old theater buzzed with young-ish people who didn’t fit the usual L.A. theater crowd. This was probably because Berlant’s fan base came out of her wildly successful podcast Poog and from watching her perform in small clubs like the Elysian in Silverlake, where the vibe is more casual and intimate, and tickets are cheaper. In her 80-minute performance, she blends comedy and tragedy, real and surreal, as she tells the story of how she came to be a performer. The hilarious, profound, and irreverent show had me laughing while also contemplating the future of Hollywood, theater, media, and storytelling. Good job, Kate. 

As most of us know, storytelling has been a part of human culture forever—from ancient myths to Greek Monologists, Medieval Minstrels, and French Troubadours. Today, that tradition lives on in solo shows: think one-person theater performances, experimental performance art like Laurie Anderson’s work, and of course, stand-up comedy.

My fascination with solo shows began, like many aspiring millennial writers of a certain sensibility, with Fleabag, where Phoebe Waller-Bridge first performed it at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Since then, I’ve seen many of my writer and actor friends dive into creating their own solo shows, all eager to share their stories with the world. I decided to investigate the format and genre further in a conversation with Julia Shiplett and Maame-Yaa Aforo—both extremely talented comedy writers and performers who recently created their own solo shows. We delve into the rise of solo shows, the influence of industry shifts like the pandemic and strikes, their unique journeys in storytelling, and the role of social media in connecting with audiences and promoting their work. (If you’re NYC-based, get tickets to Julia’s show on 6/25 here.) 

At the end of the newsletter, I also include some technology companies that may make it easier for any existing or aspiring content creators to more easily translate their IRL performance content into social media for promotion and audience growth. There is a “flywheel” that exists between ticketed live performances, storytelling, and social media. With TV and movies getting more difficult to produce, how can storytellers harness their ancient solo performance roots while adopting new technology to help broaden their audience and amplify their voice? 

Examining the success of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s “Fleabag,” Ramy Youssef’s “Ramy,” Michaela Coel’s “Chewing Gum,” Alex Edelman’s “Just for Us,” and most recently Richard Gadd’s “Baby Reindeer,” are you noticing an increase in live solo shows recently, some as a path to creating TV series, similar to how web series were popular in the early 2010s?

JS: Yes, I think so. Coming from a stand-up perspective, I know a lot of traditional comedians who have been doing solo shows in the past few years. In some ways, solo shows are the new podcast. During the pandemic, and even pre-pandemic, everyone was starting a podcast. While podcasts are still popular, solo shows have gained a new rise. The SAG and WGA strikes and the pandemic forced many people to find ways to create something on their own that they could immediately share with the world. You can't do that with a TV show or a movie, but a solo show is something you have control over. As long as you can get stage time, you have a solo show. The situation lit a fire under people who suddenly had nothing else to do for months and no idea how long it would last. So they finally worked on that thing they had been thinking about for years.

MA: Yeah, I totally echo that sentiment. I had been toiling with the idea for my show, but it hadn't happened yet. During the strike, out of frustration and a desire to be on stage and work on something I was passionate about, I was motivated to finish it and put it up. 

Regarding your other question, I think shows like "Fleabag" and "Chewing Gum" are important examples, and it's interesting that they’re both by British artists. From my perspective, coming from acting, improv, and writing, creating a solo show is very theater-oriented. Unlike stand-up, which is a great format, solo shows can involve transforming worlds and jumping back and forth in time. This format seems to lend itself well to becoming a TV show.

Right now, it’s hard to be heard and seen, whether on stage or TV. A solo show allows artists and writers to express themselves more freely. For me, it was a way to show my range beyond the small boxes I was being put into.

I’ve received overwhelmingly positive feedback, but there's still some aversion to solo shows. People might worry the show will be self-indulgent. This taboo exists, especially from the actor and theater side of things.

What are both of your shows about? 

MA: My show is called "Useless Woman and the AI Therapist." It stems from my experience as a first-generation Ghanaian American who, while doing fine, hasn't reached the milestones I was told to expect, like being a wife and a mom by now. This unrealistic vision of my life led me to rush into relationships and become a people pleaser, resulting in abusive relationships and difficult moments. However, I see these experiences as necessary for my journey to self-love.

