The AndAlso List of Improv Edits

An edit in improv is a way to end a scene and begin another. We talk a lot about why this is important in our podcast on edits, but this article is your practical, handy list of improv edits so they’re all in one place.

The list is a collection of those I learned originally, picked up along the way, and adapted. They may be called different things in different schools, as with so many other improv games and exercises, but hopefully, the descriptions will give you what you need to understand and get going.

Whether you’re learning improv and want to use this as a reference, are in a group and want to shake up your transitions, or you’re just curious as to why people are constantly running across the stage in improv shows, this blog is for you.

The Sweep Edit

The cleanest, simplest, and most universal language of edits, the sweep edit involves one or more improvisers running across the front of the stage to ‘sweep’ the stage clean, indicating the end of the scene and leaving space for the next to begin.

My mentor Bill Arnett told us to think of edits as the different knives in a chopping block, and I have always found this to be a really helpful analogy, especially when it comes to the sweep edit. The sweep edit is the meat cleaver of edits. It’s not delicate or pretty, but it will definitely get the job done.

One disadvantage of sweep edits is that, to non-improvisers, it can look very odd. I must admit that these days, I try to avoid using it where possible as there are so many other fun options, but it’s certainly a very clear signal and can still be the best choice for a particularly rowdy group scene.

Verbal Edits – Hard and Soft

As you might surmise from the name, the verbal edit involves ending the current scene by starting a line of dialogue taking you into the new scene. I like this technique very much as it gets rid of any ‘dead air’ and keeps a show zipping along nicely.

I think of verbal edits in terms of hard and soft initiations. ‘Hard’ being coming in with a fully formed idea and maybe even calling a character into the scene (which can be particularly handy for a narrative show or premise scene in a Harold). However, ‘soft’ verbal initiations might just include emotional noises, or bridging words like ‘well’, ‘so’, or ‘here we are’ — i.e. you know it’s time for the last scene to come to an end, but you don’t necessarily have a clear idea for the new one.

While I think verbal edits are slick and clear (and if we’re using the kitchen knife analogy, I think this one is your chef’s knife), I recognize that sometimes they can put improvisers in their heads, searching for a ‘good’ line to start the next scene.

The Swarm Edit

Swarm edits are another one where your non-improviser friends might raise an eyebrow, but I love them! As the name might suggest, they involve the full ensemble ‘swarming’ onto the stage, enveloping what is already happening and then dissipating to reveal a new scene in its place.

There are several reasons a swarm edit might be appropriate and several ways to do it. Here’s a few examples:

Something literally mentioned in the environment enters and takes over (e.g. the sheep in a shepherd scene or the zombies in an apocalypse scene).
Similarly, a noise appropriate to the environment grows into an edit (e.g. the sirens in a detective scene).
The swarm might come from outside the immediate environment but act as a commentary or foreshadowing device (e.g. two students studying in a quiet library talking about how they will enjoy their freedom after the exams might pave the way for a swarm of nightclubbers).
Sometimes, a swarm might be an abstract response to a sound or movement within the scene (e.g. a character is so surprised that they exclaim ‘oh!’ and throw their hands in the air, and the whole cast mirrors and joins in, which ‘swarms’ into a rollercoaster scene).

The most interesting part of swarm edits for me is what comes out of them. Ideally, they should be very freeform and physical, and so the picture that remains at the end should be totally random. Where verbal edits might be more ‘thinky’ or planned, the best swarm edits are wild and free.

Swarm edits do not work when they are apologetic or under-committed. However, when they do work, they are total improv magic. I highly recommend experimenting. We’ll call this the utility knife — use it in lots of different ways where appropriate.

The Object Edit

This edit involves ‘taking’ an imaginary object from an improviser or improvisers and carrying it into the next scene. This could be:

The same object exactly transported to a different setting or set of characters in the same story.
Another one of the same object but not the same one/same world (e.g. a ball from a basketball game with the L.A. Lakers becomes another ball in a children’s playground. Still a ball, not the same ball).
The object is taken as a point of focus but morphs into a different object altogether, perhaps inspired by the shape or action (a la freeze tag) e.g. Atlas is holding up the world, and that globe becomes someone trying on a giant hat for ladies’ day.

I’ve used this edit very successfully in classes, rehearsals, and shows where this convention is built in. Without deciding to use this edit, I rarely see it happen in shows, but it’s cool when it does. Perhaps a good one to practice for those wanting to work on their object and space work. In the kitchen knife analogy — I think this is a carving knife.

The Crossfade

A crossfade, again as the name suggests, involves one scene starting while the other is fading out. Really effective if the subsequent scene is started silently and with space work while the original scene starts to wind down. Lovely if the dialogue between the two scenes can intersect almost like a split scene for a moment. It can also be done by turning the volume down on the first scene and turning it up on the second so we see the actors miming the dialogue.

I particularly like this when it encourages the actors to make interesting use of the space. For example, two actors are standing on chairs upstage on opposite sides representing guards atop castle battlements, while two other actors take their place on the lip of the stage and begin miming throwing stones into the sea where the audience are. In our knife analogy, this has got to be a carving fork.

I first got taught the crossfade on the Summer intensive at iO Chicago in 2007 by Jet Eveleth. Since then, I have used it truly maybe a dozen times, but boy does it look sexy.

Line Steal/Cascade

Perhaps the verbal equivalent of an object edit — a line uttered in the first scene is ‘stolen’ and repurposed for the starting line of the second scene. Less easy to do if the line involves the name of a character or is full of very specific details, but really effective when it is a particularly emotional or evocative line. An example might be:

‘You lied in court, and you disgraced my professional name. How dare you!’ uttered by a defense lawyer in scene 1.
‘How dare you! Mrs. Johnson, how disgraceful for you to suggest I kiss you upon the cheek!’ uttered in a Bridgerton-type way to start scene two.

