Winter/Spring 2018: Weeks 3 and 4

February 6

We began today’s session by checking in again, and we still seemed to be okay with it. We decided to give The Ring a whirl, though some of the guys clearly felt a little uncomfortable about it. One of our undisputed leaders went around the circle, miming as if he were holding a basket, and asked each of us to throw our piece of the ring in. That loosened us up a bit, and we finished out the exercise.

Several of the men, who live in the same unit, asked if they could show us the work they’d been doing on Act II Scene i. That proved to be an interesting way of taking on the scene—watching people give it a try rather than reading it first. I’m not generally a fan of this approach with Shakespeare—it tends to be challenging to figure out what one should be doing without having first puzzled through the language—but I always roll with the punches when the ensemble wants to try something out.

It was clear that this group had done a lot of work on the scene, but it’s a tough one to stage—it’s a lot of talking—and I wasn’t sure what the others had gotten out of it. We generally start with feedback from the people on stage, though, so I checked in with them first. “I like Prospero,” said one of the men. “He plays the bad guy, but he’s not really the bad guy.” As we talked more about the scene, he added, “I like the bullshitters—Sebastian and Antonio are total bullshitters.” It turned out that it was his first time performing for a group, which was shocking because he’s got such a knack for this, and we gave him a hand for taking that risk.

A man who’d been watching said that he liked the back-and-forth of the scene. “It’s like normal conversations,” he said, commending the men who’d read for doing a good job of conveying that.

Most of the men were pretty quiet, though. I asked them if any had drifted while watching—that if they had, it probably wasn’t the fault of the actors, and they shouldn’t feel bad about saying so. It turned out that many of us had. I reassured the men who’d read, again, that it wasn’t anything they’d done or hadn’t done—that this scene is just a LOT of talking with very little action, and it’s tough for contemporary audiences to stay focused on scenes like that.

One of the men, who was in the Othello ensemble, talked about how they need to really commit to their acting when performing in front of other inmates. That’s a very tough thing for many of them to do. “If you’re doing something and you don’t have no fear, it’s not even worth doing it,” said one man. The first man continued, “These guys [audience], they come from the streets—they have street smarts. They know when someone’s not being real. They know when that laugh is fake or that thing you said wasn’t for real.”

“We wear a mask every day,” said one man. Many of the men nodded, agreeing with him. The man who’d spoken of commitment continued, “Everybody wears a mask.” He gestured toward facilitator Matt and me, saying, “Sometimes I think these two do when they come in here.” He added, “When I used to sell drugs, when I’d talk to a skateboarder, I’d talk one way. With a homeboy, I’d talk a different way.” The first man chimed in, saying, “Every situation you jump into, you put on a uniform. That’s your mask.” A third man said, “It’s a set of skills,” and all agreed with him.

That first man brought it back around. “Doing Shakespeare, I’m nervous as hell. I’m sure we all were. But you gotta use that mask of confidence to get through that fear and nerves. Ain’t nothing wrong with that mask. It’s just how you use it.” Another man said, “Not to throw you all off, but I think everybody can do that—we all can do that.”

One man continued on that train of thought, saying he’s been impressed by the facilitators’ “professional actor prep.” I smiled wryly at him and said, “You’ve never done that in real life?” He said, “Sure.” I said, “It’s the same thing.”

Another man put it out there that you’re always playing a role; that it just depends on your environment. “It’s like when we get pulled over—or like when the C.O.s come—you literally role-playing.” A couple of the other men gave their own examples. “Are these masks or different aspects of who you are anyway?” I asked. The consensus was that it’s a combination, but usually whatever role you’re playing is a part of you. One man said that’s something he values about Shakespeare: his ability to see himself in and relate to the characters.

We shifted back to the scene itself. I asked what our takeaways should be, focusing first on the relationships between the characters. Antonio and Sebastian came up first—the way they make fun of Gonzalo. “They sound like pessimists, and he’s an optimist. You’re always gonna get friction there,” said one man. “Whenever Gonzalo says something positive, they have to bring him down.” One man added that he thought that Gonzalo seems like a “socialistic kind of Democrat,” while Sebastian and Antonio seem like “real reactionary Republicans.”

Another man asked why Ariel wouldn’t just leave Prospero, referring to his power as a spirit (we’re undecided on Ariel’s gender, but for simplicity’s sake, and because this is a group of men, I’m using male pronouns for now). It’s complicated. Some of the ideas that came up were that Prospero’s magic is stronger; that Ariel is intensely loyal; that he’s paying a debt; and that this is simply part of the play’s theme of incarceration: Ariel is not free to leave, period.

One man posited that Ariel can’t or won’t leave because he was there first and was “already bonded to the island itself.” Another man built on that, saying that Ariel and Caliban are natives, and Prospero has colonized the island—they shouldn’t have to think about leaving. Another mentioned that Caliban’s mother was an immigrant, and a second man jokingly said, “He’s an anchor baby!”

As the discussion continued, one man shook his head thoughtfully, saying, “It’s almost as if [Shakespeare] leaves you room to write a whole new play of your own.”

We decided to try out some improv, playing a game in which scene partners must begin each new line with the next letter of the alphabet. It is an extremely difficult game, and we had varying degrees of success. We tried to assess the reasons for that. “You get so focused on the letter, you lose the activity,” said one man, and he was absolutely right. We continued to play, reminding each other where our focus should be in each scene. One man came up with a scenario in which two others were supposed to be fighting off monstrous bugs, but they were fairly timid about it. I told them not to feel bad—that this is tough because, as adults, we’ve forgotten how to play and commit to something totally imaginary. Our instinct is to back off, and we have to unlearn that. It’s not easy.

There were a number of moments that really got us, even though the scenes overall didn’t work great. One of the men roped me into doing a scene with him, and somehow it turned into a series of taunts. When I said (my letter was J), “Just you wait till my boyfriend gets here,” my scene partner immediately came back with, “Kevin ain’t shit!” The whole ensemble burst out laughing and kind of couldn’t stop. Afterward we talked about why that had worked so well, and the answer was that he hadn’t thought about it—he’d just trusted his instinct, and that authenticity played really well.

February 13

We had to cancel our February 9 meeting due to a snowstorm, and when the guys arrived today, one of our leaders came right up to me with a plan he’d written out. He proposed breaking into four small groups that would each read and perform one of the next four scenes. He figured that if we did that and followed each scene with group discussions, we could get to the end of the play more quickly than with our usual method, which would be helpful since we’re a little behind.

I welcomed this man to lead the rest of the session, and he went about dividing people into groups and assigning roles. Some of the men were more hesitant than others, and all were extremely compassionate as they figured things out together, even switching roles to make each other more comfortable.

After about a half hour, we gathered to watch the scenes. The first was Act II, scene ii, the first scene between Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo. These guys had great instincts, and, even with only a little bit of work, the scene was super funny. The man playing Stephano pretended to throw up at the end, which was a nice touch! I asked them how it had felt. “The more I do exercises like this, the more I understand it,” said the man who’d played Stephano. The man who’d played Caliban agreed, saying, “It makes it easier to relate to the characters when you can actually put movement behind the words.” A man who had not been in the scene remarked that he thought the casting was “destined,” and that these were the guys who should play these roles. We didn’t set anything in stone, though!

