October 14th and 16th

“I’m a Happy Person Here”

Mid-October marked both a creative and emotional turning point. With the play now fully read, the ensemble began the unusual process of moving through the No Fear translation from start to finish—an experiment born from a group vote and driven by curiosity. At the same time, they revisited one of SIP’s longest-running traditions: the “Three Questions.”

Each season, every ensemble member answers the same three prompts: What brought me to SIP? What do I hope to get out of SIP? What is my gift to the group? Their answers revealed the depth and diversity of the ensemble. “I was angry at home and was very mean to people who didn’t deserve it,” one participant shared. “I can get out of the toxic life out there. I’m a happy person here. I can give back and be me.” Another said, “Get out of my head and find my voice.” A third added, “This is my home away from home. I love the stage. I think I was born an actor.”

Someone spoke about confidence: “When you’re insecure, you don’t see how others see you. People tell me I’m good. My momma made me sign up—she saw what I didn’t see.” Another described SIP as “the two times out of the week I forget I’m in prison.” By the end, one member summed up the energy perfectly: “The outside noise stops at the door.”

Afterward, the group returned to Act 3.1, one of the play’s most frantic moments, where Antipholus of Ephesus is locked out of his own home and argues with everyone in sight. The ensemble leaned into the confusion, building the scene so it escalated naturally—each character pushing harder when they don’t get what they want. The night ended with laughter echoing across the room.

October 7th & 9th

This week, the ensemble reached the grand finale of The Comedy of Errors—and with it, the full force of Shakespeare’s chaos. The play’s last two acts are a whirlwind of mistaken identities, arrests, accusations of madness, and one long-delayed family reunion. With the ensemble champing at the bit to get started on production, the group’s mix of laughter, insight, and sharp observation filled the room.

The reading of Act 4.4 opened with good humor despite the smaller turnout. “It’s a pretty confusing play—hence the name Comedy of Errors,” someone joked as the group settled in. Soon, they were deep in the action: the twin Antipholuses shouting accusations, the Dromios running in circles, and Adriana convinced her husband has lost his mind. When one reader reached the line “Thou dissembling harlot!” another laughed, “Oooh, he says some STUFF!” The line got snaps and applause.

The group then debated why the Abbess refuses to let Adriana enter the convent after her “possessed” husband takes refuge there. “You bring the sick and the mental to the Abbess. This is a holy place,” one participant said. Another immediately fired back, “You got hoes, not holy!” The room erupted in laughter. Others explained that abbeys in Shakespeare’s time were sanctuaries. “You bring the sick and the mental to the Abbess,” the reader repeated, and another agreed that abbeys were “safe places,” and beyond the scope of the law. Little do we know, the abbess is actually the twin’s mother and this is revealed later in the scene.

As the ensemble read the play’s closing act, the tangle of twins and misunderstandings began to unravel. “I think let’s start auditions!” someone shouted mid-scene, eager to move on to the next stage of work. A few participants were still catching up—“I missed twenty-five minutes and am completely lost!”—but the room stayed lighthearted. When another said, “I used to be like, ‘not me,’ and now I’m ready to read,” the group cheered.

By the week’s end, the ensemble voted to do something they’d never done before: a full read-through of the No Fear Shakespeare text. “We can still find our own meaning in the No Fear side,” one participant said. “It’ll give us the perspective we need to feel the mood.” Most of the facilitation team spoke against the idea saying that the No Fear side was not really designed to be spoken like lines, but were really meant for accuracy and it may not sound right; second, that No Fear side is created by editors and you as the reader have to agree with the editors on a passage’s meaning if you are performing that side of the text; additionally, that the point of SIP is to wrestle with the language of Shakespeare and not to be reading modern translations. The group voted almost unanimously to read the No Fear side. So the message was clear, we’d be reading the No Fear side in it’s entirety. We’ve never done this before, and most likely will not again; most of the other plays have us reading through most of November, because Comedy of Errors is so short we have some room to try something new!

October 2, 2025

“They Talking Cash-Money-Shit About a Big Bitch!”

As October opened, the ensemble was about midway through The Comedy of Errors—a play that’s as chaotic and short as it is confusing. This has posed some challenges that are fairly unique to this piece. There is not a lot to discuss in terms of important themes or even the richness of Shakespeare’s language. It’s pretty much all plot, and it’s presented in very terse and straightforward verse. The plot is very confusing though, and it has taken most of the discussion time to work out exactly what is happening. With the story deep in its web of mistaken identities, the group dove into the middle acts, navigating the growing chaos of two sets of twins, two sets of debts, and a city convinced everyone’s gone mad.

Early in the session, the group addressed some logistical frustrations, laughing before settling into the reading. The conversation turned thoughtful when one participant shared that she had recently lost a young person in her life. The ensemble offered support and began the night’s work with quiet focus and care.

