Season Eight: Week 20

Check out this article in American Theatre

A Role for Theatre in Criminal Justice?

So much great information about this work, its impact…
And Shakespeare in Prison is honored to be a part of it!

---

Oh, and while you’re at it…

Why not click here to donate to SIP?

Tuesday / January 15 / 2019
Written by Frannie

After checking in and answering our traditional three questions (which we forgot to do last week!), I asked the ensemble what they wanted to do. Some kind of icebreaker? “SIX DIRECTIONS,” said a longtime member, gleefully rubbing her hands together. This Michael Chekhov exercise (a favorite of some… and not so much of others, but they humor the rest of us) is a good one for centering oneself and warming up for scene work and other exercises. Before moving our energy in each of six directions, we did some physical expansions and contractions. We followed these with a Michael Chekhov “personal atmosphere” exercise, which several ensemble members have been asking for.

In this exercise, each person uses her imagination to conjure a “bubble” of space around herself that is filled with a specific sensation or image that influences her feelings and physicality. We began with each of four tastes (sweet, bitter, sour, salty), and then went through a sequence of atmospheres, moving through the space and trying out different activities. Finally, I asked each person (including myself) to choose an atmosphere of either bubbles or cactus spines, and then to interact with each other using only the words “yes” and “no.”

We realized very quickly that all but two people had chosen cactus spines, but those two proved to be very persuasive! It didn’t take long for the cactuses all to be converted to bubbles, and there was a lot of smiling and laughing when I called a hold to the exercise so we could sit together and reflect.

The first thing anyone said was that that she’d noticed how sad everything felt as soon as we stepped into atmospheres of tears. Everyone nodded as another woman said that being in that atmosphere “brought her right into” being with her kids, which was what made her feel sad. I asked if she was okay, and she assured us that she was. “It’s good to show emotions sometimes,” she said. “If you bottle it in, it comes out negative.” I made very sure that everyone knew that our goal is not to re-live painful memories in our acting, but to find ways of being emotionally truthful in our performances—to use our imaginations to call the feelings up. She had experienced the emotion, she said, but it hadn’t been a painful moment in itself.

“When we did the tears, there was a heaviness in the air because everyone was so down,” said one woman. “When I stepped over [into the stage left wing], I almost felt a wall come up. It was weird.” I asked if she’d gotten stuck in that energy, and she said, “No, as soon as I stepped over that line, I left it behind.” … Which is also a Michael Chekhov exercise—creating a threshold to separate one atmosphere from another—but I didn’t want to interrupt the reflection and figured I could tell her (for the umpteenth time) how brilliant she is later.

Still on the subject of tears, another woman said that her atmosphere had been so heavy that, “I didn’t even want to move. Just stand there.” Another woman, who had spent most of the exercise standing just offstage, closely observing, mused, “When we did the bubbles, everybody did their own thing. There were all kinds of bubbles. But when we did the tears, everybody did the exact same thing—the same emotion, the same expression, everything.” She said it had affected her, even though she’d only been watching.

I agreed with her completely, suggesting that maybe that was because everyone experiences the physical sensation of tears pretty much the same way, while “bubbles” can mean anything. That’s why I’d thought the group would like using atmospheres in Twelfth Night, and this woman agreed. “I think that’d really help,” she said, explaining that she tries her lines all sorts of ways in her head, but she’s never sure which is right. “I really don’t know what kind of atmosphere [her character] is supposed to be,” she said. “Sometimes my atmosphere gets mixed up with my character’s.”

I responded that this is a really common challenge for those of us who get stuck in our heads, and that’s why I love Chekhov technique: because it removes the necessity of thinking and uses the body’s memory, rather than the brain’s, to call up truthful emotions. I began to give an example, and then realized that one was sitting right next to me: last year’s Macbeth. “Do you remember ‘Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow?’” I asked her. She thought for a moment. “If I could look at the script for a minute, I think I would,” she said, and, improbably, another ensemble member called out, “I’ve got a copy right here,” waving around a No Fear edition. Ye Olde Macbeth grinned, and, by the time she’d gotten over there (which was all of 15 feet away), the other member had the book open to the correct page.

When we say we’re nerds, we mean it.

As she looked over the speech, I asked The Artist Formerly Known as Macbeth if she remembered what she’d done to access the emotion she wanted for that scene, and she did. The monologue had reminded her of a time when she thought she’d felt the same way: when her entire body had felt “heavy, like a brick.” She sat back down beside me on the edge of the stage and called up the physical sensation. And then she read the piece.

It had lost none of its power since some of us last saw and heard it in June, and we were rapt. In fact, when she finally looked up at the end, and I was able to pull my gaze away from her, the first thing both of us saw was Matt, sitting on the floor in the first row, so moved that he was weeping. “Oh, no! Not the atmosphere of tears!” I joked. Several of us joined forces to whoosh him (see last week’s blog!), and he pulled himself together. “You know,” said a woman who joined the group a couple of months ago, “I’ve never read that. I’ve never seen it. But the way she did it made me have feelings.”

This took us back to atmospheres—and back to tears! But this time, the group focused on all the positive feelings that came out of that atmosphere. One woman, who had sat on the stage taking notes, said that she’d been on edge all day, and that imagining and then shaking off that atmosphere had allowed her to shake off her actual tension, too. “Same here,” said the other woman who’d mostly watched the others. She said she’d been crying before the session, and the feeling had persisted—until she’d dropped the imaginary atmosphere of tears. And then they were both gone. Another woman said it “took a second” for her to dismiss the tears, and “it scared me for a second.” But after that scary moment, the feeling vanished.