I asked for more feedback from the rest of the ensemble. One man mused, “It’s funny how they find this guy, and their first thought is how they can make money off him.” We talked about how typical that was in the era of colonization—how typical it still is in some ways. As we talked more about the scene, that same man said that the play shows the poor decisions people make under the influence of alcohol. We talked about who is taking advantage of whom in this scenario and decided that it’s mutual, and we’re going to keep an eye on the dynamic between these three.

We moved on to Act III Scene i, which is almost entirely between Ferdinand and Miranda. Ferdinand definitely begins the scene hauling logs, but I expected that the man playing him would come to stillness at some point. He didn’t, though. He just kept walking back and forth, miming as if carrying these logs. Meanwhile, the man playing Miranda stood still—it seemed like he couldn’t figure out how to do anything else with all of the back and forth.

Afterward, the man who’d played Ferdinand said, “I never wanna carry a log again!” We all laughed, and one man said, “That’s a big-ass fire!” I asked if the first man had felt an impulse to stop at any point, and he said that he had, but that he hadn’t been sure of what else he could be doing. I encouraged everyone to trust those instincts—if they’re not 100% right, they’ll lead us to where we need to go. Another man said he’d lost focus because the vocal delivery was fairly monotone, so we’ll want to work on that, too.

That brought us to Act III, scene ii, the next Caliban/Trinculo/Stephano scene. This scene, which is otherwise ridiculously funny and uncouth, is interrupted by an incredibly lyrical speech by Caliban about the island. I asked the ensemble what they thought about it. “He’s a poet and he doesn’t even know it,” said one man. “Yes!” I said. “What else?” Another man said, “He’s more intelligent than people give him credit for.” Right again. When no one else brought it up, I added that another feature of this speech is to convey how much Caliban loves the island. That’s important to remember.

We ended with Act III, scene iii, which was kind of confusing to watch without reading because there’s so much action that depends on staging and, probably, costumes. We got some of it, though, and the guy who played Ariel got a lot out of it. “Ariel’s a bad ass,” he said, adding that the spirit’s speech “almost had the feel of a condemning sermon… fire and brimstone… Almost a reckoning: remember your past sins… It’s almost as if she’s had enough of human nature—what we can visit on each other.”

February 16

During check-in, some of the men shared that they’ve been doing “deep improv” on their own time, exploring various characters and scenarios in an entirely open-ended way. They’re enjoying it and want to do it with the rest of the ensemble at some point. Several others shared, and then one man asked if we’d like to hear a poem he’d written. We eagerly agreed, and he launched into one of the most powerful spoken word performances I’ve ever been in the room with. He is incredibly skilled in his use of language and rhythm, and as a performer he’s simply breathtaking. He sat on the edge of a table, speaking his piece, connecting with us as a group and as individuals as he went. He’s been incarcerated for a very long time, and his piece explored the connections between people in (or in spite of) extreme circumstances. We were absolutely floored. I almost asked him to do it again when he’d finished but settled for thanking him as sincerely and emphatically as I could for sharing.

We played a couple of games and then divided up to read and stage the final two scenes of the play. We were short on actors, so facilitator Matt and I each ended up reading a couple of roles.

In my group, the man whose idea this approach was led us through our reading and discussion of the play’s final scene. “Like Frannie says, ‘What do we see?’” he asked. “I wanna say forgiveness,” said the man reading Prospero, “But it’s almost a half-assed forgiveness… It’s what everyone expects me to do.” He further explained that part of it is the “big picture” of getting Miranda and Ferdinand together. “It’s like political forgiveness, you know? It’s diplomacy.”

We tried out Act IV, scene i, on its feet, but that scene is just impossible to follow without an honest-to-goodness analytical reading. “Staging is gonna be important,” said one man. “This scene is really chaotic.” Everyone was really confused—even the people in the scene.

I said that, while I was truly glad we’ve tried this approach—and it has worked well in many ways—this is why our structure has always been to read each scene through and break it down as a group before we do anything else with it. This play is, for the most part, straightforward enough that watching unrehearsed staged readings conveys what we need, but with this scene in particular it just wasn’t possible. We need to go back and dig in.

And that’s fine. Part of SIP’s culture has always been that we try as a group, and we fail as a group, and then we figure out what we can do better—as a group. This wasn’t even a “failure,” per se. I wouldn’t call it that. We tried something new and identified what works and doesn’t work about it. It’s all good to know, and we wouldn’t know if we hadn’t tried.

The men who were still present at that point expressed their desire to explore the text in depth, particularly in regard to their vocal delivery. They are taken with the rhythm and musicality of the language, and they want to honor it. We decided that our plan for next week would be to finish reading and discussing the play on Tuesday, and to spend Friday on text and voice work. I’m excited about it. SIP isn’t focused on acting training, but when ensemble members are motivated and request it, I love sharing whatever techniques I can. I think it’s going to be really fun.

Winter/Spring 2018: Weeks 1 and 2

January 23, 2018

As we gathered for the first day of our winter/spring workshop, the energy was high and the work was clearly already underway. Returning ensemble members took attendance and conferenced with me about the possibility of using a backdrop in our next performance – enthusiasm for the program is such that people who aren’t even in the ensemble are putting the wheels in motion to make that happen!

After a rousing game of tape ball, we settled in for an orientation, talking over all aspects of the program, trying to cover of our bases. One of the men said, “We are here to prove that we are more than common criminals. We came, we saw, we conquered.” Another man said, “And you got to be a whore on stage.” This led to a bunch of the guys who were in Othello reminiscing about that process and quoting the play. That was so fun that we decided to do “demos” on Friday so we could show the new members what we work toward.

One man who recently went before the parole board encouraged everyone to stick with it and give it their all; he said that “like a quarter of my interview was about Shakespeare in Prison.” Another returning member, reflecting on his experience, said, “It’s home outside of prison. It gets you ready for the street mentally. Out there on the yard, something might get bad, serious, fast, but in here, you’re safe.” He continued, “It gave me a reflection of myself and brought me back to who I am. I’m a human being. I eat, I breathe, I sleep, I cry, I do everything the same as everybody else. We all human. So when somebody clowning on the yard, and people like, ‘look at this m-----r, man,’ I feel connected to them, like, we all human.”

We then proceeded to ask and answer our traditional three questions:

What brings you to Shakespeare?
What do you hope to get out of the experience?
What is the gift that you bring?

After that, we got into some improv. I was pulled aside before long by one of our returning members to talk over some interpersonal and logistical issues. There are a few things to look out for, but we’re not really worried about of them.

Earlier, one of the guys had jokingly used a Nazi salute during a game of Energy Around, and I had taken the opportunity to use that as an example of something that doesn’t contribute to our “safe space.” I made it clear that I didn’t mean to call him out specifically and that I knew it was a joke, but that we need to avoid things like that. At one point, the guy who’d made the gesture went into another room for a while with a few guys whom I know are regarded as mentors. Now he came over to me and apologized profusely. He said that he hadn’t meant anything by it – that he’s not an anti-Semite or a racist. He’s Latino, actually, and he said that racist jokes fly around on the yard all the time, and they don’t bother him. One of the mentors, though, had made it clear that things are different in Shakespeare in Prison. I thanked him for the apology and again made sure he knew that I didn’t think he was a bigot; it just wasn’t a good joke. He said he absolutely wouldn’t do anything like that again.

