monsoonmartin

After the warm-up exercises on the first day of my visit to the Shakespeare Behind Bars (SBB) rehearsals, Ron came over to chat and share some of his experiences. He wasn’t the only inmate who did this, but his story affected me deeply, and so I’ll begin with it here.

Ron elaborated on the story about Curt’s actor and his post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) by relating it to his own experience in the armed forces. “The military is designed to strip individuality” away from soldiers, he said; the first phase of basic training is called “socialization,” during which an individual is broken down, then built back up into someone who will follow orders unquestioningly.

The problem Ron sees is that there is no “phase-out” program for the military—or for those being released from prison, really. Whatever programs exist are inadequate, he said. Having served in several operations including Desert Shield in Saudi Arabia, Ron noted that a soldier seeks to solve his problems by following orders. When he gets out into the “real world, it’s like, ‘Now what?’” Coping with the everyday choices we must make throughout our daily lives can be intimidating or downright crippling; the crime rate among veterans suffering from PTSD a far higher than those in the general population.

[Later, Curt shared with me the story of one of the inmates, now at another prison, who was a sniper in the army and had more than 50 kills. When he rejoined civilian life, his mechanism for problem-solving was still rooted in his military experience; as a result he shot and killed two men who had attempted to rape his girlfriend. While discussing his role in a SBB play and the temperate actions his character took when confronted with violence, this man had an epiphany: I did not have to kill those guys.]

After being discharged from the service for rules violations, Ron told me, “I tried to take myself out” and spent nine days in a coma following this suicide attempt. A few months later, still having failed to deal with his psychological problems, Ron took someone else’s life.

What Ron has learned through his participation in the SBB program and the time he has been incarcerated is the importance of the “safety net”—not just that such a system be provided, but that those in similar situations to his recognize that support is there. “Being aware of the people around you” and the help they can offer is paramount.

Despite having grown up in the Victory Park projects in Louisville, Ron told me he attended Trinity High School, an exclusive, all-male prep school. In 11^th grade, Ron created a computer program to make fake report cards; when the school uncovered the scheme and contacted home, “my mom came to school with a belt.”

In Act I, scene 2 of Julius Caesar, Cassius delivers the line, “The fault, dear Brutus, lies not in our stars, / But in ourselves, that we are underlings.” Surely the SBB group explicated this line for its meaning in the context of the play—it’s Cassius’ aggressive plea to Brutus that they transcend their fates and topple imperious Caesar—but also in terms of its meaning for their lives. Where does the fault lie in the inmates’ lives? With their “stars” (destinies) or with themselves? Finding the truth in this passage, and their own interpretations of it, is the central pursuit of the SBB program.

“I’d be a doctor right now,” Ron said wistfully, “if I hadn’t gotten in trouble.”

Today’s agenda is to rehearse Act 5, scene 4 of the play. When each year’s play is selected, Curt gives copies of the work to the SBB participants, who study a monologue and read the play carefully over the summer. In the fall, Curt asks for “epiphanies” and observations, the group discusses the play at length, and the men choose their roles (they’re never cast by Curt). By the end of the year, they’re running through the play at three-day-per-week rehearsals, scene by scene, perfecting the delivery of each line. My visit coincided with the end of this process: the last two scenes of the play. This week and next, the troupe is running through the play, one act at a time; this is followed by dress rehearsals in the beginning of May; performances on the yard and at other local prisons will follow.

Curt explained to me that the group works from the First Folio, or first collection of Shakespeare’s works collected in 1623.

As such, the explanatory notes that are found invariably in modern editions of Shakespeare’s plays (and in the editions used by my students) are absent. The inmates themselves must analyze, explicate, deconstruct, and investigate each line to find its essence before the play can be enacted.

The scene opens with Brutus (played boomingly by Big G) crying, “Yet countrymen, O yet hold up your heads!” and consists of plenty of battlefield fighting. Curt has brought in “swords” made of bamboo. After running through the first 10 lines or so of the scene, Larry DeClue, one of the cast members who also functions as an assistant director, strides to the center of the circle to give notes. It seems the soldiers’ fighting techniques were sloppy, and their entrance left a great deal to be desired.

Most impressive here is the fact that anyone could give “notes” or tips to the actors involved in the scene, and the rest of the troupe listened intently no matter who was speaking. Curt pointed out that during the fight scenes, it is vital to pay attention to one’s partner and maintain concentration and dedication to the scene. “It’s about the intensity,” he said. Every man onstage needs to “stay in the game” and “don’t half-ass it” in performing their roles, however fleeting or minor they may be in this scene. “Remember,” he said, repeating a mantra, “nobility lies in the attempt.” The men are both tough and tender in dealing with each other—one moment offering this kind of stern advice, the next offering gentle encouragement to a struggling actor.

