GUEST COLUMN | Why humour still holds attention in an age of shorter attention spans

MUMBAI:  As audiences move between films, reels, digital series and microdramas, the challenge for brands is no longer simply to capture attention, but to give people a reason to stay. In this guest column, Abhijit Sudhakar, co-founder and director, ZigZag Films, explores why humour continues to cut through an increasingly crowded content environment, how relatable human behaviour forms the foundation of effective comedy, and why performance, format, cultural awareness and timing matter as much as the joke itself. Drawing from ZigZag Films’ work on Flipkart’s #NoMoreKahaaniyan campaign, he argues that the strongest branded humour does not chase trends or force punchlines, but makes audiences recognise themselves in the absurdity.

We keep hearing that attention spans are getting shorter. I am not entirely convinced. People will still watch a three-hour film, finish six episodes of a series at 2 a.m., or follow a microdrama for 70 episodes to discover whether two people who clearly like each other will finally admit it.

Attention is not necessarily the problem. People have simply become much faster at deciding what does and does not deserve it.

Audiences can immediately tell when a brand is trying too hard to sound young, when a joke has been inserted because someone in the meeting said, “Can we make this more engaging?”, or when an internet trend has reached advertising three weeks after the internet has moved on.

Attention has become harder to earn and much easier to lose.

Humour remains one of the most effective ways to earn it because laughter creates an immediate relationship with the audience. It lowers resistance and makes advertising feel less like an interruption. But humour works only when it starts with something recognisable.

Humour begins with people-watching

The funniest moments are often not jokes in the conventional sense. They are small behaviours we have all noticed: the relative who turns every family gathering into a press conference, the friend who offers expert advice on something they discovered ten minutes ago, or the person who says, “I don’t want any drama,” moments before personally arranging all the drama.

When an audience thinks, “I know someone exactly like this,” the film has already made a connection.

Humour cannot simply be sprinkled over a script at the end like coriander. It must emerge from the characters, their relationships and the world they inhabit. When the observation is honest, the comedy feels effortless. When it is not, even the cleverest line can appear wearing a name tag that says: Hello, I am the joke.

In our recent work on Flipkart’s #NoMoreKahaaniyan campaign, which we directed, the humour came from a familiar instinct: the elaborate stories people tell when something goes wrong. The situation is exaggerated, yet the characters treat it with complete sincerity. That contrast, between an increasingly ridiculous kahaani and people behaving as though it is perfectly reasonable, allows the comedy to build. The product promise of accidental and liquid damage protection then becomes the solution to all those unnecessary stories.

Even exaggerated humour works best when it begins with recognisable behaviour.

Every format has its own comic rhythm

The source of humour may remain human behaviour, but its rhythm changes across formats.

A 30-second television commercial leaves little room for sightseeing. The world, character and comic turn must be established quickly. That compression can make comedy stronger because every pause, reaction and cut has a job.

A reel usually needs to communicate its premise almost immediately. But speed alone does not make something funny. When every reel begins with a desperate hook and races towards a predictable punchline, viewers can sense the formula before the joke has even cleared its throat.

Longer digital films offer more space for character and escalation, but that time must be earned. A two-minute film cannot simply be a 30-second idea asked to walk very slowly.

Microdramas offer another possibility. Recurring characters allow humour to deepen over time. Once audiences know a character, they begin to anticipate how that person will react, and the familiarity becomes part of the joke.

For brands, this is an opportunity to build a comic world rather than chase one viral moment. But 100 episodes cannot rescue a weak idea. They only give the audience 99 more chances to notice the problem.

The format is just the container. The real challenge remains the same: can you make someone care?

Comedy is made in the performance

A scene can be hilarious on paper and completely collapse on screen.

Humour often lives in details that are difficult to describe in a script: the length of a pause, someone looking away, a reaction arriving half a second late, or a character treating an absurd situation with complete seriousness.

Casting is therefore not simply about finding someone who can deliver a funny line. It is about finding a performer who understands the character well enough not to perform the joke. The moment an actor appears to be saying, “Please notice how funny I am,” the audience usually notices everything except the humour.

Editing adds another layer. Cutting too early can lose the joke; holding too long can explain it to death. Comedy, unfortunately, does not improve when accompanied by a PowerPoint presentation.

Cultural awareness is not trend-chasing

There is a difference between understanding culture and borrowing its latest costume. By the time a trend has passed through presentations, approvals, legal checks and production, it may already be nostalgia.

Humour does not have to mimic the internet to belong on it. A sharply observed character or a familiar social situation can travel because people recognise something true in them. That recognition lasts longer than a passing trend.

The television commercial, reel, digital film and microdrama are not opponents in a boxing ring. Each can do something different for an idea.

Platforms will change, formats will evolve, and someone will inevitably announce the death of the television commercial once again. But the foundations of humour are unlikely to change.

We laugh when we recognise ourselves, preferably in somebody else.

In an environment overflowing with content, humour still holds attention because it offers audiences more than another demand on their time. It gives them the pleasure of feeling seen.