One of the men who was in Othello was going home the next day and came just to get a little last bit of fun and say goodbye. We had a good chat about his plans for when he goes home – including bringing his kids to see plays. He told me how much he’s appreciated SIP. He said that prison was a wakeup call, and SIP opened his eyes.

And then that  mentor walked over to me with the guy who’d made the offensive gesture. “[Name] has something to say to you,” he said grimly. I looked at the younger man and back at the mentor and said, “Um… He already said it.” We all laughed – somehow that had escaped the mentor’s notice. “He’s young, you know?” he said to me. “He’s working on his insensitive thuggishness, and he didn’t think it through.” I said I got it, and that we all step in it sometimes. I reminded him of when I said something pretty insensitive last fall, and he constructively called me on it. “I needed that,” I said, “And now I won’t do it again.”

I returned to the group, who were playing “Freeze.” As I watched, I realized that they weren’t exactly playing by the rules. I checked in with a returning member to ask how the game had been explained, and he said that another returning member had walked everyone through it, but he wasn’t sure they’d understood.

I didn’t stop the game, though. The scenes were pretty safe at first, but everyone was engaged, and there has often been a lot of value in sitting back and just seeing where things have gone in our program. This time proved to be no different. As the game progressed, people became more creative. Suddenly a third person tagged himself into a scene, and then, after a few rounds with three people, another guy ran in, set up four chairs, and started a four-person scene in a car. Then a fifth person tagged in as a panhandler. And then the guy who’d set up the car called a freeze, grabbed another guy and two chairs, set them up behind the car, sat down, and started making police siren sounds. Everyone yelled and scattered. It was absolutely hilarious.

When our laughter and applause had died down a bit, the man who’d explained the game said, “That was great, but… We didn’t really do it right.” I said, “No, we weren’t playing it exactly by the rules, but that’s not a bad thing. People who know the rules would probably not have played it the way you just did, and that was SO much fun!” I also explained that, even when we know the rules, we’ll often find creative ways to break them in order to get more impact out of what we’re doing. I used the re-imagining of Othello’s first scene by two ensemble members (described earlier in this blog) as an example.

I went over the actual rules of the game, and we did another round. Even then, the group proved to be incredibly creative. We still wound up with more than two people in the scenes at times, and the scenes became more dynamic.

It was a great first day back! Everyone seemed happy and excited to pick it back up on Friday.

Friday, January 26

We began today with our usual game of tape ball and a name game. We talked a little more about our plans for the workshop, and then we began our demos. The three men who were in the first scene of Othello revisited that, and one of our Othellos performed a monologue.

Unfortunately, there was then a facility-wide call for inmates to return to their units, and we were required to leave as well. This happens sometimes, and we just roll with the punches. We’ve got plenty of time to catch up!

Tuesday, January 30

We finally got started on reading our play today! We began, as you might suspect, with the first scene – the storm and the shipwreck. I asked the group what they got out of it after one reading. The answers came back: it’s chaotic, the wind is blowing, there’s a lot of shouting, etc. I asked if we could read it again, this time shouting over the din (created by those of us who weren’t reading). That was definitely more effective.

One of the guys asked, “Who’s steering the ship?” People started throwing ideas around, and I suggested that we put the scene on its feet to see what might work. We stayed in our circle of chairs, with one man bringing over an oscillating fan to use as the wheel. We ran through the scene – I mean, I literally ran through the scene as one of the mariners, trying to up the ante on all the chaos – and it was a lot of fun.

The ideas started to flow after that. Many of us liked using the fan as the wheel, and one man suggested that we could fasten crepe paper to it to symbolize water. Another man said, “We need a guy throwing buckets of water on people!” I replied, “Are you gonna clean that up? I’m not gonna clean that up!” Another man suggested that we use two waist-high flats to symbolize the ship, pulling them apart when it splits. Another guy burst in, “Yeah, and people can sink behind them!” We talked about the need to make it apparent that Prospero has whipped up the storm. One man said, “The scene needs lots of choreography. It’s gonna be a lot of work.” And one gentleman insisted that everyone should be outfitted with tri-corner hats, preferably with feathers in them.

We decided to pick back up with demos. A man in his third workshop performed the “Is this a dagger…” piece from Macbeth that he performed last summer. I stayed on book for him, but he hardly needed any help. “That was some deep stuff right there,” said one new member. It was great, although he wasn’t totally satisfied – he hadn’t been able to go as far as he had before. I said that that’s what happens when you take some time away from a piece, and then I asked him when he’d picked it back up. “Today,” he said. “You mean you hadn’t looked at this at all before you walked in this room?” I asked. He had not. Since July. “It comes right back,” he said. Pretty impressive, especially for our new members!

A pair of our Iagos and Othellos then performed one of their scenes. Afterward, one of the men summarized the whole thing and asked if the others had gotten it. Most of them had. He said that that’s why he prefers doing the scenes on their feet – because sitting “takes a lot away from it.” Another man said, “Yeah, it doesn’t work sitting down. You need the pauses. It need the theatrics. You gotta move. Without the theatrics, it sound like fumbling, like mumbling, like you don’t know what you saying.” The other man added, “And you gotta match your scene partner, whatever he’s doing… If it’s touching you emotionally or if you’ve got a picture in your mind, go with that picture.” The first man agreed, saying, “The way Shakespeare writes, he directs you. There’s some things that just come naturally.” He mentioned that some of what we did in our performances was the same as what he saw in a film version of Othello.

Another man brought back his interpretation of “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow…” which was quite affecting, but was not at the level he’d attained last summer. He shared with the group that the way he’d accessed those feelings was by imagining the death of his mother, and we talked about using that “magic as if” as a crutch till we’re ready to just ride the wave of the language.

They asked me to go next, and I did my current favorite: Richard III’s opening soliloquy. I learned it last fall as part of a “monologue-off” at the women’s prison, but I’ve never formally worked on it, so I wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen. I took my time so I could play with the character’s anger, pain, and humor. I made eye contact with as many of the men as I could.

I had a good time with it, but what was most exciting was that the ensemble completely understood the piece as I interpreted it – even though none of them were familiar with the play. “He’s not a bad person,” said one of the men, “He’s just fed up… You’re gonna use your mind now ’cause that’s all you got.” Another nodded his head and said, “I’ve honestly had those same thoughts.”

“Was Shakespeare, like, a psychopath?” asked one man, alluding to all the personalities the playwright painted so vividly. Another man said, “Naw, man. Shakespeare just, like, really understood people.” A third man added, “Each character is in its own world, so we gotta remember that every time we act.”

Facilitator Matt then performed a monologue from Hamlet that he hasn’t worked on in years, and yet it came right back for the most part! We were all excited and impressed. “The focus is real,” said one man.

We got off on a tangent about using the language – the clues that Shakespeare gives us about our characters’ feelings and actions. “I wanna do more comedic scenes. The angry scenes are too easy,” said one man. I asked him why that was. Another man jumped in, saying, “That’s just what we do all the time. I don’t know about the women, but here we go to anger right away.” Another man then introduced the idea that there are different kinds of anger: he said that “emotional anger” simmers, and “aggressive anger” attacks.

The conversation moved to center around Caliban. One man said that “in weakness, there is power,” and that Caliban plays the people around him. Another said that he has multiple personalities like Gollum. The first man replied, “We all got that other half to us, but that half doesn’t control everything.”