[In the above photo, Curt Tofteland appears with an actor from the 2007 Actors’ Shakespeare Project production of A Winter’s Tale.]

Getting back to the constructive criticism, Ron jumped in. “Remember that you’re going into battle,” Ron offered. “You need to show that on your face.”

The individual pairs of soldiers who will be fighting are encouraged by the assistant director to choreograph their scenes carefully, and no small energy is expended on creating symmetry and authenticity for the performance. (There is even a tumble and some artful dying added to the mix, making this all seem rather balletic.)

During the choreography, it becomes obvious to me that the inmates take the material and their performance of it very seriously, yet there is no shortage of clowning and ribbing.

Looking around the room, I am struck by the broad variety of activities in which the inmates have become involved: one man who was “killed” in the fighting falls asleep for a good thirty minutes; others work on the blocking of their scene; several others not directly involved in the scene chat quietly in a corner. Periodically, the men will run out to the chapel’s lobby to have some coffee or outside the chapel for a smoke break.

I asked Curt about the sometimes free-form mood of the rehearsal time and he explained that it’s done very deliberately. The coffee is donated by the owner of a local coffee shop who was moved by the film Shakespeare Behind Bars and wanted to support the program. The men are allowed to drink coffee, but only in the lobby of the chapel (one man spilled some on the carpet in the chapel space). Curt acknowledged that having men running out for coffee and cigarette breaks “has become a distraction” but insisted that “the guys are given so little free choice, I wanted to see how they’d handle it” when offered that freedom. Another problem he noted is that the men sometimes sneak out early—rehearsal is scheduled to run from 3 to 5:30—so they’ll have more time to spend at dinner. He said he was planning on addressing these issues with the men, not in a scolding way, but by presenting the problems and posing the question of how they might best be solved.

Back to Act 5, scene 4, and Louis is working through the lines of Lucilius as he discovers the body of his friend Cato. Louis is African American and sports cornrows and a Luther Luckett Basketball t-shirt underneath his khaki overshirt. He’s clearly a talented actor and has very obviously worked on his lines outside of rehearsal. He runs through the scene when he discovers Cato’s body and says, “O young and noble Cato, art thou down?” at least fifteen times, varying his delivery, emphasis, and movements based on the feedback of Curt and the other men. One time he muddles past the words “young” and “noble” and Curt snaps, “What is he?” When Louis reruns the line with the words enunciated, Curt offers an approving “Yes!”

Lucilius is captured by Antony’s men and pretends to be Brutus; the men excitedly announce to their captain this prestigious collar. When Antony arrives and asks where Brutus is, Lucilius turns around and says, “Safe, Antony. Brutus is safe enough.” In this scene, Lucilius is reveling in the fact that he has just duped Antony, who has badly miscalculated, and Louis is struggling to match his delivery to this emotion. Curt cuts to the heart of the matter and delivers the spirit of the line: “He’s safe, motherfucker!” In the next run-through, Louis delivers the line brilliantly, with perfect swagger, expression, and weight.

At the end of the scene the SBB production has added an elaborate and effective stage direction: Caesar’s ghost appears (played by Vaughn) and summons the dead strewn around the battlefield; they notice Caesar, crawl toward him, and “exeunt” (plural of exit) the stage, bound for eternity.

At around ten minutes after five, Curt cuts the rehearsal short for a question-and-answer session and says I may grill them as I see fit. By this point, friends, I am feeling overwhelmed by what I’ve seen, I’m still processing it, and I have no real blockbuster questions to ask. But I manage to ask one question, the responses to which sustain us through the rest of the time: “Can you talk a little bit about what this program has meant to you, the impact it’s had on you?”

Curt broke in to explain that of the 23 men assembled there, their experiences both in prison and with the program are widely divergent. The longest-serving inmate in the program has been incarcerated for 27 years; some are recently incarcerated; others expect to be released within the year. They ranged in age from their mid twenties to late fifties. Five or six men indicated that this was their first year with the program—one said he’s been in SBB for only three weeks—while Hal (featured in the documentary film as Prospero) has been with the group since its inception in 1995.

Among the several men who responded to my question, the camaraderie and support they receive from the other members of SBB was cited again and again. Through the program, they interact with men whom they would typically ignore on the “yard” (the communal area where inmates can recreate or socialize during certain times of the day) and learn how to deal with different personalities. Some men, after all, are better at delivering and accepting constructive criticism than others.

