The plot of Joan MacLeod’s The Valley, on now at Tarragon Theatre, is unfortunately all too familiar: an 18-year-old recent college drop-out experiences his first psychotic episode on Vancouver’s SkyTrain. The exhausted police officer called to the scene arrests him for causing a public disturbance, spurring debate over whether or not he used excessive force in the process. A Toronto audience only has to think of Sammy Yatim’s shooting this August to be reminded how common these situations are. A perceived threat to public safety coupled with the absence of a solid understanding of mental illness can—and often does—lead to violence.

But as gripping as The Valley‘s scenario is, the actual confrontation between the teen, Connor (Colin Mercer), and the officer, Dan (Ian Lake), is not what the play is about. It’s more a plot point, to connect two families dealing with mental illness: Connor and his divorced mother, Sharon (Susan Coyne), and Dan and his wife, Janie (Michelle Monteith), who is experiencing postpartum depression after the birth of their son. Connor and Dan’s altercation, which closes the first act, is tense but ultimately anti-climactic. It’s hard for the audience to doubt Dan’s actions, despite Sharon’s rallying cries against him and the police force.

MacLeod loads the script with emotional backstories for Connor (a young sci-fi novelist and potential creative genius) and Janie (a former homeless drug addict saved by her future husband). The parallels between these two characters are very strong, especially when they ultimately come face to face. Dan and Sharon, likewise, are foils for each other, which isn’t to say that they’re equals on the stage: however convincing her performance, Coyne’s Sharon is limited to a state of permanent concern and doting for her son. Meanwhile, Lake’s standout performance as Dan creates a compelling figure of a cop who has a sense of duty, but who maintains a necessary cold distance between himself and the “crazy people” he has to protect every day, including his wife.

The script has enough heartbreaking lines and honest moments—like a final breakthrough Sharon has with Connor as he lies motionless on his bed—to get some real empathy from the audience. Unfortunately, it dissolves into a forced and almost lecture-like conclusion.

The biggest assets in director Richard Rose’s production are his staging and Graeme Thomson’s set. Inside the Tarragon Theatre main space, the stage has been dismantled and a pale, grey carpet has taken its place. It extends down the aisles, inviting everyone into this living-room drama—or rather, this living room, bedroom, dining room, and office drama, since those four settings are each situated on a corner of the performance space. Located in the middle of these household scenes is a wide circle of equally bland linoleum tile. The effect is distastefully domestic. The mysterious central circle is eerie, almost foreboding. It is, after all, where Connor and Janie experience their lowest moments—the pit of the titular “valley.” As long as the characters remain on the edges of the space, they’re more or less safe. But when they cross over the threshold, a downward slide is soon to follow. That tile also ingeniously preserves the marks of Connor and Dan’s struggle, as a constant reminder of their confrontation.

The Valley succeeds in telling the stories of two Canadian families from opposite sides of a city, both affected by depression. At the end, they’re able to move forward. The unanswered question is, can society can move forward with them?

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Today In Theatre at Tarragon Theatre