Somehow we got onto the topic of performances. A man who has now performed twice shared that he felt that the first performance of Othello had been a mess, but that had been a wakeup call that enabled the second to go more smoothly and the third to be our best. All agreed. This same man stressed the importance of rehearsal; that it strengthens chemistry and overall performances. Another likened this to playing music, saying that a performance is only as strong as its weakest participant.

So how are we going to do this? A returning member who often takes on the role of mentor quietly stated that we are going to do the entire play with cuts, rather than selected scenes with narration. He also said that he thought it would be best for one person to play a role straight through the play, and that perhaps we could work with double casting to give everyone a shot at a “major” role. That would eliminate the need for facilitators to step in. “No offense, you did great,” he said. “But this is our collective.” Another returning member built on that, suggesting that the men who’ve performed before role-share with new members and mentor them as they rehearse and perform.

That last idea is incredible. We have often seen ensemble members at the women’s prison step into smaller roles to give new members an opportunity to work more, but we have just as often given those large roles to our “veterans.” This is a completely new idea in SIP, and I absolutely love it. What generosity – what ownership. There is just no ego there. None at all. That’s true commitment to an ensemble. I just love it.

Friday, February 2

As we gathered today, I asked the group if they’d be down with beginning to use a couple of the rituals we’ve developed in the women’s ensemble. I first described our check in process: when we arrive, we gather in a circle, and anyone who wants to gives kind of a status update. It could be good or bad news, or information that needs to be shared, or just to say, “I’m having a lousy day, so if I’m being quiet and staying to myself, don’t take it personally.” It helps us not only to stay on the same page, but to be sensitive to what’s going on with everyone. The guys liked that idea.

The other ritual I asked about was The Ring, which is a Michael Chekhov exercise in which the ensemble visualizes and then lowers to the ground a ring of light/energy, steps into it, and then spreads it around the room. There was some hesitation about this one; one man asked if there was a way to “make it more masculine,” and I understood those qualms. It’s definitely a weird-sounding exercise and takes a minute to get used to. We decided to start with a check in today and leave The Ring for next week.

Though at WHV checking in as an individual isn’t required, the guys immediately took ownership and decided that in their ensemble it is. At first I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but by the time everyone had shared, I began to think that maybe this is one of those points where men and women diverge in our program: where women have tended to react negatively when pushed to share, to some of these men it seemed like they had just been waiting for someone to give them an opening. A few of the ensemble members were goofy, of course, and most shared honestly but factually – but then there really were a few who seemed relieved to be able to share even the most mundane update. I’m really interested to see where this leads.

The Tempest is a short play, relatively speaking, but we’re behind already on reading, so we decided to spend the bulk of our time today powering through Act I scene ii, which is incredibly long. As we began, one of our returning members took a moment to explain shared lines and the effect they have on pacing, and then a mix of returning and new members volunteered to read.

When we paused to make sure everyone was following Prospero’s story, particularly what happened between him and his brother, the new member who was reading Prospero (on his first day!) shook his head and said, “That happened to me once, too.” A couple of others chimed in, and then this ensemble member said, “I know how that is.” He described how his brother had betrayed him, continuing, “… and that’s how I got 5-10. That’s a true story.”

We continued, and I asked if we could pause after Prospero tells Miranda that she’s what kept him going after their banishment and she abruptly changes the subject. “I’ve always wondered about that,” I said. “Anyone have any ideas about why she does that?” Someone suggested that perhaps if she wasn’t used to hearing her father say things like that, she didn’t know how to respond.

“I mean, she’s been essentially incarcerated since she was three,” said one man. “Anybody who comes to prison becomes detached from their emotions… When you hear something bad…” Another man broke in, “You get desensitized.”

A third man said, doubtfully, “You’re saying Miranda doesn’t have emotions?” The first man explained, “She has emotions, but she’s detached from them.” He said that it can be dangerous to give into one’s feelings. The third man nodded, saying, “Prospero hides his till certain moments.” And the first man agreed: that “family feeling” is what got him betrayed.

We had to move to another room at that point, and I took the opportunity to address what I knew was causing frustration for many: there were a few people who just could not seem to focus. It was distracting and was beginning to be detrimental to our work. I put it out there that, while this play is much shorter than Othello, it could potentially take us longer to get through if we can’t buckle down and do it. “You literally do not have to be here,” I said. “So if you don’t want to be, no hard feelings, don’t stay. I’m not saying that to be mean. Do I seem like I’m being mean?” One of the guys smiled and said, “Well, it’s maybe a little mean, but you’re right.”

We continued reading, talking through all of the “usurpations” that happen: Antonio/Prospero; Sycorax/Ariel; Prospero/Caliban. We talked a bit about Caliban, too – what makes him a “savage?” What was the relationship between these three before? And then we needed to talk about what caused the rift.

It’s brief, but Prospero accuses Caliban of having raped Miranda, Caliban responds that he wishes that he had, and Miranda unloads on Caliban without specifically addressing the alleged assault. This is a really loaded beat in any environment or process, but in prison it takes on even more weight. It did at the women’s prison, too, but I knew as soon as we’d landed on this as our winter/spring play that the line was going to be much tougher to walk in an ensemble including multiple men convicted of sexual assault. No shying away from it, though – this is what we do. If it’s in the play, we talk about it without judgment, from an analytical place. We can do that without necessarily talking about ourselves.

So, as we began this part of the discussion, I reminded everyone to look at the play with a bird’s eye view, and not through the lens of just one character. I asked them what we actually know from what’s in the text. The answers came pretty quickly: Prospero believes that Caliban assaulted Miranda. Caliban says he wishes that he had. Miranda is clearly very angry with Caliban. And that’s literally it. We couldn’t find anything else concrete – beyond that, it’s all interpretation and conjecture.

“We’ve got this conversation, but we’ve got no context,” I said, and carefully continued, “We don’t know for certain that the assault happened, and we don’t know exactly why Prospero believes that it did, because none of it happened on stage.” One of the guys chimed in, “Maybe he saw something.” I said, “Maybe. But we didn’t, right?” They nodded. “Shakespeare left this open-ended, and he didn’t do anything by accident. So… why did he do that?” One man said, “Because… it’s not important?” I replied, “For the actors playing these characters, there needs to be a decision – that’s important. But the most important thing for us as objective storytellers is not what actually happened, but the impact that the event had on these relationships. Because these were loving relationships before. This is a flashpoint. Let’s keep an eye on these three as we keep reading.”

We finished reading the scene and talked about Prospero’s approach to the immediately-budding relationship between Miranda and Ferdinand. One of the men gave us historical context, saying that there’s strategy in encouraging his daughter to marry the son of the king, and that marriage didn’t necessarily have to do with love at the time. When the question of Ferdinand’s emphasis on Miranda’s virginity came up, one of the men asked when the importance of sexual purity became culturally dominant. “Did it start with Jesus?” he asked. The man who’d already given us some background responded that the idea of virtue predates Jesus, beginning with the Greeks and maybe even before. I added that the emphasis on virginity in particular coincides with male-dominated societies edging out matriarchal ones; that policing women’s bodies is a really effective way to control them. It seemed like that might have blown a few minds, and I wish I weren’t so rusty on that history so I could have gone into more detail.

As long as we keep it professional, sensitive, and even-handed, we don’t need to shy away from any of the content in these plays. Today was a prime example of that.

Fall 2017: Wrap up.