One woman said that the atmospheres had been cool, but she HATED the expansion/contraction exercise. “A lot of us do!” I said, and I asked if she had any thoughts about that. “I can’t put my finger on it… It makes you, like, vulnerable,” she said, grimacing. “It was easier to be in a contracted ball, but it felt better to be expanded,” said one woman, and I asked if she knew why that was. “You’re vulnerable when you’re expanded,” she said, “but it’s powerful. Being in a little ball felt bad, but safe.” “Yeah, I agree,” said another woman.

That all took longer than anticipated, but we had a little time left for scene work, and we returned to the Olivia/Viola section of Act I, scene v. We tried out some atmospheres: Viola used sparkles, Olivia used bees (which changed to butterflies when she fell in love), and Maria used butter (which, I confess, was my lame idea). There were some definite changes in the scene, though this way of working will take some getting used to. Still, “It feels good to change,” said our Olivia. A woman who’d been watching agreed, “You could feel the irritation, and then the change.” Our Viola, who was irritated with me for taking so long with the exercise, conceded, “This was a good start.” Another woman took it further, saying that she could see “a lot of improvement.”

Friday / January 18 / 2019
Written by Matt

“Thank god I’m here,” announced one of our veterans when we sat down for check-in, “because it’s been a day! I was like, ‘I gotta get to Shakespeare, cause this is my sanity!”

Our group was already feeling a little less huge today--more like our usual size. Still, there were a lot of new folks in the circle, so after check in and the ring, we played a name game. We’d played one last week, but there are so many new people that we needed another! Of all the name games, we settled on the least “interesting,” but probably the most effective: we were going to a hypothetical picnic, and each of us was bringing something that happened to begin with the same letter (or sound) as our name. We went around in a circle, saying who we were, and what we were bringing. The trick is that you have to remember (and recite!) the names and offerings of every person who went before you. Like I said, not an earth-shattering game, but mnemonic devices sure help memory! And cause panic. One of the women froze up, looked at her hands, and said, in surprise, “My palms are sweating!” Who knew that the name game would be the most stressful part of the evening?

We started out by running through Act 2, scene 1 again. Last week, the women in that scene had needed a few run-throughs to “find” the scene. Today, it was still a little bit rough, but they told the story clearly, and there were some really funny moments. Most importantly, our Antonio made a big, dramatic cross to get in front of Sebastian. Everyone seemed pretty pleased with it as a rough draft, so we moved on.

We ran Act 2, scene 2 for the first time. A short scene between Malvolio and Viola is followed by Viola’s famous speech about being torn--between conflicting desires, conflicting duties, and conflicting genders. In stumbling through it the first time, our Malvolio found some totally hilarious gestures. Instinctively, she began doing all of her gestures with a straight, extended arm. On giving Olivia’s ring to Viola (which Olivia said was Cesario’s ring, and Cesario is Viola in disguise… oh, Shakespeare!), Malvolio thrust the object within two inches of our Viola’s face. Viola had clearly been working on her monologue (“Ha ha! I am the man!” she exclaimed). Only two women had time to give quick notes before our Malvolio demanded that we run the scene again, now!

They continued to refine the second and third times through. Malvolio raced to pop up in front of Viola and doubled down on the stiff-armed gestures. And after the monologue, our Viola walked off beaming. “I was wanting to do it just like that,” she said, “I really wanted the audience to go, ‘Woah, what’s this girl gonna do?’”

We did Act 2, scene 3 last week, but without Feste and Malvolio. Our Feste, in particular, was ready to get up on stage and act! Everyone has been doing brilliant work this season, but the women in this scene are on another comedic level! From the moment the curtain opened, we knew it was going to be funny--mostly because Sir Andrew, who has been the queen of pratfalls, fell on her face when the curtain opened on her. For the rest of the scene, we were teetering on the edge of chaos. Feste forgot her script, and piled shtick upon shtick as Frannie and the other zanni ran around looking for it. A few minutes later, Feste dropped her script and, instantly, Sir Toby offered hers.

All of this insanity gave Maria plenty to work with when she entered. She was not amused. Still less amused (but still more amusing) was Malvolio, who stalked around the stage and berated the others. As Malvolio raged, the zannis tied Sir Andrew’s shoes together under the table. The highlight of the run, though, was a beautiful tableau of Feste, Maria, Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew gathered around the “bar,” plotting their revenge on Malvolio. It looked like something designed by a director, but they just naturally found it: Maria holding court at the bar, Sirs Toby and Andrew on either side and seated, and Feste, who instinctively knew to kneel in front of the bar and open to the audience. We’re not here to create professional-quality theatre, but it’s so cool when we do by instinct what someone with training would have done.

Round two of the scene was even more delightful. Our Feste is really enjoying her role as zanni-meister, and relishing the freedom of playing the fool. She sang the songs in the wrong order--at one point adding the lyrics, “Oh, I’m totally singing the wrong song!”--instructed the zannis to grab musical instruments and play; and stole Frannie’s pen, dusted it off, and replaced it in her hand. When everyone got lost, she started clearing her throat, which led everyone onstage (except Malvolio) to clear her throat. All the havoc seemed to help Maria find her character. The zannis cowered on her entrance, and she was constantly shooing them away, which gave her some pretty funny stage business. To banish them, she snapped her fingers authoritatively and pointed to the exit.

