edwin-wks
Joined Mar 2008
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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.
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.
"I can't tell" was what Tom Martens told the 911 operator when they asked him if Jason Corbett was still breathing. Later, he and his daughter, Molly, Jason's wife, can be heard attempting or feigning an attempt to perform CPR on Corbett's unresponsive body. Checking for signs of breathing precedes CPR. "I can't tell" implies either he didn't care to check whether Corbett was still breathing or he already knew that Corbett was dead.
Very rarely in true crime documentaries do we get to see an even portrayal of both sides of the story. No one involved had "declined to comment" and it felt very much like witnessing a live trial where cases of the defense and prosecution are being presented as we the audience watch on like a member of the jury. In this sense, this documentary succeeds in allowing you to form your own opinion about the truth surrounding the death of Jason Corbett - was he the victim or the aggressor who was killed in self-defense?
A few things stood out to me. Tom's coldness and detachment when discussing the death of his son-in-law, and his smirk that was captured at the police station. Molly's unwavering focus on herself and her image as the mother of Jack and Sarah, speaking of them as if she was their birth mother, as well as the abject absence of any remorse or horror towards her husband's death, even if he was abusive according to her. After all, she admitted to striking him in the head with a brick.
Jack and Sarah were more reliable narrators, especially when they each expressed sadness and guilt over their initial statements to the authorities at the tender ages at 9 and 7 respectively, that portrayed their father as having a temper and abusive towards Molly; these statements were later retracted when they concluded that they had been groomed by Molly. The defense attorneys homed in on medical notes that indicated Jason reporting "getting angry for no reason", while ignoring the bigger picture that Jason had hypothyroidism and hadn't been taking his medication for seven months. Symptoms of hypothyroidism include weight gain, fatigue, depression and irritability.
DARVO is Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim and Offender; Molly gave a masterclass of this here. A real victim of coercive control wouldn't dare to risk their abuser finding a recording device, let alone plant several at various locations in the home and in the car. Molly saying "I was the mother to the Jack and Sarah that existed in another lifetime" also informed me that she never truly cared for the children. She only saw them as extensions of herself as she basked in title of Mother and wanted them so that she could continue her charade. But Jason would not allow her to be their adoptive mother and wanted to return to Ireland with Jack and Sarah. That was the motive.
Very rarely in true crime documentaries do we get to see an even portrayal of both sides of the story. No one involved had "declined to comment" and it felt very much like witnessing a live trial where cases of the defense and prosecution are being presented as we the audience watch on like a member of the jury. In this sense, this documentary succeeds in allowing you to form your own opinion about the truth surrounding the death of Jason Corbett - was he the victim or the aggressor who was killed in self-defense?
A few things stood out to me. Tom's coldness and detachment when discussing the death of his son-in-law, and his smirk that was captured at the police station. Molly's unwavering focus on herself and her image as the mother of Jack and Sarah, speaking of them as if she was their birth mother, as well as the abject absence of any remorse or horror towards her husband's death, even if he was abusive according to her. After all, she admitted to striking him in the head with a brick.
Jack and Sarah were more reliable narrators, especially when they each expressed sadness and guilt over their initial statements to the authorities at the tender ages at 9 and 7 respectively, that portrayed their father as having a temper and abusive towards Molly; these statements were later retracted when they concluded that they had been groomed by Molly. The defense attorneys homed in on medical notes that indicated Jason reporting "getting angry for no reason", while ignoring the bigger picture that Jason had hypothyroidism and hadn't been taking his medication for seven months. Symptoms of hypothyroidism include weight gain, fatigue, depression and irritability.
DARVO is Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim and Offender; Molly gave a masterclass of this here. A real victim of coercive control wouldn't dare to risk their abuser finding a recording device, let alone plant several at various locations in the home and in the car. Molly saying "I was the mother to the Jack and Sarah that existed in another lifetime" also informed me that she never truly cared for the children. She only saw them as extensions of herself as she basked in title of Mother and wanted them so that she could continue her charade. But Jason would not allow her to be their adoptive mother and wanted to return to Ireland with Jack and Sarah. That was the motive.
A Joburg man describes himself as a hyperactive child and has always doubted whether he's good enough, probably because he could never sit still and couldn't make it through high school. He then spends his youth in motor racing and partying, leading a life of debauchery and lack of consequences. That is until two of his friends die in an accident, causing him to take stock of his own life and wondering the meaning of it. Here in the making of this documentary, he finds his purpose looking after a juvenile pangolin, initially named Gijima, then renamed by him as Kulu, because why not.
The precious pangolin cannot express its consent to anything that it will be subjected to for the sake of this documentary and its storytelling, which chooses to focus on the handler's supposed redemption, rather than the terrible plight of pangolins in the poaching world. Isn't it curious that the most vulnerable pangolin in the program's care, Gijima, was placed in the hands of the most inexperienced handler, Gareth? It is clearly nothing more than a plot device to raise the stakes for Gareth - will he succeed or will he prove a failure yet again? How nail-biting.
Just like in My Octopus Teacher, this documentary prioritises the human element over the animal subject. It comes across as the pangolin having been twice exploited; the first time by poachers, torn away from its mother, only to be rescued and cast in a supporting role to humans who are seeking purpose, recognition and perhaps a second Oscar win for Best Documentary. What's more on the cards is a diagnosis of ADHD for Gareth. Unfortunately, he doesn't make a compelling protagonist and his personal history feels intentionally vague, so I was unable to invest in his story. Save for cute shots of Gijima, I was thoroughly bored.
The precious pangolin cannot express its consent to anything that it will be subjected to for the sake of this documentary and its storytelling, which chooses to focus on the handler's supposed redemption, rather than the terrible plight of pangolins in the poaching world. Isn't it curious that the most vulnerable pangolin in the program's care, Gijima, was placed in the hands of the most inexperienced handler, Gareth? It is clearly nothing more than a plot device to raise the stakes for Gareth - will he succeed or will he prove a failure yet again? How nail-biting.
Just like in My Octopus Teacher, this documentary prioritises the human element over the animal subject. It comes across as the pangolin having been twice exploited; the first time by poachers, torn away from its mother, only to be rescued and cast in a supporting role to humans who are seeking purpose, recognition and perhaps a second Oscar win for Best Documentary. What's more on the cards is a diagnosis of ADHD for Gareth. Unfortunately, he doesn't make a compelling protagonist and his personal history feels intentionally vague, so I was unable to invest in his story. Save for cute shots of Gijima, I was thoroughly bored.