Review: "The Group"

Katie Green and Michael Rau’s support group for fictional survivors and their dead.

“My dear James. I wasted most of myself on the things that didn’t matter. But the thought that I left a mark on your life is strangely comforting. I love you. I only wish I had said it to you more often.”

This is what I would have written to my husband. But I can’t because I am dead. And I am stuck in purgatory, which looks like a support group for the dead. We talk about our living counterparts and share thoughts on the afterlife. At times it’s unbearable and painful, at times it’s boring, and at times it’s amusing and insightful. But overall the talking’s been instrumental in moving on. Who would’ve thought that the dead grieve, too?

More than anything it was gratifying to become Olivia, a fictional character that I invented for The Group, an interactive theatrical experience co-designed and facilitated by Michael Rau and Katie Green. This LARP (Live Action Role Playing) experience pairs the audience members according to their preferences on what type of relationships they would like to explore. Spouses, siblings, and creative partners are amongst eleven options on a character sheet offered to each upon entry. During the orientation session, facilitators Michael and Katie — soon to become the siblings “Brian” and “Julia” — introduce the rules and safety instructions. (The participants are discouraged from working on real active grief within this theatrical setting but even fictional grief can be difficult to handle.)

The Group is a part of Reimagine: End of Life festival, a week-long series of talks, performances and other events dedicated to the exploration of death. Considering the heavy weight of the topic, it is hardly a lightheartedly entertaining piece. But it is perfect for those who would like to explore the loss and grief in the “safe container of fictional relationship,” as Katie puts it. Both the generous three-hour timeframe and intimate size of the audience (up to 14 people) provide the perfect conditions to take a journey within.

The atmosphere feels trustworthy and safe throughout the entire experience. The creators equip the participants with a few tools of distancing themselves from the happening and of voicing their concerns if need be. The audience is also told the order of the events in advance, so there are no surprises. First, the collaborative building of the relationship takes place in pairs, prompted by a questionnaire. Each pair consists of the dead and the living. Separated after the characters’ building session, they go to their respective support groups; one for the deceased and one for the grieving survivors, although physically they sit in one circle, circumscribed by Christmas lights.

First, the survivors have their session led by “Julia,” grieving for her brother, “Brian.” Draped with a black shawl and wearing rubber gloves, indicating my state as a deceased, I have no say in this meeting. There is a protocol to interrupt my significant other with a short remark if I have an absolute urge, but only the other dead members can hear me. So here I sit, marinating in my own sorrow, tears, and other people’s pain as Julia gently guides people through their emotions.

Naturally, the hunger for stories suppresses grief in some and they start asking others about their fictitious lives and relationships. But it’s not easy to invent details on the fly without disturbing your emotional state, so the moderator veers the curious away from this path. The Group, after all, is about and for each individual. Theatricality, storytelling, and performance are dialed down greatly, which frees the participants from a lot of pressure.

Many details of personal lives remain hidden to the eyes of other members of the group. But there is something bittersweet in sharing a large part of the relationship narrative only with your partner. Because we can’t communicate with the other world directly, much of the work of the grief happens inside our minds.

The dead have their own support group session, which immediately follows the meeting of the living. The lighting shifts from a bright glow to a moody reddish twilight, indicating the change of the setting. Brian, Julia’s dead brother, reads the rules from his notepad regarding being respectful of others and not taking up too much space.

The chosen format of a support group restricts movement and forces participants to focus on words and emotions rather than actions. The rubber gloves are offered as a means to change a perception the body. “The dead have no sense of touch,” Bruce instructs me as I put them on, hesitant at first. But as the experience goes on, I find that I keep my eyes closed often during meetings with the living to make the separation more tangible. I noticed others did as well. (I envision there may be other potential options for sensory deprivation for the dead participants, like asking them to close their eyes or having them wear dark sunglasses to further enhance the experience of being separate from their physical bodies.)

The Group is firmly built on rules and generously cushioned with care. It is tactfully executed and tastefully designed, thanks to the combined theatre and counseling experience of the authors. It is a safe environment to talk about death and loss, a dialogue lacking in modern secular society, that may prove to be therapeutic, even though the participants are working through fictional grief. Instead of focusing on staying forever young, maybe we should pause and reflect on the inevitable more often?

The experience is also very life-assuring. Being dead for three hours allowed me to appreciate being alive and grateful for the opportunity to be able to communicate my feelings and thoughts to others. As for those who have already left this world, I hope whatever it is on the other side, it is at least as comforting as The Group was for me.

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The Group has concluded; learn more about Reimagine: End of Life andTwin Alchemy Collective.

[This Review was published on NoProscenium.com on 10.30]