Have I mentioned they’re doing really hilarious, amazing work? We’ve never had this many people, with so much energy, feeding so beautifully off of one another’s energy.

Season Eight: Week 19

Put money in thy—er, our—purse!

Click here to donate to SIP

Tuesday / January 8 / 2019
Written by Matt

We got 12 new members today! Actually, it was a bit overwhelming. It’s exciting to have so many new faces, but it’s also a reminder of how tight-knit our little ensemble had become this season. We needed them--we were dangerously close to having too few people to put on the play--but the room feels different with so many new folks in it.

For most of the session, though, they were off with Frannie and a veteran doing orientation. After quick introductions, they headed off to a classroom, and the rest of us dove right back into scene work. The next scene up was Act II, scene ii, which is the introduction of Sebastian and Antonio. The women playing those roles had been awaiting their scene with excitement and trepidation. Both are relatively shy and inexperienced, so the scene had a different feel from the last few, which have been full of the raucous energy of some of our most dramatically inclined members.

They stumbled through it once without stopping, but both were focused more on saying the words than on acting--which is fine. It often takes a long time for any actor to step fully into a role, and this is especially true in a setting like this one, in which the text is Shakespeare, and the actors have little or no experience. In fact, doing this scene felt a lot more like a “normal” SIP session, from previous years, when fewer of our members have had such facility with the language.

After the run, a veteran asked the actors how they felt. They seemed a little bit shellshocked still, and they said little, so the woman who had asked them turned to her fellow audience-members. “What did you all see?” As usual, people were brimming with ideas. A veteran with great instincts as a director asked them questions about where they were coming from and going to. “Did you feel like you need to move around?” she queried. When both said yes, a new member suggested that they add a lot of movement to the scene, to give it dynamism. “What if they’re just going all over the space, and Sebastian’s trying to shake Antonio and failing?”

It was all a little bit too much for Antonio. She put her head down and seemed discouraged. At that moment, her scene partner, our Sebastian, stepped in to take care of her, taking comments and suggestions and processing them for her. She even took Antonio to the side and talked her through it gently for a few minutes before diving back in. And, honestly, that’s just the kind of ensemble we have this year. The feedback was all good, all appropriately phrased, all on-point. There wasn’t too much of it. But for our Antonio, it was just too much to deal with on top of her anxiety and everything else. But before I had to say anything, her scene partner, who has been very quiet in the past, swooped in to fill the role of coach, interpreter, and cheerleader. All naturally!

The second run was better, as usual, and both women seemed more confident, and the third run was already starting to look like the rough draft of a scene! A few of the women gently worked with our Antonio to coax her more fully into her character. In the end, we decided that Antonio is trying to physically block Sebastian from getting to her exit, which made for a pretty funny picture on stage!

We decided to move on to the next scene, II.ii, even though we were missing Feste and Malvolio. One of the women remembered that Coffey had played Feste, so she requested a repeat performance, and someone nominated me to play Malvolio.

With two facilitators on stage and Frannie doing orientation, our notes were a little thin on Act II, scene ii. But, honestly, we were just playing around, since we were missing two central characters. Sir Toby and Sir Andrew were over-the-top, as always, and Maria was snappy in response. (And, once again, everyone was awed by the fact that Maria is practically off-book!) Coffey sang Feste’s songs as sad pop-ballads, smooth jazz--eliciting weeping and groans from Toby and Andrew. It was great fun!

We had almost no notes after the first run, just some ideas for more shtick (just what we need: more shtick!) and a couple of technical notes about opening up to the audience. Everyone was eager to run it again, and, just in time, Frannie arrived with the newbies! We ran the scene again, this time with zannis running around and causing havoc, and with one of Feste’s songs delivered improbably as Beat poetry.

To finish up, we played two rounds of This Bottle Is Not a Bottle, a Theatre of the Oppressed game we’ve played several times before. It’s a good icebreaker. The first object (or NON-object!) was a tambourine, which morphed into all sorts of things. Highlights: an ad for a dentist, a tiara, the Amulet of Destiny, four cell phones all ringing at the same time, a bag with a puppy, a tractor beam, and Abe Lincoln’s hat. Round two was a drumstick, which changed into a pogo stick, a spaghetti noodle, a unicorn (the receiver poached it for its horn!), a giant Q-tip, a raging bull, and a Golden Globe Award (one woman dashed in to steal it from the receiver, ala Kanye West), among other things.

It was a good day--but it’s a really big circle! In all, 27 people showed up. We’ll see how many stick it out, but it’s a big injection of energy!

Friday / January 11 / 2019
Written by Frannie

As we settled in for check-in, a longtime member gently but firmly said she needed to speak first. “I just have to say this,” she said, “because—and I’m not mad at anybody or anything—but I don’t know if you guys have noticed I haven’t been checking in much and stuff… And it’s because—I guess I just haven’t really been feeling the trust in the ensemble this year.” She paused and looked around the circle, making eye contact with each person as she went. “And I wanna have that trust back, and I want you newbies to know that this is a safe place where you can be open—” she took a deep breath “—and it’s just hard to feel that when someone takes something I said outside of the ensemble.”