The reading brought renewed laughter and energy. One participant announced that she wanted “redemption” after feeling nervous the last time she read, and another boldly declared, “I like playing Angelo—that’s my part!” When Antipholus began pursuing Luciana, someone leaned in with delight: “He wants her—I was like ooooh!” Another participant added, “I read it cover to cover—I didn’t want to spoil it!” Everyone laughed, but there was also admiration for how Shakespeare’s quick banter reveals attraction and misunderstanding in the same breath.

The mood shifted to pure comedy when the ensemble reached the scene in which Dromio mocks his wife’s appearance. One participant exclaimed, “They talking cash-money-shit about a big bitch,” and another added, “If I was that woman, my feelings would be hurt!” It is very funny, very tawdry, and pretty classic trope. It’s right up there with a Rodney Dangerfield routine or “Yo Mama” jokes; it’s not very sophisticated stuff, but funny that even Shakespeare– the king of high brow sophistication to those who are unfamiliar with him– has several lines of fat wife jokes. “This sounds like some prison transactions!” one participant said later, comparing Shakespeare’s barter scene to everyday exchanges on the inside.

By the end of the night, the ensemble was laughing through scenes, experimenting with accents, and starting to get the text on its feet. The evening closed with a game that left everyone laughing—the kind of joy that fills the room after good, honest work.

September 30th, 2025

“Good. It’s the First Time I’ve Read Anything Like That in 20 Years.”

The final week of September closed on one of the most moving moments of the month. The group returned to Adriana’s “bitch-out” monologue—her furious, pleading speech to a husband she doesn’t realize is the wrong twin—and took turns reading aloud. One participant, visibly nervous but determined, stood and read for the first time in years. When she finished, she smiled and said, “Good. It’s the first time I’ve read anything like that in 20 years.” The room broke into applause. Another followed, saying afterward, “It felt good—getting some frustration out. I was like, ‘You’re gonna listen to me.’”

As each performer took a turn, the ensemble found new meaning in Adriana’s words. The line “I am not Adriana” sparked debate across the room. “I’m brand new,” one said. “She’s stepping out of herself,” another added. Someone else compared it to Beyoncé’s alter ego: “Sasha Fierce.” Another offered, “I’m not going to act like your wife—I’m not going to act like someone you recognize.” The group studied the text closely—one even pointed out that there’s no question mark in the line—and agreed that its meaning depends on how it’s played.

When the reading was done, the group began to play. They swapped roles, acted out scenes, and even invented a spontaneous game inspired by the movie Scream. It was chaotic, hilarious, and perfectly fitting for a play built on confusion.

The evening closed with laughter and pride. The ensemble had not only found their way through Shakespeare’s wildest farce but had discovered new confidence in their own voices along the way.

September was a month of new connections, and the group is really loving The Comedy of Errors. Through The Comedy of Errors, the ensemble explored themes of identity, love, and misunderstanding—finding that Shakespeare’s four-century-old confusions still can be funny in modern times.

“This is my outside-inside,” one participant said early in the month, and by its end, that feeling had deepened into a collective truth. As October begins, the ensemble stands ready to bring The Comedy of Errors to life—on its feet, in full voice, and with the same laughter that started it all.

September 23rd and 25th

“We’ve All Done This Monologue to Someone!”

This week, the ensemble tackled the heart of The Comedy of Errors—the rapid-fire mix-ups and mounting frustration that drive the play’s humor. Two sets of twins—Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse and of Ephesus—cross paths unknowingly, creating chaos in a city that seems determined to misunderstand them. As they read, one participant laughed, “This guy has anger issues,” referring to Antipholus, who spends much of the play shouting in confusion. Another said, “It feels like bickering—but with two people with different power dynamics.”

When the group reached Adriana’s confrontation scene, the room erupted with laughter and recognition. “We’ve all done this monologue to someone!” one ensemble member declared. The speech—part jealousy, part heartbreak—became a mirror for everyone in the circle. We framed the conversation around the question: “What does the character want?” One participant said, “She wants him to come home and get his head straight.” Another added, “To claim her.” Someone else said, “She’s trippin’—she’s feeling jealous for no reason,” and the group laughed.

Between readings, participants experimented with accents, playing with the sounds of Shakespeare’s language. “They don’t speak all fancy—they just speak normal to you… I’ll be ghetto still!” one participant said, and the group erupted again. This is a recurring debate we have with members of the ensemble– just about every year we talk through this at some point. Even if we encourage folks to use their natural voice, the final decision is always up to them.

By week’s end, they weren’t just reading Shakespeare; they were living him—finding themselves in his characters’ chaos, humor, and longing.