Louis said the most powerful aspect of SBB is “discovering things about ourselves through the material.” This is seen again and again in the documentary—inmates come to realizations and have breakthroughs as they study the play and find the truth within their characters.

The program also provides a “foundation for growth,” Louis explained, ensuring that the men will have help in dealing with their problems.

Another participant named Eric, a young white man with a full beard, spoke up and echoed much of what Louis and the other men had said. Many of the men are not adept at dealing with their problems, he noted, and participating in SBB provides a forum for the safe and thorough consideration of these problems. He also thanked Curt directly for his continuing efforts in starting the program and supporting all of its participants.

[Curt told me later that this contribution was nothing short of a breakthrough for Eric, a first-year SBB participant. Eric had been frustrated during much of his time in the program, clashing with other inmates and leaving the group twice—only to return later, but refusing to discuss what had happened. Eric’s acknowledgement of the program’s usefulness in forcing the men to deal with their problems—and his direct recognition of Curt—suggested that SBB had been influencing and helping him in ways few of the men understood until today.]

As the rehearsal broke up, each man said goodbye to Curt, many of them hugging him, underscoring the warm and comfortable rapport he has developed with the inmates over years. The men also shook my hands and Matt’s hands before making their way out of the rehearsal space. Some inmates struck up or continued other conversations with me about Pennsylvania, about my students, and what I thought of the program.

On the way back to Louisville, Curt elaborated on what he saw happening in the rehearsal, and in the program as a whole. The real strength of what happens there is the problem-solving ability the men gain, he said. “Shakespeare is smarter than all of us,” Curt said, and he can serve as a conduit to greater understanding in ways no one could have anticipated. “Shakespeare Behind Bars,” he explained, “is really a course in remedial living” that will prepare them for life both behind and beyond bars.

[Curt’s statement about Shakespeare’s intelligence reminded me of the time I spent in college studying Shakespeare with Dr. Al Cacicedo. A militant multiculturalist, I eschewed the Dead White Men of literature in favor of Richard Wright, Toni Morrison, Amiri Baraka, and other African American authors. The real value lay in politically charged literature, the voice of the oppressed, I was sure. And I still feel these perspectives are among the most moving and important works I have ever read. But Al encouraged me to look inside Shakespeare’s works for their universal truths, for their unforeseen insights, for their lyrical beauty.]

Later that evening, Curt treated me to a lovely dinner at a local Italian restaurant. We discussed the reactions I’d had to what I’d seen, and my students’ reactions to the film. I explained that my students in the class that studied The Tempest and watched Shakespeare Behind Bars tended to be rather sheltered, and that through the film they’d been forced to expand their worldviews somewhat. I also noted that the analysis of both The Tempest (in the film) and Julius Caesar (today) by the inmates was more insightful, more active and robust, than what I typically encounter among my high-achieving, gifted students. We discussed the fact that though my students’ experiences are no less valid, there is no real substitute for life experience. The men in the program have loved, have made horrific mistakes, have lived with crushing regret—and they bring these understandings to their study of the play.

Curt elaborated on a wide range of topics, touching on the making of the film, detailed updates on inmates, and navigating the corrections system to keep his program afloat. I came to understand that introducing and directing a program like this requires an ongoing and delicate interaction with the Department of Corrections to build trust and good will toward the program. Curt told of guards who disliked the program when it began, but who now drive more than a hundred miles to attend performances with their families each May.

He praised the filmmakers for their deftness in telling a complex story. “There are so many different experiences and backgrounds in this program,” he said, “that it’s impossible to look at only one man’s story and get the full picture of Shakespeare Behind Bars.”

A statistic he mentioned several times during my visit—and one that would seem to inoculate the program against those who would criticize it—is this: 35 SBB participants have been released from prison since the program was established, and none of those men has committed a single crime. Thirty-five men and no recidivism. It speaks to the power of the lessons learned in that circle, the cooperation and problem-solving techniques that are cultivated and practiced each time they meet. “‘Teachable moments’ are happening all the time,” Curt said.

It was that statement that stayed with me as I returned to my hotel room and ruminated on all I had seen and heard in that first day. While I was focusing on what these men learned through their participation in the program, what had I learned in my observation of it?

The Shakespeare Behind Bars program, it seems to me, is a validation of what we as teachers do—the very best the learning process has to offer. Our fondest wishes as educators are that the students will develop their critical thinking skills, deepen their understanding of the world around them, learn to communicate effectively with others, cultivate an empathy in considering others’ perspectives and lives, and ultimately uncover their own aptitudes, truths, and paths.

Curt has worked hard to create a program that does all these things for his guys, and for the world.

TO BE CONCLUDED IN PART FIVE.