With our summer performances behind us, our final session of the summer program gave us an opportunity to come back together, reflect on everything we had accomplished, and begin looking toward what comes next for Shakespeare in Prison.
Before we even made it into the ring, the evening began with conversation. One participant shared good news about her niece, who had been in a coma and was beginning to wake up. She was only able to stay long enough to say goodbye before leaving to call her family.
After check-ins and the ring, we turned our attention to the summer performances. The ensemble had heard plenty of feedback since the shows, and they were eager to share it. One participant told us, “I had a wonderful time and I got great reviews.” People had approached her afterward saying, “I’m so glad I came. I had a blast,” and telling one of the writers, “Everybody said your play was great.”
Another participant had experienced the performance largely from backstage. “I watched it backstage. It was good. I laughed. I cringed at some parts. I had to cover my ears so I didn’t cry,” she reflected. Her own writing had particularly resonated with an audience member. “Someone asked for ‘Does Time Heal’. I gave her my copy out of my bag”
The impact of the writing was something we heard about again and again. One ensemble member shared that her family had attended the alumni performance and “they loved it.” Reflecting on the inside show, she added, “They loved the poems. They bragged about the poems. This was the funniest Shakespeare show they ever saw.”
That last comment was especially fitting as our conversation began shifting toward our next adventure: King Lear.
Of course, King Lear is not exactly known for being Shakespeare’s funniest play. One participant reminded another ensemble member, “No funny, it’s a tragedy.” The ensemble member immediately looked at me and comically avoided eye contact, which only made everyone laugh. After years of working together, we all know that asking this ensemble to make absolutely nothing funny may be an impossible task.
The ideas were already coming. One participant pointed out, “Everyone’s dead at the end so we could do Thriller.” We may have only just finished one production, but the ensemble was already imagining what the next one could become.
The conversation also turned toward the practical ways we could make King Lear bigger and stronger. The ensemble brainstormed possibilities for new scenic pieces and costumes, while conversations about the summer project continued beyond the performances themselves. One participant and I talked about the possibility of publishing the ensemble’s writing as a book and, importantly, how ensemble members could be compensated for their work.
After so much conversation, it was time to play.
We returned to one of the ensemble’s games, which was introduced for the evening with perhaps the most straightforward set of theatre-game instructions imaginable: “Pick a word and get your ass on stage.” The room filled with the kind of laughter and play that has become so central to our time together.
But the evening was also bittersweet. This session marked Mari and Sam’s final night with the ensemble. Members shared their appreciation for both facilitators and their grief at seeing them go. It was a reminder that the relationships formed in this room extend far beyond any individual rehearsal or production.
We ended the only way that felt appropriate: together in the ring.
After a summer filled with writing, rehearsing, performing, laughing, grieving, and sharing deeply personal stories, we raised the ring and sent Mari and Sam off with our whoosh ritual.
One season was ending, another was already beginning, and—as King Lear apparently prepares for its inevitable dance finale—the ensemble was ready to keep creating.