In the show, I portray a woman using a new AI therapist technology that conducts a diagnostic test. As she answers the AI's questions, she outlines her life experiences, enhanced by an honesty tablet that induces deeper reflection and change.

JS: My show is called "Ambiguous," and it's about the personal parallels between being biracial and bisexual. Throughout my life, I've felt like I check a lot of identity and community boxes, but often I feel like I'm none of those things fully. There's a pressure to pick a side in many aspects of my life, including casting and auditions, where people want to put me in a neat box.

I'm not what comes to mind when you think of an East Asian American woman, but I am one. The show explores this duality and the various parts of my identity, but in a really funny way.

Both of you come from similar yet different performance backgrounds. Julia, you started in stand-up comedy, and Maame-Yaa, you began with improv at Groundlings. How do you feel these different worlds have informed your shows and their structure? 

MA: At Groundlings, which is where my comedy foundation lies, everything is very character-based. Scenes revolve around the characters' experiences rather than plot or game persay. Because of this, I enjoy playing outrageous characters vastly different from myself. In my show, I switch between various characters frequently.

Initially, I didn't have a clear structure in mind for my show. I focused on getting the story down first and then explored different possibilities. The writer's strike influenced me to set the story within an AI therapist scenario, which allowed me to minimize the crew and resources needed. This setup involved just one person managing the AI therapist's voiceover, and the questions served as prompts to help me with memorization.

The structure evolved organically as I realized what I needed the show to accomplish. Initially 90 minutes, it was cut down significantly when I performed it at UCB, where they advised me to shorten it to 30 minutes. This pushed me to refine the narrative. Although I've had to condense it for certain venues, I believe there's more to the story that I hope to explore in future performances.

Also, my priority at the time was to stage the show without the logistical complexities of lighting and other production aspects, which influenced my decision-making process.

JS: I've been inspired by comedians like Mike Birbiglia, who are stand-ups but also really good storytellers. They're so good at weaving in stories that are filled with jokes. I felt like, okay, I want permission to be more sincere and earnest and vulnerable onstage, because I wouldn't say my stand-up is the most vulnerable or sincere — I'm very self-deprecating, or it's absurdist or whatever. But giving myself permission to say things on stage that I was like, there's no laugh here, it's not funny, was really exciting and scary to me. But I was seeing other comedians who I know and respect doing it, and I was like, I can do this too. It just felt like an opportunity to talk about a lot of the themes that I do think actually inform my work, even if I don't necessarily explicitly think about it like that. These are like the types of things I've been thinking about my whole life. So what if I could just say it all together, I guess.

Yeah, solo shows are fascinating to me because they allow writers and performers to break genre norms. I remember taking a comedy writing class at NYU where the instructor was like you need 2-4 jokes per minute for comedy shows. And that messed with me because I was so inspired by “dramedies” like "Girls" and "Transparent," which blend drama with humor so well. Did you find yourselves navigating between adding serious moments to ground the narrative or injecting humor to lighten it up while writing?

MA: I had to punch it up — peel away some things that were part of the story but not essential, and then find the humor in what I had already written in a lot of moments. And that was a fun process to find the light in the dark story. Julia, when you were talking, I felt so connected to the duality that I experience in my show. In my show I say, "Who am I? A white girl, a black girl, or just me?" I grew up in a white community and my experiences growing up were very white, and they were very African, they were not African American. So having to identify as African American when I don’t really know what that means but people look to me to be that was a learning curve. 

And I do think a lot of one-person shows talk about that specific thing — somebody's inner conflict in their identity. Many of the ones I've seen are based around that in some way. I definitely had to punch up because I do talk about some heavy things. So I had a director who helped me with suggestions like writing a joke about that or transitioning it differently, which really helped to have another perspective filtering through the funny. Even though it's a heavy conversation, I think the best stories have as much darkness as light. You're sad one minute and laughing the next. It's a joy to take an audience on that journey you've written and see them follow along, laughing when you want them to laugh or not.

I appreciate what Julia said about the vulnerability of not always needing a punchline joke, giving the story time to breathe and sit in the discomfort of what's being discussed. So yeah, with mine, I definitely had to punch it up because it was much heavier before.

