Marcia Debonis and Christian Caro in The Voices in Your Head (Photo: )

If life can take many different forms, it makes sense that so can grief. There is no one way to process loss. But The Voices in Your Head, created by Grier Mathiot and Billy McEntee, reminds us that sometimes humor can be a tonic, especially at this “anti-grief” support group.

With an audience of around 20, held in an inclusive church in Brooklyn, St. Lydia’s, it’s an intimate site-specific setting (it becomes St. Lidwina’s in the play). We are seated in the support group circle (though there is no audience participation—leave it to the professionals in acting, grief, and joy). Audience and actors are snacking on cookies and tea. We all blend into the crowd making the point that anyone can be there looking for support. What is scripted and what is sort of loose pre-show banter is hard to spot.

But in this support group you have to pass certain criteria to enter. Slowly over the course of the hour-long show, as the details of the characters’ experiences drip out, and one grief-stricken person stops by and is sent packing, we come to understand the unusual group requirement for “anti-grief.”

While the premise is bordering on the absurd (perhaps invoking such a tone, the creators quote from Lewis Carroll’s The Walrus and the Carpenter in the program), what’s genuine is the idea of finding community in your kind of loss as people outside the circle don’t always understand what you need.

I recall when my Dad died people getting very emotional and weepy considering their own relationships with their fathers. But few people made space for the particular grief I was processing as he and I were estranged. Where were my fellow neglected-children rage-grievers?!

Similarly, this group is looking for something the outside world cannot give them. They are in search of “weird ass joy.” The group is led by Gwen (Jamila Sabares-Klemm) who has a forced cheeriness and tries to get everyone to follow her rules but she doesn’t quite have as strong a grip on the group as she’d like.

Group member Vivian (Marcia Debonis) is an overeager beaver full of energy which she pours into winding and unwinding yarn in her bag and emergency toilet breaks. Caleb (Christian Caro) is an awkward college student who does not want to be the “sad” kid at school. Regina (Daphne Overbeck) is a vivacious housewife looking for her second act after the death of her husband. Sandra (Erin Treadway) is closed-lipped and a reluctant participant who seems to lead with hostility. Hadiya (Jehan O. Young) is new to the group and brings a joyfulness when she can get a word in. Latecomer, Blake (Alex Gibson) seems to relish his storytelling and knows how to make an entrance and an exit.

The style of the piece has a real Civilians (if fictional) throwback feel. These are quirky and unexpected voices speaking a kind of truth about life and death in a quasi-confessional style. The dramatic tension comes from natural places—the way we make space for other people and not always for ourself, the tentative acceptance of the rules of engagement and then a rebellion, or simply acceptance and rejection. So as unusual as some of the stories might be they are still rooted in a very human truth. And like the group the play is seeking its own kind of weird ass joy.

Debonis, always a standout, plays Vivian with a delightful exuberance. She bubbles over with enthusiasm, awkward laughter, and even moments of rage. She is a little confused by the world and people but leads with sincerity (dutifully taking notes in the group). It’s such a pure performance (with an unexpected big finish).  Blake gets a particularly showy monologue about the person he has lost that feels like the Santaland Diaries if they were even queerer.  Overbeck seems a skosh too young for Regina’s monologue but I liked her interactions with the other characters as she is willing to meet everyone where they are at.

At an hour, it has the feel of a small scale EdFringe show that does just enough to send you back out into the streets with a smile on your face and some characters to process. And if  you need some morbid laughs you will find your community in this darkly droll wee play.