Because this woman so rarely brings issues to the circle this way, and because it was clear that she truly wasn’t angry and just wanted us all on the same page, everyone listened carefully as she clarified a comment she made last week. She feared that we may have misinterpreted her, as she had been approached by a former ensemble member who had been told about it and believed it was a slight against her. These two women are friendly, and things were quickly cleared up without escalating, but that wasn’t the point, this ensemble member said. The point was that she should never have heard about it in the first place.

“Oh, oh, oh,” said a woman who joined a couple of months ago, sitting on the edge of her seat, leaning forward toward the longtime member, clearly stricken and rocking a little. “I told [the other woman] about what you said, but I didn’t say it like that. I was just telling her about how we all wanted her to come back in the fall. I said all positive things. I don’t know why she took it that way.”

“That’s my point. This is a circle thing,” the longtime member calmly replied. “I’m really not mad about it—it’s all good now, and it wasn’t a big deal. But what if it had been? That’s what I’m saying. We can’t be repeating stuff people say in here outside the circle.” The other woman, brow furrowed, said, “I know, I know, I just—I guess I didn’t think about it that way, I just knew she was wondering about it. I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry.” The longtime member said, “I know, and it’s really okay. We all just gotta make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

This feature of SIP is tough, I acknowledged to the group, even for me. We each need to constantly check in with ourselves to make sure we’re not sharing anything with others that is potentially sensitive. For me, the latest challenge has been figuring out how to share ensemble anecdotes, as I often do with all sorts of people, with SIP alumni who’ve been paroled. Even if nothing about the anecdote itself is objectively sensitive, the possibility that an alum knows the people I’m talking about means I have to be even more careful than usual in my storytelling so I don’t inadvertently identify anyone. I can’t make assumptions about what’s okay for old friends to know. I have to protect that safe space. We all do.

Calmly and compassionately (as usual with this group), we agreed to keep our lines of communication open, and to keep everything in the room. (Except for what’s on this blog, of course! They know we’re extremely careful about what we write here. And that I was recently told by an alum’s family member that she’d spent nearly five years trying to figure out when I was writing about her loved one, and she could never do it. That’s a pretty good track record, if you ask me!)

Sadly, the next woman to check in demonstrated exactly why we need that trust—she had gotten some very upsetting news about a loved one and poured her heart out to us. Showing vulnerability like this is something she “never” does, she said, and several women murmured that it was okay—she didn’t need to apologize. “So, yeah,” she said, shifting a bit in her seat, “Today was not a good day, and I’m really glad to be here.” There was a brief silence before a longtime member leaned forward in her chair, grinned, and asked, “Do you need a whoosh?” The first woman, bewildered, said, “Do I need a… what??” We then realized that we had done NO WHOOSHES since this woman joined the ensemble, and that is clearly not acceptable. After a brief explanation of this favorite SIP exercise, she agreed to accept a whoosh after check-in. “Keep us posted on what you need and don’t need, okay?” I said. “I need some Theatre of the Oppressed!” she replied. No problem there!

After a few more women shared their updates, we stood, lowered our ring, and told that member to get in the middle of the circle! As she did, she looked at me, a little apprehensive. “I know it sounds weird. It is weird. It’s really weird,” I said. “But see if you can stay open to it—because it also feels really, really awesome.” On the count of three, we all made a full-body “uplifting” gesture, three times, as we exclaimed, “Whoosh!” “Wow,” she said, “that did feel kinda good.” I asked if there were any other takers for whooshes. Turned out there were five. We need to do more whooshes more often!

We played a name-game version of “Energy Around,” followed by a couple rounds of “Bombs and Shields.” When we reflected afterward, one woman said the game “kinda makes you lose your inhibitions in a way.” I agreed and asked the group what else they’d gotten out of it. “I can lean on her,” was one woman’s immediate response, referring to a quiet member who, it turned out, had been chosen by four people to be their shield. She beamed, subtly as always, but I saw her!

“How are you doing?” a longtime member asked the woman who’d been so upset during check-in. “Good,” she replied, “and so glad I’m here.” I asked if she needed more games, or if she needed some Shakespeare. “Shakespeare!” was the reply, and our Malvolio agreed: “I’m ready for some Shakespeare. Let’s do a Malvolio scene!” I whooped a little (because I’m a professional) as one of the women threw it back to a favorite inside joke that started last season. “I feel like you got the Shakespeare Holy Ghost!” she said to Malvolio, who threw back her shoulders and said, “I feel like I do!” I continue to be in awe of this woman, who, last season, was so quiet and unsure, practically until the last moment, about whether she wanted to stay in the group. And now she’s one of our liveliest members. She’s amazing.

Se launched headlong into Act I, scene v, adding a “zanni posse” for Feste and deciding not to plan ahead even a little bit. Though the scene was, of course, a mess, it was also extremely fun, engaging, and energetic. “Can we keep going? This is awesome!” one of the women exclaimed when it was over. “I feel like…” mused our Malvolio, “I don’t know… Can I be, like, constantly rolling my eyes, or would that be too much?” It would not be too much, came the reply from multiple people. In fact, we weren’t sure it would be possible for her to go too far in that direction!