JS: I think there were certain ideas and elements that I excluded because they not only felt heavy but also because I wanted the show to be relatable. My story is about navigating my mixed-racial identity and sexuality, but I aimed for it to resonate with anyone navigating complex identities, like those of mixed religious backgrounds or first-generation Americans expected to embody a certain ideal. I filtered these themes through humor, even when specific parts weren't inherently funny. I believe almost anything can be funny. 

It's okay if your goal isn't always to be funny; some moments are serious. I cut tension with humor afterward because I've found that after sharing something gut-wrenching, a well-placed joke can release that tension and elicit a bigger laugh. This technique helps guide the audience through the emotional journey and keeps them invested. It's our responsibility as performers to navigate these transitions thoughtfully.

I've seen performances where it feels like someone is unloading their trauma without having processed it, and it shows. While the saying "time plus tragedy equals comedy" is cliché, it's true that processing your experiences is crucial before sharing them publicly. Whether through humor or demonstrating growth and resilience, showing that you're okay afterward is essential. This approach builds trust with the audience, allowing them to journey with you through even the darkest topics.

Did creating these shows help heal certain parts of yourselves?

JS: Yeah, for me, I’m still actively working on it, but sharing personal stories like the cotillion incident and exploring internalized racism and late-in-life dating women in my show was nerve-wracking. But, the overwhelming response from audiences, receiving DMs and comments from mixed and queer folks who felt seen, made me realize the importance of my story in connecting with others who may be navigating similar challenges with identity and acceptance. I wanted to do a show that I wish I had seen as a 14-year-old, providing a sense of understanding and support that I felt was lacking during my own upbringing. I believe it resonates with so many people and find that very therapeutic to connect with others this way.

MA: Creating my show helped me heal and process many of the experiences I went through, even though I wasn't fully healed when I started. As I wrote, received feedback, and performed it, discovering how many people shared similar experiences made me realize I wasn't alone. It transformed my shame into a sense of purpose to speak out about these difficult topics and provide relief for others who may have faced similar challenges, such as rape, abortion, and emotional abuse.

I worked at Twitter for a long time with social media and digital creators. I'm curious how social media plays into promoting your show and how you've used it to inform aspects of the show?

MA: I think that's a great question. Honestly, I struggle with social media. It's like how some people resisted using email in the early 90s—I'm still figuring out how to embrace it fully, despite being an early adopter with AIM in fifth grade. I recognize its power to connect globally and amplify voices, but I'm critical of how I use it, which sometimes holds me back. Your question challenges me to overcome that and use it more effectively, especially since exposure is crucial for what I'm doing. Balancing that with my comfort level is something I'm navigating right now, because having a following seems increasingly important in reaching a wider audience who might otherwise miss out on my work.

JS: Yeah, I do use social media for promotion, although I have a somewhat cynical view of its role in my chosen path. It's unfortunately necessary nowadays, as I've experienced in trying to tour with stand-up and facing the reality that follower numbers often outweigh talent in booking decisions at venues. It feels like a business where someone with a large TikTok following can easily trump someone who's worked years on their craft but lacks online presence. I've had to push myself to post regularly, sharing stand-up reels and other content, even though I find it challenging to reconcile these realities with my more traditional background in live performance.

Thank you both so much for your openness and the insights into your creative process. 

For the professional and amateur creators reading this, what are your favorite tools and tips? Here are some of mine: 

• Descript - Easy to use AI end-to-end video editor and caption creation. Check out this tutorial.

• Otter.ai - Transcribes video and audio into text. I used it for this interview. 

• Gling - automatic first pass rough cut that takes minutes

• Opus Clip - AI that finds interesting moments from video to edit into a short clip that can be used for promotion. Adds subtitles and B roll. 

• Firecut - AI extension that allows you to caption videos. Similarly to Gling it removes silences and filler words. AI also breaks the content into chapters and names them. 

• For social media: keep videos as short as possible. Every second counts.     

• If you’re a podcaster, incorporate videos of yourself hosting the podcast so you can share to social media and promote your conversations.