Most of our ensemble members were able to come today to provide feedback and reflections. It was lovely to be able to just sit, relax, and talk with them. They had a lot of good constructive criticism and ideas of how to enhance what we’re doing next time around.

It was a wide-ranging conversation. Here are some of my favorite quotes:

“This time there was more adversity than any of us planned for, but we kept it rollin’, we kept it pushin’… We worked together and made it happen.”

“After 18 years of being locked up… I’m appreciative of your time. It makes us feel wanted, needed, and like we have a purpose… [Prison] has been my reality so long. It’s been an escape. For those hours I wasn’t in prison. We have very few avenues that give us release… For me, it’s changed the conversation. I can talk to my professors about Macbeth, Othello, and appreciate that everyone else is lost. This program has given me a gift that I never expected I would actually receive. Being comfortable in my own skin is something this program has given me as well… [They got made fun of at first] I guess I made fun of the drama club and glee club, and now, I guess, I’m in the glee club… Except here, we the cool kids on the block. Thank you for making me a cool kid.”

“I got from it… I sat back and thought about everything – I don’t want to take anything out of prison except the knowledge I gained and confidence I gained in this program… It gives you a sense of pride, like, ‘We did that.’”

“It made my time go fast, that’s for sure.”

“Theatre can be used to break all sorts of barriers – race, gender, sexual orientation. Because when we come together, we don’t see any of that. All we see is an individual… Part of a team. It makes you look past the outside of a person and makes you see the inside of a person.”

“I think the opportunities is boundless… This could actually help guys when we make the transition. It could help keep us off the streets.”

“The acting gets us out of our comfort zone. In prison you can be anything you want to be, but here we’ve learned all the potential we’ve got. Then we get out, and we’ve got the same cousins out there doing drugs, selling drugs – we get put back in that same box. We need the positive people back in our lives because it’s not always easy to find those back where you come from.”

“I can almost see this as – this is a small group of people, but it affects the whole population that saw it. I’ve heard people in the dayroom say, “Oh, that’s gay…” A couple days later, they were watching. Later that day, that same person [who didn’t know I had overheard him] came up to me and said, “Good job today. That was actually pretty cool. [It made me think] maybe I don’t have to put a front on all the time – those guys were up there just doing them.’”

“When it’s over, that would shine a positive light on it – [people] would see that this does actually change people’s lives.”

“When I fail, I get so fearful. I was nervous about being in front of all them people... Even just reading and bringing myself out of my element. It brought more positivity and confidence to myself.”

“It’s almost like a support group. We’re able to support each other and keep each other out of trouble.”

“I got out of it, the creativity that it gives you, and the learning… This the type of stuff you need to move on past trauma or any negative thing you’ve done. It pushes you to the limit. I might not amount to anything in the world, but I was able to do this thing. This proves you can amount to anything. All you need is that hope – that ambition. Once you understand yourself, you can understand others and do better things out there.”

“I was at a higher level for [a very long time]. I had horrible social anxiety… This broke me out of it. It gives me a tool to push through it.”

“What we do here affects much more than prisoners… The possibilities are pretty much boundless.” He said that the staff saw the show and talk to each other about it. “It changes their minds about who prisoners are.”

“I’ve got a [young] son out there, and doing this will help me connect with him in school, maybe, because they do plays in school… Being through something like this, I could volunteer and help my kid through the play. It makes me feel more positive. Talking to the mother of my kid, I got to say, ‘I’m in Shakespeare.’” Another man said, “I told my significant other the same thing.”

“It helped me relieve some stress… I could be that [other] person just for that moment… Not having to be us and deal with the stresses of prison – You’re free to be yourself. You’re weightless. It’s like… I can breathe. Through being someone else, you get to finally be yourself.” Another man said, “The whole time you’ve been you. It just took this to bring it out.”

“My wife made me read lines for her on the phone.” Another man said, “I read lines to my daughter over the phone. She’s all excited now, and she wants to do it.”

“I like when I call home… [And I said I’m] acting in a Shakespeare play, they’re like, ‘What?! You’re doing more in there than people are doing out here in the streets!’”

“When I talk to my mom about what I’m doing, she says, ‘I’ve never seen you so excited about something.’ And that makes me think that I have something to give.”

“This has strengthened my drive that this isn’t it for me. When I walk out those doors, it’s like a fresh, clean slate.”

We decided that we’ll work on The Tempest when we start back up in January. We are all very pumped up. I can’t wait to dig in with them!

Fall 2017: Weeks 10 and 11 of 11

December 5

We divided and conquered again today; this seems to be the best way for us to cover all of the material we chose for our performance. I began by working with one of our Othellos on the monologue that begins the play’s final scene. We talked through the character’s conflict—he truly loves this woman, but he feels compelled to kill her even though he doesn’t truly want to. We puzzled through some of the language as well, and after only about 15 minutes the piece was incredibly strong. This man feels the character very deeply and is an excellent actor, unafraid to be vulnerable. It’s remarkable.

We also worked the part of Act III scene iii in which Desdemona approaches Othello to advocate for Cassio. Our work here mostly entailed exploring the visual storytelling aspect of theatre; how can we show the relationship between these two beyond the words they speak? At first the two men were standing pretty far apart. I asked them what tactics Desdemona uses here, and they responded that she is using flirtation and the love she knows he has for her. I suggested, then, that they move closer together. Then they started spit balling ideas, leading the man playing Othello to take Desdemona gently by the wrist. The latter flinched slightly, and Othello said, “Is this cool, man? I don’t mean nothing by it—it’s just for the play.” The first man replied, “No, yeah, I know. It’s cool. I think that’ll actually work to show the relationship really well.”

The man standing by as Iago stayed silent through this exchange, as did I. Though I’ve never been incarcerated (nor have I been male), I know that this dynamic can be fraught. But they navigated their way through it beautifully. The respect and trust that they showed each other resonated very deeply for me; and, I think, for them. Theatre offers all sorts of opportunities to break boundaries and defy expectations. Though there were only four of us to witness it, this was one of them.

December 6

An ensemble member whom we thought had dropped was back today. He apologized for having “flaked.” He said he was furious with himself about it, that this is what he had always done, and he didn’t want to do it anymore. “I gotta get better about this,” he said. “If I’m gonna commit to something, I gotta follow through with it. So I’m here, and I’m gonna really commit to it now.” He, another ensemble member, and I looked through our performance logistics and decided that he could take the role of Cassio in one scene and support in non-speaking roles in others. A couple of people approached me after. “He’s back for real?” one of them asked. “Yeah, I think it’s for real,” I replied. “Cool,” he said, and that was that. No resentment. No hard feelings.

An ensemble member who has a number of other commitments and cannot regularly attend was present to get a feeling for what is needed in terms of narration—that’s what the ensemble determined his role would be. He was part of the “Original 12,” and it was great to have him back in the room, giving his perspective.

I dove in to work on the final scene of the play with some of the guys, while others worked with Patrick, and still others went off by themselves to work. It took us a few minutes to get focused on that final scene. Once we locked in, though, we locked in. One of the men, who has great instincts but a lot of trouble buckling down, began to tentatively express some of his ideas. I got very excited about that and built on what he had said, and that part of the scene began to work much better. “You’re good at this,” he said to me. “So are you!” I replied. “Nah, man. You’re the director here.” I shook my head. “All I did was build off of what you gave me. This was totally your idea.”