We identified a couple of problems: the zannis’ shuffling feet made it difficult to hear the lines at times, and we apparently overstayed our welcome on stage. The first solution is likely simple: some of our costume budget will go toward ballet slippers or soft-soled shoes! The second required more creativity.

“Maybe you don’t have to leave—I think you were just moving around too much,” said one woman. “No, I think at some point the zannis can get, like, fed up and leave,” said another. “OH!” exclaimed a longtime member, the way she always does when she has a particularly inspired idea. “Maybe they get more and more frustrated every time someone says, ‘Take the fool away,’ and on the last one, two of the zannis turn on the third one and arrest him!”

We spent some time, too, on the Viola/Olivia part of the scene. “I just feel bored,” said our Viola. “Like I’m just standing up there talking.” I asked her what her character’s objective is, and we talked our way to one: to make Olivia fall in love with Orsino via Viola. But is that really what Viola wants? “She’s conflicted,” our Viola said, reminding us that she is in love with Orsino. “It’s a lot of frustration in this scene.” One ensemble member pondered whether Viola might not actually be trying very hard to woo Olivia, but another woman firmly said no, that’s not what’s in the text: Viola always does her best for Orsino.

We ran just this portion of the scene again, and the actors didn’t feel much better about it. A few people gave helpful, creative suggestions. One woman suggested to our Olivia that she “give less” to Viola.

Olivia agreed at first, and then she seemed to drift a bit, lost in thought. “I kind of do that too much, anyway,” she said in the way that often precedes an SIP-style epiphany. “I mean…” Another long pause. And then, “Never mind,” she said, eyes downcast, dropping whatever it was she’d been thinking. Or at least trying to drop it. “You were about to go real deep, weren’t you?” a friend gently teased. “Frannie’s gonna go home and Google your name!” I shook my head as some members laughed, while others were clearly uncomfortable, and the woman onstage looked at me with some trepidation. This is a very, very sensitive subject that almost never comes up in the ensemble, even one-on-one. When it does, it’s always driven by ensemble members—never by facilitators—and this time, we quickly moved on without further discussion.

It’s a subject for a different blog, I think. But tonight, we—the people in the room, and no one else—circled up, dispelled the ring of energy we’d created together, clapped and thanked each other as we always do, and left on a positive note. And when I got home, I didn’t Google anyone.

Season Eight: Week 18

Nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal…

Click here to donate to SIP

Friday / January 4 / 2018
Written by Matt

Ordinarily, the holidays are a tough time for SIP--a tough time for people in prison generally. But this year, even though plenty of individual ensemble members are feeling down, the general mood of the group is up. A number of the women even checked in to say that they’re doing “generally well,” which is pretty unusual for a January check-in!

“The year is amazing already,” shared on of our longest-serving members, who has been writing a lot on her own. “I’m just so blessed to have so many unique stories in me and so many ways to tell them. It’s just so--they’re just coming out of me!”

Our first order of business was to make a decision about adding new members to the ensemble. Actually, Frannie’s first order of business was the read her contemporaneous notes from watching Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet (pronounced “Romeo PLUS Juliet”; the one with Leonardo DiCaprio), but I can’t possibly do them justice, so I’ll get to the point: Frannie has been wrong about the movie for all the years she’s been ridiculing it. It’s actually quite good, she’s decided. It’s hard to overstate how much of an about-face this represents, and it would have been earth-shaking enough on its own, but coincidentally, one of our alums from Romeo and Juliet watched the movie at the same time… and hated it! In fact, this alumna and Frannie had completely swapped positions on the film through some crazy, karmic Shakespeare-mind-meld. Or something. I digress.

Note from Frannie: This was a surprising and exciting development! And before any of you (beloved) Shakespeare snobs out there judge me, just you wait. I’ll write something up about this soon!

The ensemble was of two minds on adding new members. “I’m afraid that someone will come in and make waves,” said one member, “but I think that they’ll come in and see how tight we are, and go with that.” Another reminded people that she had dropped out and rejoined before becoming one of the core members of the group. “People had apprehension when I wanted to come back,” she said, and went on to say that there’s always hesitancy about adding new folks. “The kindness and passion in the room makes you want to be a part of it,” added a new member.

As we came to agreement on adding new people (a bunch of them!), one of our veterans said that last year had felt cliquey. “And I was part of that,” she admitted. “That’s why I really didn’t want to do that this year.” And she attributed this year’s success to the bonding in the group: “We stayed together because that’s what makes us great.”

To kick off scene work, the people in Act 1, scene 5 went to the back of the room to get their script cuts straight--our Feste had some issues with Frannie’s proposed truncations. Meanwhile, we ran Act 1, scene 4 onstage. Before we could run it, though, we needed to work out some logistics. There are a lot of back-to-back scenes that switch between Orsino’s court and Olivia’s. Both settings require a good deal of space, so closing the curtain for one of them doesn’t really make sense. We tossed around some ideas for cleverly changing the scene (rotating setpieces? zannis running around to do it?) and decided to table the discussion until more people were present. We figured that we could simply assume that, if the curtain needs to be open, we’ll figure out a way to do it. In fact, our Viola pointed out, this scene doesn’t even need to be at Orsino’s court. She had us try it with the curtain closed, as though Orsino and Viola (dressed as Cesario) were meeting in the street.

