New musical gives voice to solitary struggles Emo punk gets literal in funny and honest premiere By: Ben Waldman Posted: 1:30 PM CDT Monday, May. 29, 2023

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This article was published 29/05/2023 (1207 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

When we first meet Brennan, his mental illnesses enshroud him like a weighted blanket.

He wants to get moving, but he can hardly stand up. He wants to play an original song at an upcoming open mic, but he can barely bring himself to pick up his acoustic guitar — the thing he loves more than any other object in his possession.

Brennan is played by Ian Ingram in the sharp new musical Breaking Up With Me, written by Connor and Cuinn Joseph. It’s the second production to launch at the Gargoyle Theatre, which is dedicated to premiering new works by local playwrights.

Brennan is so convinced he will fail that he neglects to even consider the possibility he might succeed if only he were to try.

And that’s how demoralized he feels even before his girlfriend calls to tell him that they’re over.

He seeks out advice from Susan, his patient therapist (a no-nonsense Nan Fewchuk) who says all the right things. But Brennan can’t hear her sound advice over the noise of his depression, anxiety and obsessive-compulsive disorder — a three-part disharmony he wishes would lose its collective voice.

These pains have always been a part of him, Brennan tells Susan. But where once they resembled a yappy little puppy he could probably fit into a fanny pack, they’ve now taken hold of the leash: he’s no longer in control, and he’s quickly careening into dangerous terrain.

That’s when Susan tells Brennan about a technique called externalization: she wants him to put his internal struggles into physical forms.

Brennan asks his ailments to join a pop-punk quartet. For the rest of the show, mounted at the gorgeously renovated Gargoyle on Ellice Avenue (located in the Mac’s Building, home to Cinema 3 in the 1990s), it’s up to him to break up the band and venture boldly into a solo career.

This conceit risks falling into insensitive territory, but in the hands of Winnipeg’s Joseph brothers (Cuinn composed the songs with Jacob Herd; Connor wrote the book), Breaking Up With Me might just be the musical of the mental health moment, giving voice to what is often a silent and solitary struggle.

Depression (a maniacal, wicked Duncan Cox) plays a mean bass. Anxiety (a strangely comforting Kara Joseph, younger sister of Connor and Cuinn) plays a jagged rhythm guitar. As OCD, a scene-stealing Josh Bellan is determined to grind out mathematical guitar solos; anything less than perfect will not do.

It’s Inside Out meets Big Mouth meets Green Day’s Dookie and My Chemical Romance’s The Black Parade. And like those other creations that deal directly with mental illness, Breaking Up With Me will help those struggling to feel both seen and heard, and provide some valuable tools for those who’ve never dealt with mental illness first-hand.

While it is a work of fiction, Breaking Up With Me is not entirely made up: the Josephs drew from their own experiences in therapy, with a few interactions between Brennan and Susan taken almost verbatim from the brothers’ real-life solo sessions.

It’s an honest piece of work by the creative team, and an impressive showcase for the actors tasked with providing a killer live soundtrack along with album-ready vocals.

Rather than portraying depression, anxiety and OCD as monolithic, this show highlights not just how scary those conditions are, but how bitterly funny, strange and irrational their intrusions can sometimes be.

It’s an honest piece of work by the creative team, and an impressive showcase for the actors tasked with providing a killer live soundtrack along with album-ready vocals.

Depression reminds Brennan not to go to the gym because all anyone will see are his skinny legs. Cox is a swaggering piece of work, disrespecting Brennan at all turns while assuring him that he’s a necessary evil.

As a gift, Anxiety presents OCD with a book. “A list of Brennan’s nervous tics in order of severity!” Bellan screams. “How did you know?”

The joke only lasts so long before the laughter dwindles and is replaced by dread. This is captured best by a double-act between Bellan and Ingram as Brennan folds laundry. “Sleeve, sleeve, fold in half, again, put down,” Bellan chants.

At first, it’s a cute performance of a daily task, and it seems as if OCD is helping Brennan complete it. But when the fold isn’t retail-perfect, Bellan instructs Ingram to start again; OCD is the drill sergeant, and Brennan is the clumsy recruit who can barely shine his shoes, let alone take apart his rifle.

The Josephs’ treatment of these serious conditions shifts dramatically in the show’s second act, where Brennan is pushed to the brink. He goes through phases of denial, of intense anger, and unbearable self-doubt after his symptoms return following an all-too-brief reprieve.

“You were supposed to fix me,” he cries to Susan, as always a sounding board for Brennan’s emotions. It’s his mental illness talking, but it’s Brennan screaming.

“Hey Suze,” Depression whispers in the therapist’s ear after Brennan’s mental state takes a terrifying turn. “I win.”

For now, but not forever.

ben.waldman@winnipegfreepress.com