After that, he got even more focused and began throwing out more and more ideas. He got so excited, in fact, that when our Desdemona was talking on the side to someone else instead of lying “dead” on the bed, he shouted out, “Come on, Desdemona! Get your dead ass over here!”

As Patrick took over to work on the scene’s combat, I stepped to the side to chat with a couple of the guys. They had been talking about what we need to do in the next workshop to build on this one, and it mostly had to do with accountability. They’ve been frustrated by others’ spotty attendance and tendency to arrive late and/or leave early. “I just don’t get it,” said one of them. “I want to use every second of this.”

“You gotta show them that next time,” said the other, who was in the group over the summer. “You’re gonna be a mentor, so you’ll be able model what needs to happen and explain why.” The younger man visibly brightened at that. It suggested to me that he’s never been in that position—maybe he’s never thought of himself that way. I didn’t want to interrupt the conversation, so I didn’t ask. But he was clearly affected.

The group that had been working independently of facilitators asked if they could show me their scene before we left, and they had made great headway. Another ensemble member sat beside me and watched. He began to shout out notes as they performed, and I asked him to write his thoughts down and tell them after so as not to interrupt. His notes had to do with more fully committing to the characters, and they were very apt. As the group ran the scene again, he shook his head and said, “Man, that Iago is just evil.”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I don’t think a person can be totally evil, or totally good. And Shakespeare wrote about real people.” He nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “But I don’t know if I can see him another way.” I said, “Well, yeah, that’s tough. But our job as actors and ensemble members is to try to approach these characters without judgment—to have empathy for them even if we hate what they’re doing. If we decide that Iago is just plain evil, we rob ourselves of the opportunity to figure out why he does the things he does.”

“Yeah, I don’t wanna miss out on that,” he said, and watched the rest of the scene deep in thought. When it ended, he nodded slowly and said, “Yeah, I’m gonna have to think about that.”

December 8

Our goal for today was to work through the whole performance. While the others set things up, I worked with our Othello, Emilia, and Desdemona to finish blocking Act V Scene ii. Though we worked quickly, we worked effectively, and then we all came together to give the show a try.

As one man explained to the new ensemble members what the mechanics of moving from scene to scene would be, another returning member politely interrupted to ask everyone what they thought about rehearsing every day next week to prepare for performances. They unanimously agreed that this was a great idea, with a few men even asking if they could rehearse over the weekend. Unfortunately, it was too late to organize that, but I was really excited about the willingness of every single person to commit more of their time to getting it right.

It’s a good thing we started this way because the rest of our time was rather frustrating. It was difficult to get people to maintain focus, the logistics proved challenging to explain, and I could see several people beginning to steam.

It really was a frustrating rehearsal. I noticed two of the men talking heatedly. I sat beside them and said, “What’s up, you guys? You look pissed.” They looked at each other and smiled wryly. “We just doing some plotting,” said one of them. “Oh, yeah?” I grinned. “Yeah,” said the other. “I just don’t get why these guys still messin’ around. Like, we got six days till we got an audience. We gotta focus, for real.” The other said, “We gonna have a talk out on yard. We gotta lay down the law.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think it’s a good idea to have that conversation. But do you think you can do it constructively? Like… Can you do it without making people defensive? ‘Cause if they get defensive, they’ll shut down, and that’s not gonna help anyone.” They agreed that they would try to keep it cool.

Another guy came up to me, frustrated that the man playing Emilia in one scene hadn’t yet rehearsed it—I’d been standing in for him. “If he’s not here tomorrow, can you just do it?” he said. “I just really need the consistency, and, like, if he’s not gonna rehearse it, we’re gonna look like idiots.” I agreed that I would do the scene if necessary but encouraged him to give that guy another shot. “I wouldn’t put it to him the way you just put it to me,” I said. “Try looking at it from his point of view—make this a solution for him, too. If he doesn’t take the time to try to plug in to this scene, he can focus on others. Or maybe he’ll buckle down and nail this scene.” He liked that idea and said he’d try it.

As we left, one of the men gave a brief pep talk. “It’s fourth down,” he said. “We need to take it up a lot.”

December 12

When we arrived today, I asked how their extra rehearsal the day before had gone. It turned out that not everyone had been able to get there, so they had focused on certain scenes and logistics rather than attempting a run. They were satisfied with how it had gone.

We then found out that the man playing Desdemona in all of her scenes had gotten into some kind of trouble and wouldn’t be allowed to perform. Before any panic could set in, I asked if I could make a suggestion. I reminded them that the facilitators serve as unofficial understudies in the women’s ensemble, and if a role is vacated late in the process, one of us takes it on to avoid causing undue stress for anyone else. I asked them if they’d like me to play Desdemona—I’d been present for every rehearsal and knew the blocking, and I played the role in college, so I understood the character and the scenes. They agreed that that would be best, so we took some time to rework the combat in a way that would be acceptable to the facility. We ran through a few others scenes as well, and then we began a work through.

There was a good deal more focus today, though it was still spotty at times. The scenes began to take on new life, which was exciting. And everyone helped me plug myself into scenes I’d seen but hadn’t walked. I felt completely supported and as much a part of the ensemble as anyone.

We made it through the whole thing, ending just as our time was up. It was a little rough and longer than we wanted, but getting from beginning to end was extremely encouraging.

December 14

There was an added rehearsal yesterday, but Patrick and I were unable to get there due to a snow storm. When we arrived, one of the guys said, “We heard you all was trying to get here in all of that!” I smiled and shrugged. “That woulda been dumb,” he said. “We was fine without you.”

I asked them how it had gone. They told me it had gone well—that “some of the guys needed to blow off steam at each other,” and that it had helped. They had run the whole performance other than the final scene. They had also discovered that they liked using music in scene changes.

As we set up in the gym, an inmate who is not in the ensemble approached me with an ensemble member who said, “This guy here has an awesome idea.” I introduced myself and asked him what it was. “I don’t wanna step out of bounds or nothin’,” he said, “But we got some things here that you could use for a set next time.” He suggested taking the hockey nets and a large roll of paper or piece of fabric to create a backdrop. “We got an air brush,” he said. “If y’all are gonna do this, y’all should do it for real.” I said I thought it was a great idea and thanked him for it. I asked him if he’d like to help us with it next time and got his name and ID number.

“I think it’s really good what you guys are going in here with these young men because it changes people’s mindset to something more positive—it makes them more optimistic about life,” he said, unprompted. “When you gotta tap into somebody’s life and become that person, it changes you… We don’t get a lot of opportunities to express ourselves, and when we do it’s in a negative way.”

We parted warmly, and I thanked him again for his ideas. That’s the kind of ripple we want—people who aren’t even directly involved in the program are taking ownership of it!

As we gathered, one of the men poked fun at another about his acting. The second man gestured to me and joked, “I told you not to berate me in public no more!” The first man gave him a look and said, “She ain’t public no more.” There was no disrespect there, nor was it at all inappropriate—this just shows the level of mutual respect and trust we have for each other. We’re equal members in the ensemble.

We managed to get through the whole play, adding music in transitions. I was surprised to find that they’d made a cast change in the first scene, or perhaps that I’d misunderstood who was playing Roderigo. The two actors played well off each other, and I encouraged them to continue to make it more “bro-y.”