The first run was a little rough. “It was dry,” pointed out one of the women with a director’s eye. Our Viola pushed back: “I don’t feel like it needs to be over-the-top.” Another woman who was watching asked a good question: “What’s happening in this scene?” and our Viola explained the context. “According to the text,” she told our Orsino, “this is the first time you’ve told me that you’re close to me.” What was Viola’s attitude to Orsino, someone asked. “She’s kinda reluctant, kinda sarcastic, kinda jealous” replied Viola. “I heard about the duke, but now I’m here on his turf.”

We ran the scene again, and everyone was able to be more over-the-top. Orsino wanted everyone to have goofy capes to flail around in. One woman wanted a line-up of zannis imitating Orsino’s moves. Frannie even had an idea to do part of it as a Motown number. We’ll see.

On to Act 1, scene 5! This one definitely upped the energy level in the room. Our Feste was making big movements, using all of the stage, and improvising all sorts of goofy actions. At one point, my pen fell from behind my ear (I was reading in for Malvolio), and Feste kicked it across the stage--later to tiptoe out and steal it from where it lay. People had all sorts of ideas about how to make the scene even shtickier, which was great. I really love that we have so many opportunities to be goofy this season, and so many chances to just spitball ridiculous ideas. It’s awesome, and so different from working on a tragedy, where there’s less leeway in performance.

Our Maria, though, mentioned that there were some logical problems with the cuts. She’s been really on top of all things textual--and she’s a heck of an actor, to boot! She went through a bunch of places in which the agreed-upon version of the script contradicted itself or left off the punchline of a joke. Many of these logical breakdowns required a lot of facility with Shakespeare’s language to understand, and many were about recurring jokes that disappeared and then reappeared several pages later. Very cool.

“It needs to be all of [the original scene] or the cut way,” she said, referring to Frannie’s original cut. Our Feste, who had had a hand in the cuts, admitted that, “Basically, everything I wanted to cut, she said, ‘Nope, doesn’t work like that!’” She shook her head, good-naturedly. “Damn.”

Someone noted that the text requires that Sir Toby and Maria have a flirtation--or at least that others perceive them to be an item. Our Maria had missed that. “Understanding that helps me connect to my character,” she said. “I’m not just, like, ‘Where’s Toby?’ I’m like, ‘Where have you been all day?’”

An already delightful day was made even better when, in the final minutes of the session, our Sir Toby offered that perhaps Maria took the job as a bartender because that was the only way she’d be able to spend time with her hard-drinking boyfriend. Everyone burst out laughing at that point, none less than Maria herself. We put up the ring and left the building, but Frannie, Lauren, and I were still chuckling about that idea. Of all the memorable and novel backstories that our ensemble members have contrived for their characters, that one might just be the best. A day in SIP history, indeed!

Season Eight: Week 17

Got a ducat or two to spare?

Click here to donate to SIP

Friday / December 28 / 2018
Written by Matt

Today we had a special guest! Kyle was back after taking a hiatus from the ensemble since September. In fact (and I was a little sneaky about writing this two weeks ago, when they planned it), the women had an entire “show” planned out for him when he entered the space. The old-timers razzed him, and the new members introduced themselves--and razzed him.

It was fun and hilarious, and everyone was in high spirits by the end. At check-in, Kyle talked about how hard it’s been for him to be away from the ensemble, but how he didn’t want to be there if he couldn’t be there 100 percent. “I want to apologize--not for taking the time I needed,” he said, “but for how I left. It was abrupt.” Everyone seemed to accept that, even though his sudden departure had been a painful moment for some of them. One woman joked that she has been watching Forensic Files, trying to find him, but then offered that “we’ve got a good system here, and you are always welcome.” Another said that she was really pleased to meet him--she’s heard such great things about him.

We also couldn’t get through check-in without mentioning how it had been a week since we last met--with Christmas and New Year’s Day both falling on Tuesdays, this would be the only meeting during the two holiday weeks. “This was the longest week,” said one of the veterans. “I was having Shakespeare withdrawals! Now, I understand an addict’s pain,” she said jokingly. “But I MADE IT!”

Right after check-in, Frannie and I broached an issue that had been growing for some time now. Ordinarily, our role for the first third of the season is to facilitate group reading and discussion of the text, then we help with rehearsing and staging the play, but mostly we keep out of taking on acting roles unless we absolutely need to. But this season has been really different in a lot of ways, and we’ve been finding different roles for ourselves as facilitators. For Frannie, it’s become clear that the group is at its best when she’s onstage being goofy and over-the-top right along with the other ensemble members, and the best way for her to keep doing that was to allow her to take on a “role” as a permanent on-stage clown. The ensemble has borrowed “zannis” from the Italian Commedia dell’Arte tradition, so a rotating group of mute, clownish characters will play the sailors, attendants, musicians, and others onstage, diving into physical comedy the entire time.

As usual, we took this idea to the ensemble to get their ideas on Frannie becoming the zanni who anchors all the others throughout the performance. “I think that is a wonderful idea!” exclaimed a longtime member. “For some reason, Frannie, when you’re up there with us, it gives off the confidence to do what we want to do.” A new member nodded vigorously and said, “I had that exact same thought for the past two sessions!” Another said, “Being new and just coming in … that energy, it just opened me up!” Another veteran added what might be the most important lesson to take from all of this for us: the less actively involved the facilitators are, the more we feel like “teachers” or “authority figures.” The more we throw ourselves completely into the work--even if we sometimes feel like it’s self-indulgent or hogging the stage--the more we feel like full members of the ensemble. We’re always learning more about what this program “is,” and where we fit into it. This year seems like we’ve learned more than usual just in the first few months!