‘How Dare You’ ends scene 1 and starts scene 2 but is used in a totally different context.

In the cascade version, the line is repeated several times by several different improvisers very quickly, one after the other, with varying deliveries and intonations until the most interesting version is settled on. At the time of writing this, I could not find a video example, which I think would help a lot, so I will keep searching or ask me to demonstrate over a beer sometime.

What I like about the line steal edit is that there is no room for pre-planning or thinking. It requires the improvisers not in the scene to be totally present and listening out for lines of dialogue that really pop out. Shall we call this a pairing knife? Yes, let’s.

Narration Edit

A narration edit in improv is a storytelling transition where a performer steps out of the action to provide narrative context, time shifts, or perspective changes — much like a storybook voiceover or a film narrator. Instead of physically or thematically morphing into the next scene, the player simply narrates the shift: “Meanwhile, across town, Harold was discovering the same secret,” or “The next morning, everything had changed.” It’s a clean, efficient way to move time and space, cue the ensemble, and guide the audience without breaking the flow. This kind of edit is especially common in narrative longform formats or genre shows where storytelling structure is front and center.

This one’s a boning knife — subtle, sharp, and meant to carve out clean lines through the connective tissue of your story.

“River Becomes a Tear” or Amélie Edit

This phrase is often used metaphorically in improv circles (especially among those who favor theatrical or narrative improv) to describe a fluid, emotional, and symbolic transition. Imagine a scene ending with a river, and instead of abruptly jumping to the next scene, the performers metaphorically “zoom in” on a drop of water, and it becomes a tear on someone’s cheek in a new scene. It’s like a match cut in film (think: a bone flying up in 2001: A Space Odyssey that becomes a spaceship).

Named after the film Amélie (2001), a slight variant is an edit similar to the one above, but full of whimsy, visual poetry, and quirky narrative devices. E.g. If a character in a scene mentions they always wondered what it’s like to fly, the edit could take us into their fantasy — they flap their arms, lights shift, music changes, and suddenly they’re flying in the next scene.

Both River Becomes a Tear and Amélie edits are common in more theatrical, narrative, or cinematic improv forms (like what you’d see from companies like Impro Theatre, The Hideout, or ImprovBoston’s genre shows). They’re used for:

Heightened emotional storytelling
An emphasis on a character’s inner life or quirky detail
Magical realism or imaginative visuals
Keeping the audience immersed, rather than “snapped out” with a harsh cut

These are your filleting knives — elegant, emotional, delicate, and designed for a very specific kind of cut.

Technical Edits

I’ve written before about the importance of hosting a show as well as the show itself, so if you have improvisers on the tech desk, having them edit the scenes with lights and music can be really amazing and up the production values of a show hugely.

It’s worth thinking about the rhythm of a show and how the lights and music will best serve your edits, e.g. a sketch-type improv show working really well with full blackouts and sharp music stings between scenes, whereas an improvised play might be best served with a swell of music and a dip in the lights as chairs, etc., are moved and the improvisers get in place for the new scene.

I think tech edits are the bread knife of edits because they cut through anything in a neat way.

Song Edit

In the same way that music or lights end a scene very cleanly, the same can be said of a song in a musical improv show. Audiences just take a good song ending as the end of that ‘bit,’ so, if in doubt, sing your way out of a scene! Similar to a bread knife, this one is serrated.

The French Edit

I have heard this edit called different names, but for some reason, it has stuck in my mind as the French Edit (maybe because it’s so sophisticated?). In this edit, two improvisers transition from one scene to the next without leaving the stage or changing position, but just by becoming two distinct new characters (or perhaps characters we have seen before in the same show) by changing their vocal tone and posture, etc. This is totally magical to behold as it involves really clear connection and communication between two players. It’s really tricky to pull off, but easier in a duo format for sure. A butter knife of course – so smooth.

The ‘Leave the Stage’ Edit

Somewhere in the mists of time, an improv teacher told their class that they weren’t allowed to leave the stage. This myth persists to this day. Let me tell you, you can just walk out of a scene. In a two-person scene, you can both leave, or the whole group can, and so on — for whatever reason. Even if you, the improviser, are having the worst scene of your life, leaving the stage creates space for whatever needs to happen next and opens up new dramatic possibilities. This is an invisible knife – I’m running out of knives people!

The ‘Failure to Edit’ Edit

Perhaps one of the more common edits that happen is when the amazing transition you set up is not received in the way you intended, and something else happens. So it must be included on a full list of improv edits! Some examples of this:

You come in with what you think is a clear verbal initiation, but it gets interpreted as a character entering the scene.
You initiate a swarm edit, but end up becoming a sound effect of the sea in the background or a lone bird adding depth and color to the scene happening in the garden.
You try to initiate a crossfade, but the other scene fails to leave, and you end up doing a split scene.
You leave the scene intending for your scene partner to leave with you, thereby ending the scene, but they stay and you leave them on their own.

Having one of your edits ‘fail’ can feel hard, especially if you feel you have been super clear to your teammates. But if this happens, remember it’s improvisation in action. Some of the best moments I’ve seen in improv shows have come out of failed transitions and what happens as a result of these accidental moments.

Hopefully, this list of improv edits will give you all the tools (kitchen knives, in fact) you need to end and begin your scenes with style. But if all else fails, you can always keep going until they close the theatre.