They also had added a couple of elements to the scene in which Cassio gets drunk and then fired, with Roderigo throwing himself over a table during the fight and then grabbing an actual cowbell and running through the audience yelling, “MUTINY! IT’S A MUTINY! THEY’RE MUTINOUS” until Othello told him to “silence that dreadful bell.” It was absolutely hilarious and added to the chaos of an already raucous scene.

It was a rough run—still difficult to get everyone to focus, and our transitions were sluggish. Before we left, one of our returning members, who is one of our anchors for sure, gave a rousing pep talk. He told us to get there on time for our dress rehearsal in the morning and to focus from the get-go. “We gotta show the administration something great so the program can come back,” he said, and everyone nodded vigorously.

Dress rehearsal and performances: December 15, 16, and 17

Nearly everyone arrived on time for our (8:00am!) dress rehearsal. We set up quickly and began the run. Things mostly went smoothly, and we worked as a team to problem solve as we went.

There was only one thing that particularly frustrated me as a member of the ensemble, and that is that one of the men, who is completely fearless about playing women, was playing every scene for laughs. That worked for some of them, but it really didn’t for others, and it undercut the serious work that others were doing. That included me—it would be disrespectful to the ensemble for me to just go through the motions, so I always try to fully commit. But that’s difficult to do when others are goofing off.

This man wasn’t cast as Emilia in the final scene, but that actor was absent, so he filled in. When I began Desdemona’s final lines absolving Othello of guilt, this man continued to be silly. I looked him dead in the eye and said, “If you could take this seriously, that would really help me out.” He looked completely shocked. “It’s not even my part!” he said. “But still,” I said, and then we moved on in the scene.

When we ended the run, he’d already left. I felt bad about having snapped and asked a couple of the guys to apologize to him for me if they saw him. “Are you kidding?” one of them laughed, and the other did, too. “That was freaking awesome. Did you see his face? He needed that.” I said that I still felt bad. “We’re big boys, Frannie,” said the other person. “We can take someone being a little harsh.”

Still, when we came back in the afternoon for our performance, I pulled aside the aside. “I am so sorry I snapped at you,” I said. “Yeah, what the fuck?” he replied, still clearly thrown, but smiling. I explained how frustrated I’d been and why, and I made suggestions of how he could compromise between his desire to be funny and others’ desire to be more serious.

We ran our fights, and the guys had a pep talk without the facilitators. I went to one of the men playing Othello and asked him to run the slap in Act IV Scene i with me. He backed away, kind of silly but also with real concern. “I don’t wanna hit you!” he said. “We have a story to tell. It’s just a play,” I reassured him. “It’s a high five close to my face. That’s all.” We ran it a few times to get it solid, and, while he wasn’t totally comfortable, I knew he’d be able to commit in performance. After that, he went around to a bunch of the guys saying, “Ready, my dog?”

The music we used in scene changes is from a popular video game. One of the men pulled Matt aside and said, “You know, there are all sorts of things that remind you that you’re in prison. For me, it wasn’t the Christmas shit. Like, I’ll watch It’s a Wonderful Life and prepare myself for what that means. But I wasn’t ready for the Skyrim music. It’s been six years since I played that game, and I heard the game play music, and I was like, ‘Fuck. All I want to do is play that game.’”

That first performance had a lot of hiccups, but we rolled with the punches and had a great time. So did our audience. Our Iago and Roderigo in the first scene had worked out an approach in which they ad libbed between each other’s lines, repeating key words and phrases to amp up the comedy and crassness. It was amazing—I told them I’m totally stealing it if I ever direct the play!

We had a great talk back after the show, with audience members expressing how impressed they were and our ensemble encouraging them to try new things and to join the group.

Our second performance went more smoothly, even though one man was unexpectedly called away on a visit before the performance, and another was called in the middle. Patrick, Matt, and one of the guys jumped in to fill those holes, and all went off without much of a hitch. It was really amazing to see everyone adapt so quickly and so well. It says a lot about all of the team work they’ve done, how well they know each other, and how well they know the material. Our 5.2 Othello became very emotional. Even as I lay “dead,” I could feel how committed he was, to the point where, when we ended the play, I asked him if he was okay. Luckily he was—he’s just an amazing performer.

We all agreed that the third performance was our favorite. Matt stood in for one of our Iagos who had known ahead of time that he wouldn’t be able to perform, but otherwise things went more or less as planned. Patrick overheard one audience member explaining Iago’s set up to the guy next to him, saying, “Othello’s a fool.” Later, another man in the audience said, “Why can’t [Othello] see what [Iago is] doing?”

During our talk back, one audience member said, “That was very impressive.” Another said, “Yeah, pretty good for some convicts!” That got a big laugh. The audience really was very excited about what they’d seen.

One said, “Things that were taking place during that time in society, it was a sad case that she had to try to prove herself… The moral lessons need to be taken from this, that our relationships with the opposite gender need to be supported and worked, no matter what people on the outside say.”

Several audience members approached me afterward to let me know that they were of Moorish descent and deeply appreciated being able to see Othello. It gave them a sense of pride and connection.

We all felt good leaving after the show, and excited to come back and wrap things up on Tuesday.

Fall 2017: Weeks 7, 8, and 9 of 11.

November 21

Rehearsal scripts in hand, we refined some of our casting and got right to work.

I worked with part of the ensemble on Act IV Scene i while Matt worked on the other side of the room on Act IV Scene ii. The goal when we work toward staging in SIP is for the ensemble to do as much of the work as possible while facilitators act as guides when needed, but since these ensemble members are largely new to this, I asked if I could take a “heavy hand” at first and hand it over to them as soon as they felt ready. That’s what we did.

Really, all I ended up doing was demonstrating “visual storytelling” with Iago’s and Othello’s entrance and dialogue through Othello’s fit. And I did that mostly by asking questions. How can we establish their dynamic from the moment they walk in? How should Iago lead Othello through the scene, and what triggers Othello’s episode? I asked those questions, fielded some answers, and then built on those to stage this first part of the scene.

As soon as Cassio entered and knelt by Othello, though, one ensemble member spontaneously took over. “Don’t get up,” he said to Iago. Then he said to Cassio, “If you kneel while he’s kneeling, he can push you away easier. Then you can get up and leave.” They tried that, and it worked better, but something was still missing. The same man gave some more advice, and then the man sitting next to him chimed in. They rose to their feet, getting right up in the scene, demonstrating what they meant. And their instincts were fantastic.

We kept going with the scene, and those same two men realized that the whole thing would work better if Iago touched Othello more often – an arm around his shoulder while he’s got his hands on his knees, etc. “Oh, that’s awesome!” I said, inspired by what they were doing. “You know, I never thought about this before, but we’ve been talking a lot about how Othello never had any nurturing, and that’s what makes him so vulnerable with Desdemona… And that can work the same way with Iago. Touch is another means of manipulation for him. That’s amazing.” My excitement fed theirs, and they pretty much took over at that point.

The man playing Othello had to leave temporarily, and another man who arrived a few minutes later jumped right in to fill in for him. This was at the point in the scene when Othello hides to watch Iago and Cassio.

We puzzled through this interaction. There needs to be something visually “dirty” about the way Iago and Cassio interact while talking about Bianca so that Othello can be misled about the conversation. But how to do it? We tried several different ideas, but I could tell both men were holding back. I reminded them that it’s only a play – that I understood if they’d never behave that way in front of a woman, or at least in front of me, but we need to do what we need to do to tell the story. We brainstormed some options, but they proved difficult to execute. They’re going to get more comfortable with their lines, and then we’ll try again.