Before we dove into scene work with Act 1, scene 3, a few people immediately identified a problem. As we have staged the first two scenes, the first scene takes place on “a beach” in front of the closed curtain and the second scene takes place “at Orsino’s home” with the curtain open. The third scene takes place “at Olivia’s home,” so our natural inclination would be to close the curtain to make the distinction. However, Olivia’s home is such an important location, the site of several of the largest scenes, that we decided that we needed to have the curtain open. How, then, to change the set?

We talked it over, coming up with all sorts of ideas, from a quick change with the curtain open, to using our rotating set-piece from Taming of the Shrew, before settling on trying out the second scene in front of a closed curtain. Our Orsino, who had been really enamored of her planned entrance in that scene, was happy with a compromise: a grand flourish of the curtains as she stepped forth. We ran through the first two scenes to make sure they still worked (answer: sort of), then we were off on Act 1, scene 3.

The first thing everybody noticed was that our Maria was off-book! Her lines were memorized, crisply delivered, and pregnant with meaning and subtext. Our Toby, too, was energetic and gave some really great line-readings. Sir Andrew is a core member of the ensemble, and her usual ebullience and work ethic were on full display as she executed a series of hilarious Pratt falls and danced with abandon as Toby cajoled her. When they wriggled offstage, everyone burst into applause and whooping.

“Can I just say: [Maria] is OFF-BOOK!!” shouted a veteran member. “I mean, what the hell?!” That sentiment was echoed by others (“Frannie, this goes down in Shakespeare in Prison history,” offered one woman). “You know, even professional actors often don’t show up off-book to the first rehearsal,” said Frannie. “I told you I had a good memory,” grinned our Maria. Then she encouraged others to stay away from the modern English side of the No Fear Shakespeare when memorizing, warning that it caused a lot of interference when she was trying to get the lines into her head.

About the scene generally, one woman voiced how much she enjoyed Maria’s no-nonsense attitude. “It was so calm at first,” she said, “then, BAM! [Maria] just took charge!” On a second run-through, the scene was even more accomplished. Maria set up a bar and began inventing stage business: wiping glasses, doing dishes, constantly handing drinks to Toby and Andrew and then wiping up after them. It was hilarious. Toby and Andrew decided that they wanted to have a super-complicated secret handshake, and onstage, they both simply decided to give up halfway through and return to drinking.

The final run of this scene had to be done in the final minutes of our session, so we hurried out of the auditorium and out of the building. As we left, everyone seemed in high spirits, especially considering how difficult the holidays are for our participants. We were ebullient, too, as we left. It was the perfect holiday-season evening--a bright spot on one of the longest nights of the year.

Season Eight: Week 16

This holiday season, give the gift of hope.

Click here to donate to SIP

Tuesday / December 18 / 2018
Written by Frannie

After a long check-in (good news, bad news, a beautiful poem, and more), one of the women asked why we don’t ever perform the No Fear “translation” of the play. Several women jumped in to give their reasons, which mostly have to do with how much of the original text’s richness is lost that way. “They might be smart, but they get some things wrong,” one woman said about the authors. “If we did a translation, we would have to do it ourselves,” said another woman.

The woman who’d brought it up explained that her concern was really about friends in the audience who’ve had a hard time following the plot and remembering who the characters were. Anonymous surveys each year tell us that the majority of audience members follow along just fine, but we don’t want anyone left out!

The women started throwing out ideas:

• A prologue to explain the plot and characters? Too time-consuming: we’ve only got 90 minutes, period.

• A synopsis in the printed program? We’ve done that for years, but it’s too much to read in too little time. We’re going to see if that info can be given to the audience ahead of time this season.

• A narrator throughout the play? This would also add too much time.

A quiet member raised her hand and floated the idea of having a few zannis doing a “Mystery Science Theater”-style running commentary at points when we feel the audience might get confused. This seems like a great solution, as it fits the concept we’ve already developed and shouldn’t add much time.

A longtime member then said that the audience understands the plays better when the actors are fully committed. She demonstrated by performing nearly all of one of her monologues from last season, which was great! I added that there are techniques we can use in our acting and staging that will help the audience, too—but it’s going to take an even fuller commitment to the work than she’d been talking about. “You can watch any play in any language—” I began, and a newer member piped up, “Or no language!” I nodded. “Or no language!—and still understand it if the artists are doing the work.”

There generally is a bit of a lag in the spring, when rehearsing becomes challenging because people are in and out of the room for various reasons, or they’re absent and we don’t know if/when they’re coming back, or they get busy with other things and “slack” on learning their lines. Just one or two people can affect the entire ensemble this way, and it makes it tough for everyone to give it their all. Our performances are always joyous and uplifting, but they usually don’t reach the full “artistic potential” the ensemble knows they’re capable of achieving.

This year, though, there’s already been a push to up the ante on work ethic and dedication. We’ve recognized that our play requires a lot of physical comedy and prop-work, so we’ve set a much earlier off-book date than usual: we want to have lines memorized in March, three months before performances (and much sooner than even I had suggested!). Attendance has been stellar for most ensemble members, and, as we’ve noted before in this blog, there is an incredible, palpable sense of warmth and enthusiasm for the work and each other.

