Trigger warning: the following review contains mention of suicide.

In the ongoing global conversation over mental health awareness, the topic’s intersection with comedy has become a unique point of interest over the last decade. It jump-started in 2014, when the death of Robin Williams sent shockwaves through pop culture. Somehow, the funniest comedian of his generation was also one of the most deeply depressed. It had many of us reflecting on the darker side of stand-up comedy, the pain that lies behind the humor. Some have rejected the notion that they are that deeply interlinked, yet it only feels like more and more comedians are not only acknowledging their own trauma, but making it an indispensable part of their material. How is it that we find so much light from such utter darkness?

The question is ruminated to beautiful effect in Group Therapy, a new documentary centered on six stand-up comedians – Atsuko Okatsuka, Nicole Byer, Tig Notaro, London Hughes, Gary Gulman, and Mike Birbiglia – who sit down for a roundtable discussion on how their adversity has inspired their comedy. Moderated by Neil Patrick Harris and filmed in front of a live studio audience, the conversation weaves in and out of each comedian’s life story, built upon through additional interviews and vérité backstage segments, while comparing and contrasting their performing styles and mental health journeys.

A person with a bowl haircut wearing a yellow lace top looks sideways, with another person out of focus in the background. — Courtesy of Tribeca

It may sound like a flat idea for a feature documentary, more fit for a glorified YouTube video. However, thanks to a few cinematic tools and a bevy of strong personalities, the result is a deeply cathartic look at the power of comedy, stand-up in particular, as a method of processing tragedy. Each featured comedian has their own unique experience with it: some border on the absurd, such as Birbiglia, who struggles with a sleepwalking disorder that once sent him flying out of a window on the second story of a La Quinta Inn, while others are far more nuanced, like Notaro, whose cancer diagnosis led to one of the most legendary sets in stand-up history. Though the group is extremely diverse in many notable ways, it is this strife that binds them all as a group who can speak with authority.

Viewers are likely to approach the film as fans of at least one comedian in the bunch, but the film spends enough time with each member that any newcomers will be charmed rather quickly. Younger talents, like Hughes and Okatsuka, fare just as well alongside stalwarts like Notaro and Gulman, sharing immediate chemistry swapping quips back and forth. However, for a film about comedy, Group Therapy is not an especially funny film, certainly not as uproarious as any of these comics’ specials. The film is, instead, a somber documentary, unafraid to linger in deeply sad moments of autobiography. Gulman is perhaps most notable here, speaking of his own suicidal ideation and experience with electroshock therapy with stunning, sobering clarity.

Berkeley keeps things aesthetically straightforward – perhaps in an attempt to let the subjects speak for themselves – with the usual dance between talking heads and archival material. However, the choice to stage the therapy session complete with an audience flirts with a more formally daring subtext. Toward the beginning of the film, Birbiglia says that he strives to not make his live shows like therapy because that implies there is an active communication between the audience and the performer when, in reality, it is purely the performer providing for the audience. However, if the film is called Group Therapy and the comedians are ultimately performing a therapy session, where does the relationship stand?

A man in a navy blazer speaks animatedly to a group of seated people in a room with posters on the walls. — Courtesy of Tribeca

One would think we are meant to get as much out of the film’s deeply personal resonance as the subjects who provide it, yet the film never makes it explicitly clear whether or not the subjects are genuinely moved by the discussion or if it was more in service of the audience. The central group session, while insightful and engaging, feels closer to a comedy special than actual therapy; there’s a sense that the comedians and their conversation is being egged on, if even slightly, by the presence of the audience. Yet, the film balances this with more candid conversations that occur between cast members in other areas of the venue, be it in the green room or some nondescript hallway. As we glean new connections forming on-camera, we see something closer to what actual group therapy looks like.

In the end, little of this tension is reconciled, making this cinematic experiment feel a bit limp as it wraps a tidy bow on its characters and their meeting. However, we do get glimmers of progress. Okatsuka, at the time of recording, admits to having stopped seeing a therapist. By the film’s end, it appears she has been inspired to find a new one and “get better.” Though this moment could have gone with more emphasis, it will hopefully speak to the audience in a powerful way. If all of these hilarious, talented comedians use therapy as a way of working through their problems, it may inspire a viewer to finally pick up the phone and schedule a meeting themselves.

Group Therapy held its World Premiere as part of the Spotlight+ section of the 2024 Tribeca Film Festival. It is currently seeking distribution.

Director: Neil Berkeley

Rated: NR

Runtime: 86m