Meanwhile, the man filling in as Othello was hiding up stage. But one of the guys who’d pretty much taken over staging had the idea that Othello should hide as far down stage as possible so he could talk to the audience in a more immediate way. We tried that, and then Othello had the idea to actually sit or stand in the bleachers (we’ll perform in the gym) to bring the audience right into the scene. I was blown away by that – what an amazing idea. I told him I’m stealing it if I ever direct the play professionally!

The work on the other side of the room with Desdemona and Emilia proved to be equally insightful. Both men had very impassioned ideas about their characters – their motivations, their relationship, and how they could express both. They worked their scene with a great deal of sensitivity. I wasn’t able to see the result, but Matt was quite moved by all of it.

They did let me know that they’d decided to keep the song – but that they wanted me to sing it as sort of a voiceover. It’s a cool idea. I had a feeling they’d rope me into this somehow…

November 28

After having the day after Thanksgiving off, we plunged back into the work today. As soon as Matt and I walked in, we were greeted by one of the men, who is a musician. We’d challenged him to rewrite the play’s drinking songs, and he’d done it. His songs are amazing. Not only are the melodies completely consistent with drinking songs of that time, but the subject matter is right in line with Iago’s misogyny. The lyrics are great. Everything about these songs is incredible.

I worked on Act IV Scene ii on one side of the room, while Matt worked with the others on Act V Scene i.

The scene with which I worked can be a challenging one. It takes place just after Othello has slapped Desdemona in front of a number of men, and he calls her in to try to get her to confess. The scene becomes increasingly chaotic and ends with Desdemona disoriented and Emilia extremely concerned – or at least that’s where the part of the scene that we’re staging ends; the rest will be covered by narration.

We read through the scene and then talked a bit about it. We looked at the clues in the text – indications that Desdemona is hesitant to come close to Othello, that she kneels, and then that there is increasing fear prior to his leaving the room, followed by complete disorientation. We explored all of this on our feet.

Othello is extremely conflicted in this scene. He is at once tender, saddened, angry, and aggressive. “Yes, there is rage here,” I said. “But she also asks him why he’s crying. What’s going on there?”

“I feel like I can’t be facing her if I’m crying,” said the man playing Othello. “I wouldn’t want her to see that.” We continued to talk about this aspect of the character – this vulnerability. “I guess I don’t totally understand it,” said that same man. “He’s been a soldier so long. He’s been totally vulnerable on the battlefield.”

“That’s true,” I said. “But – and obviously I haven’t experienced this first hand, but this is what I understand from talking with the men in my life – it seems like there’s a huge difference between being physically vulnerable and being emotionally vulnerable.”

Both men nodded vigorously. It seemed like they might never have thought of it quite that way before. “Yeah, you’re right,” said one of them. “I’ve been in that kind of situation… It’s hard. You open yourself up to someone, you open yourself up to being made a fool. I understand where he’s coming from.”

“It’s interesting, too, because he can’t let himself be vulnerable, and she can’t be anything but vulnerable,” I said. The man playing Desdemona shook his head. “Opposites attract. It’s so sad,” he said.

We kept playing with this scene, focusing on connecting with each other rather than on getting the words right. And, even though that was our focus, the lines began to memorize themselves. “I think I could memorize this one,” said one of the men. “Me too,” said the other. “I agree,” I said. “I’ll bet this would take you all of a half hour.”

On the other side of the room, they had worked out all of the scene’s blocking other than the combat. It took a little while for the group to figure out everything that happens – it’s dark, it’s confusing, and things happen fast. The scene is in good shape, though.

Since we still had some time, but many of the actors from V.i had left, those of us who’d worked on IV.ii showed the others what we’d done. They loved it. Then the men who’d figured out IV.iii showed us that scene, asking me to sing the song as they’d requested. It was quite moving and effective.

November 29

We’ve scheduled some extra meetings as we gear up for performance, and this was the first of those!

As Patrick (who is a fight choreographer) worked on several of the combat sequences on one side of the room, I worked on Act I Scene i on the other. This scene is a lot of fun. We played around with the physical dynamic between Iago and Roderigo. We found ways of clearly indicating Iago’s dominance in the relationship and worked on the build between the two men that leads to their taunting of Brabantio.

Another man came and sat with us. As we dug into the language, he became extremely enthusiastic. The scene got very “bro-y” – the two men built on each other’s taunts, finding ways of being more and more offensive when talking about Desdemona and Othello. The more outrageous it got, the better it worked.

The guys seemed a little surprised that I could so enthusiastically access and freely discuss this relationship and these jokes. We really connected through this work – and that’s part of the value of being a female facilitator in an all-male group. For some (definitely not all, but some) this is their first time working with a woman in a way that is at once professional and relaxed. And having fun. They fed off of my excitement, too. “You know how I can tell how much you love this play?” said one of them to me. “Your eyes are changing color. Like, they’re dark brown, but then when you get really excited, they get lighter.” That’s a new one on me!

We got a lot done today. I’m so glad we were able to schedule this extra time together.

December 1

When Patrick and I arrived today, we were told that one of our ensemble members may not be able to join us for the performance. We may not see him again during this workshop at all. He’s in a number of scenes, and there was some concern about how to recast him. I asked if perhaps we wanted to do what we do at the women’s prison when this happens close to performance time – have a facilitator fill in so no one else needs to stress or take on more work. It was decided that I would take on most of the scenes and the other facilitators will take on the rest.

While Patrick continued to work on the combat, I huddled with some others and worked out the logistics of scene changes. We need to figure out what the narration between scenes needs to cover, what costume changes need to happen quickly, and what items need to be set between scenes. This took us awhile – it’s fairly complicated – but we’ve got a good framework now that we can modify as we go if need be.

The man who is playing Emilia in IV.ii arrived, and I filled him in on what he’d missed when I’d filled in for him in that scene. We walked it together, and then he asked me how Emilia should react at the end. I told him that he should feed off of whatever Desdemona gives him, and he said he had thought she would be angry, but that when I read the part so quietly, so out-of-it, he had begun to feel like maybe that wasn’t right.

We pondered this. I remarked that Emilia comes back with Iago clearly enraged, but perhaps it takes her a few minutes to get there. “Here’s an example of that ‘magic as if,’” I said. I explained that, while I’d never been in this exact situation, I’d been in a similar one. When a friend shared some horrible news with me that involved her being hurt by another person, the first thing I did was to listen quietly and make sure I understood what she was saying. Then I got angry. Really angry. “I think that might be what’s going on with Emilia here.” I said. “What do you think?”

“Yeah,” he said. “If Desdemona’s gonna be like that, I can’t do what I was doing. Now that I seen you do that, it changed my whole perspective.”

I also chatted with several ensemble members about how we can continue to develop our program at Parnall. I regard all of SIP as an ongoing experiment – I leave things completely open to ensemble input, as I always have, and expect very little to be set in stone – and we’re so new to working at Parnall that it feels especially experimental. That’s how it used to feel at the women’s prison, and I remind the men of that when they start to wonder where we go from here.

They’ve got some really great ideas about how to proceed after this workshop. Those, married with my experience, are definitely leading us toward a solid program. I’m thrilled that they’re willing to work on this with me and very excited to see where it all leads us.