“So,” I said, “We’ve always done great work, but it sounds like we want to make taking care of the audience a bigger priority this year.” Everyone nodded in agreement. “It’s gonna take even more commitment on our part, then, to bump our performance up to that next level. Are we all in?” We sure are.

What better way to segue into officially staging the first scene of our show? We’d decided to flip the first two scenes, so the play begins with Viola’s arrival in Illyria. We gathered in the house and closed the curtain, talking through basic staging “logic” (for example: making sure locations are clear and consistent) and brainstorming ideas of how we could begin. One woman suggested that Viola, the Captain, and the sailors stumble in from the back of the house and play the scene on the apron and the floor in front of the stage. Great idea!

Then, of course, we started collectively overcomplicating things. How about adding some dialogue for the sailors? some business for the Captain? What order should people enter in? Should the sailors stay or leave? Do they need to be there at all?

The ideas began to stray pretty far from the text, and I called a hold, reminding everyone of an immortal ensemble member quote from last season: “Don’t. Add. Shit. To. Shakespeare.” When we start piling “stuff” on, we obscure the play itself—and we love the play itself! Some goofiness and ad libbing will enhance the piece, but too much will overwhelm it. We backed off of the ideas that seemed extraneous and agreed to “just try” the scene. And, lucky me, I got to be a zanni!

The Captain and one sailor entered through the house left aisle, while another sailor and I, followed by Viola, entered through the right. Right away, the sailor near me “fell” on her face, and, as I struggled to edge my way around her, I burst into exhausted tears. We made our way to the stage, where one sailor knocked water out of her ear and emptied sand from her shoe, while the other picked seaweed off herself, and I continued to cry while fighting off seagulls. Viola and the Captain met in front of the stage, and we bungled our way through the scene. Only at the very end did I realize that Viola had had only one shoe on the entire time.

It was a mess, but we all agreed that there were things to keep and build on. After problem-solving a bit, we tried it again. We sailors kept a lot of the same business, but we were more unified this time. Viola and the Captain were clearer when delivering their lines, so much so that a bunch of us got information from the scene that we’d missed before! And Viola took things a step further by throwing her shoe on the ground at a key moment (though I can’t remember which one!) and getting very excited on her line, “He was a bachelor then!” It was super, super funny, giving us even more ideas, not just for comedy, but for making things clear for the audience and further developing the characters. (It seems that this Captain and these sailors may actually be pirates…)

The standout moment of the final run was definitely when one sailor, totally committed to chasing down some “coins,” dove to the floor and army-crawled under the curtain after them. “Could I please make it through this scene without laughing?” chided the Captain. “It just came over me!” the sailor exclaimed. “I can’t even with this lady!” laughed another woman. “I’m-a send you some Bengay!”

Friday / December 21 / 2018
Written by Matt

One of our new members talked during check-in today about being “thrown off” by a new face in her unit. “You can’t steal my Shakespeare sunshine!” she said to the newcomer. “I think you found your calling,” suggested another relative newcomer. “I think so, too!” was the reply.

To start out, we ran through the ensemble’s goofy performance piece again. Predictably, it was pretty rough after a week of neglect. A couple of the veterans started whipping people into shape! One of the women who was observing the process leaned over to a friend and whispered, “She’s such a director,” pointing at one of the ringleaders.

After running through it until it went smoothly, we picked up again at the top of the play (Act 1, scene 2, which is our opening). It was just as funny as it was last time, and there were just a few notes, including a really good one given by one of our longtime members about making sure that the sailors, who add a lot of slapstick energy to the scene, were helping tell the story instead of just goofing around.

Up next was Act 1, scene 1, and right away we could feel that it was going to be good! Our Orsino got the idea that her throne would be comically high for her--she’s short, and the “throne” was a stack of plastic chairs--so, when the curtain opened, she was struggling to jump up into her seat. She’s got great instincts and a clear voice, so she was able to shout and whine with gusto, even rolling around on the floor. By the end, everyone was laughing. “I knew you’d be a good Orsino!” shouted a woman from the audience.

“I feel like you portrayed a pathetic guy who’s in love with someone,” said a veteran, “and there’s no hope.” Then, she gently nudged our Orsino to keep the energy but make sure the audience could hear and understand what’s going on. Another praised Orsino for her decisions: “I love how you were venting to the musicians like they’re your best friends!”

On a second run-through--just as funny as the first, and more disciplined--the same woman who had praised venting to the musicians noted that we weren’t using levels very well. She demonstrated how to create visual interest by consciously mixing up who is sitting, standing or kneeling at any given time.

As Valentine, I was planning on providing a serious foil to Orsino’s over-the-top emotional delivery. However, the woman playing Curio gave such a beautifully dry performance that I realized I could never top it. On a whim, I bolted out of the door and went over-the-top, like Orsino. After the scene was over, I mentioned that my entrance had been a last-minute decision, inspired by Curio. “I saw her and I thought, ‘Man, I cannot out-deadpan that!’”

On the third run-through, it was even crazier! There’s still a lot of polishing to do, but it was pretty close to where we’ve wanted it to be. We had to hurry to wrap up before our time was over, but it was really encouraging. The lesson of this season has always been to get out of our heads and just do it! Today was no exception.