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It was fine. It was cute, and moving in parts, with some really interesting anecdotes and stories, and the shares about dark times from all of the participants were really engaging.

However, at other times it seriously dragged and felt boring. I think that the main problem was in the edit - it wasn't quite right. It jumped around a little too much and I found the rapid cutting of multiple VTs quite jarring. The group therapy was actually only a small part of the show; there were also candid 1-on-1 interviews, and multiple shots of the participants talking to each other in various places and combinations. Overall I enjoyed the comedians but I wasn't quite sure what the actual programme was trying to be.

The archetype of the stand-up comedian is often rooted in pain - someone who has learnt to use humour as a coping mechanism and turned it into a career. Audiences connect with this emotional honesty cloaked in laughter, and comedians are frequently described as quick-witted, neurotic, frenetic, insightful, acerbic, and sardonic. In recent years, mental health has become a recurring theme in stand-up, with many performers openly discussing their trauma and psychological struggles on stage.

So, when I saw the premise of Group Therapy, I expected something more than a comedy showcase. I hoped for a space where prominent comedians could drop the performance and speak vulnerably about the pain behind their humour. I imagined something closer to a real therapeutic setting, perhaps guided by a trained clinician like Dr Orna Guralnik (Couples Therapy).

Instead, we got Neil Patrick Harris as host - not a therapist - facilitating what felt more like a daytime talk show than a group therapy session. The presence of a live audience, seated behind the comedians, only heightened the sense of performance over authenticity. Rather than witnessing raw self-reflection, we were treated to a curated version of vulnerability, still framed for entertainment.

That said, there were some striking moments. When Harris gently challenged London Hughes on her rapid-fire delivery - meant to pre-empt negative reactions - I saw a glimmer of what this show could have been. Through her story, we learn that her brash stage persona masks deep-seated self-esteem issues. Gary Gulman shared his experience with electroconvulsive therapy after decades of treatment-resistant depression. Tig Notaro opened up about profound personal losses. Atsuko Okatsuka, shaped by her migrant background and a mother with schizophrenia, described finding belonging in comedy. Both Mike Birbiglia and Nicole Byer disclosed their ADHD diagnoses.

These moments offered insight, but the show ultimately lacked depth. I didn't come away with any meaningful understanding of how these individuals navigate difficult emotions offstage - only that most remain in long-term individual therapy. Notaro and Birbiglia have each seen the same therapist for decades. That's an important takeaway, but also a missed opportunity. For many, individual therapy is inaccessible. Group therapy exists precisely to provide a more affordable and communal alternative - yet this show failed to demonstrate its power: mutual support, shared insight, and healing through connection.

P. S. It's no surprise to me, as a therapist, that neurodivergence is common in the comedy world. Many people with ADHD - often alongside autism - gravitate toward dynamic, unpredictable careers like stand-up. ADHD is also associated with higher rates of anxiety, depression, and substance use. These challenges, compounded by society's limited understanding of neurodivergence, are deeply woven into the stories comedians tell. I only wish Group Therapy had created space to explore those stories with more care, honesty, and therapeutic intention.