“Can’t talk now, I’m on my way to prison.”  Minutes before they locked their cell phones and wallets in the trunks of our three or four cars, there were always a few final comic contacts with friends in the outside world. But the anxiety that most of the thirty 4th Years felt preparing to enter the world of Virginia’s correctional system was palpable in several ways:  in students’ repeated questions, in their anxious eyes surveying twenty foot fences topped with razor wire, in the groups of three or four which seemed to move to the gates closely in sync.  For the students in my required-for-majors Senior Seminar last spring, everything about their final prison project was challenging. 

In class, we learned a little about our massive prison system and watched bits of videos about arts projects within prisons, but now we were walking into daunting 1990’s facilities or decaying Victorian penitentiaries, being patted down, having our plastic props searched, our forgotten paper clips confiscated and our keys checked.  Armed only with short theatrical offerings, we walked into spaces we had never seen, rearranged chairs to bring the residents closer to us, tested our voices in echoing acoustics, got our props organized and made last minute adjustments to the too hastily rehearsed shows.

Then the residents arrived, often late.  The nurse had misunderstood the arrangements, the medications are needed to be dispensed, or there had been an altercation somewhere and, suddenly, all the guards who had been in the room vanished for ten minutes.  But group by group, they filed in.

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At Beaumont Juvenile Facility, the young men wore polo shirts, color coordinated to the houses they resided in, but our attention walking into the gym had been caught by a dozen or more young women, exiting a large van in white polo shirts and shackles.  They had been granted a trip to see our show, and the mixed audience of young teenagers was particularly excited by the novelty of the event.  That afternoon the first group of UVA students presented portions of Zimmerman’s Metamorphosis. The audience got it!  They followed the old myths recast in modern garb.  They laughed.  And when it was over and time for a few questions, they quickly digressed from questions like “What is U.Va.?” and “Will you come back?” to graciously refused requests for contact information for the prettiest cast members.

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The next afternoon at Culpepper, the second group of students, clad in a motley assortment of farmer coveralls and bright T-shirts, presented a Mark Twain short story and the fence painting chapter from Tom Sawyer.  This facility was much more daunting- modern with two rows of twenty foot fences, doors that had to be unlocked at every turn and built, as one student remarked, as a modern maze. There was a last minute costume change as sleeveless shoulders had to be covered with a sweater.  The performance began, and these older, 18-20 year-olds seemed a more reserved audience. It was less cool to show you were interested, but their silence spoke too of their attention.  Afterward, we were given punch and cookies in a conference room and thanked by the Warden and several State Correctional administrators who had come for the performance.  We left with a congratulatory certificate of appreciation that will hang in the Art Greene Room.

Fluvanna Women’s Correctional Facility, a maximum women’s prison just 25 minutes from U.Va. Grounds, hosted the third group. This last group of all female Drama students brought a few male musicians to support their performance of a “Prairie Home Companion”-style live radio broadcast of stories, poems, jokes and songs.  Unfortunately the musicians (especially the banjo player) were exceptionally cute and ran the risk of stealing the show, however, the large audience of 300 women were right with the “Bad Joke” song (naughty and sexist jokes), the committed presentation of an Ani DiFranco poem.  The show stopper was an aria “O mio babbino caro,” sung by a tiny future Diva in a voice that totally filled the gym.  The audience erupted into a standing ovation.  And the performance ended with (why not?) a sing-along of “Amazing Grace.”

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This final project was a formidable challenge for the 4th Years in the last weeks of their last semester. They concocted and rehearsed their own ten actor shows; they struggled to find material that was performable by everyone and appropriate to the occasion and the unknown audiences; and they provided set and costumes. I spent my time urging the groups forward and on email, endlessly weaving my way through administrators to schedule performances.  The driving anxieties during this development phase were: How do we have time to get this done and how can we undertake this project “honestly”?  How can we present our selves openly and generously?  Can we be something more than privileged college kids coming to give you a show?  What do we have to share with you?  How can we connect with and hold the attention of audiences of “offenders” we can only imagine as very different from ourselves? 

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Repeated requests from correctional administrators and the facility residents led me to more prison work this summer. In town for the early summer, a group of six or so students from the Spring class, a graduate student and I devised a new workshop format.  We wanted more intimate contact, and we wanted to try some Shakespeare.  So we rehearsed three Shakespeare scenes about “justice” several times a week during June.  In early July, we went to Beaumont and Culpepper again. This time, we worked in small groups with 4 or 5 young men performing Elizabethan cursing from Henry IV and speeches of Egeus and Shylock from Dream and Merchant.  At Culpepper, we work-shopped for two days, performing the whole scenes on the second day after some more work with our groups.  At Beaumont, we did the workshop and performance in one day, but did this twice, in minimum and maximum wings of the facility.  That format seemed to work well, as I had hoped, giving the audience the physical experience of the speech and engaging them in the work in a deeper way.  Our trial scene from Merchant was performed to a totally attentive audience. Comments afterwards were “it’s just like that;” Questions always centered on “When are you coming back?”

I shall be back, just as soon as I get Ubu under control and running, and I’m hoping “Fie on you!” is still a part of the local vocabulary at Culpepper, as I am assured it was this summer.

Click here to view a letter Betsy received from an inmate at the Fluvanna Women’s Correctional Facility.  Note: the woman’s name has been removed for confidentially purposes. 

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