Results from a controlled trial in Seattle: do science and improv mix?

The question was simple, what happens when you smash science and improv comedy together? Like any good experimentalist, I hypothesized a show featuring both would be pretty entertaining. As time would tell, I learned my hypothesis was completely wrong. Rest assured, unlike the disappointing results from my latest experiment, this mixture of science and improv went beyond my imagination.

In the fall of my second year as a PhD student, I was overwhelmed with my field. I had spent the past year rotating through labs emersed in pandemic-related research and recently joined a vaccine-focused laboratory for my thesis. Depressed by the rhetoric surrounding vaccines adherence and distrust in science, I felt myself forgetting why I originally decided to become a scientist. Before such motivation was completely lost, I grabbed onto an idea I had been sitting on for a while.

Picture this: a scientist steps on stage. They share their smart, real-deal research. The audience is silent in awe, forgetting to even clap because they are so impressed by the incredible science, despite the fact they only understood about 50% of the talk. Then a team of professional comedians jump on stage, translating the talk to the lay audiences through the magic of improv. People leave the show with a smile on their face and new facts in their head.

“Are scientists even funny?” was the response I received when I pitched this idea to a local Seattle improv theater in a cold email. My first instinct to this question was to agree. So easy to fall into the stereotype of the serious and boring scientist. But then I remembered that in my lab’s insectary there is a very scientifically-titled log sheet called, The Smooshy Log, where researchers write down every time we smoosh a rogue mosquito in the insectary (which happens more than you would think).

“You would be surprised; scientists need humor – how else would we survive the absurdity of our daily experiments,” I responded.

A couple month later a team of professional improvisors were cast for Mad Science: Scientists teach you. Comedians make you laugh. 

All we needed now were scientists. This was my time to shine. If there is one thing I have learned as a PhD student, it is how to send emails to scientists. Sending out expertly crafted emails to eighteen researchers in the Seattle area, finally resulted in our first two brave speakers. During this first show, two astronomers shared their knowledge of the stars and enraptured us with the sounds of the universe. When I heard “Who knew scientists could be funny?” recited after that first show, I knew this was an important first step toward making science more fun and accessible to adult audiences in Seattle.

Since that first show, Mad Science has grown into a staple of Seattle’s comedy scene, often playing to sold-out crowds. Each show explores a new theme, highlighting the breadth of research happening across the city. One favorite was our “Clouds” episode, where a tech bro demystified “The Cloud” and an atmospheric scientist broke down the science of actual clouds. To date, Mad Science has featured over 50 local scientists—and continues to run strong, even as I’ve moved on from Seattle to begin my postdoctoral chapter.

Producing Mad Science has given me a deep appreciation for the art of improv. Scientists could learn a lot from its two guiding principles: 1) “Yes, and...” and 2) make your scene partner look good. But at the heart of any successful improv set is the ability to connect with your audience—and that’s exactly what happens when science meets comedy. By blending research with performance, Mad Science helps translate complex ideas in a way that feels both accessible and human. I’ve come to think of the cast as professional science interpreters, bridging the gap one “yes, and” at a time.

My experiment in mixing science and improv has made its mark in Seattle—but like any good finding, it’s meant to be replicated. There’s room in many cities for more pint-sized science shows, and plenty of local theaters that could benefit from teaming up with researchers. After all, if you never test your hypothesis, how will you ever know what you might discover?