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Learning the dance
by John McCabe-Juhnke
Marc Palmieri’s play Poor Fellas consists of six short tragicomedies that portray men struggling to find purpose in a world that seems beyond their control. In one of the sketches, “Tough Guys,” Lou attempts to cheer up his friend Tommy, recovering from a recent breakup. In the club men’s room Lou, full of bravado and bluster, instructs Tommy on how pick-up artistry has changed during Tommy’s hiatus from action.
Sensing Tommy’s reticence, Lou keeps repeating, “Who’s a tough guy?” until Tommy finally reluctantly replies, “I’m a tough guy” (Palmieri 30-31). Apparently for Lou, a “tough guy” is someone who denies vulnerability and ignores the pain of broken relationships. When Tommy admits, “I can’t get her out of my mind….I loved her,” Lou responds, “Look, if you think moaning about it is gonna help, you’re wrong. She’s gone. Forget her” (33-34). The fact that the action takes place in front of restroom mirrors rather than out on the dance floor suggests that these men are more focused on managing their own image than on achieving true intimacy.
Though Palmieri’s script wasn’t written for performance in prison, many of the themes explode with resonance when the actors are incarcerated men and the theater is the central auditorium at Hutchinson Correctional Facility. While on sabbatical in the fall of 2007, I worked with roughly a dozen men in a maximum security prison to prepare and present two productions inside prison. To borrow from Palmieri’s images, I spent the semester with the guys in the “men’s restroom” as we contemplated together how to succeed on the “dance floor” of life. With each production, I witnessed the power of theater to promote positive relationships for men in prison.
Poet Grady Hillman, who worked as a resident artist in the Texas prison system, aptly describes “the hardening of convicts” that impedes their ability to develop healthy relationships: “When you enter prison you have to put on a mask. It’s your emotional armor. Any warmth or tenderness is seen as a weakness to be exploited” (Cleaveland, 70-71).
Arts in prison – whether music, writing, painting or in my case theater – provide the imaginative space for men to shed masks of invulnerability, to imagine life in another context and to rise above the circumstances of incarceration. The emotional expression and collaborative effort required for working in theater encourage men to develop positive relationships that would otherwise go unrealized. One can easily imagine the kinds of destructive relationships that lead to incarceration. Without the support of family and friends on the outside, men inside prison face even greater challenges in a relational culture characterized by apathy and dysfunction.
Working with the actors like those playing Tommy and Lou, I have experienced firsthand how theater nurtures relationship growth in prison. Prior to their involvement in drama workshop, Andrew and Raymon had seldom spoken. They lived in separate cell houses, had jobs in different parts of the prison, and identified with distinct racial groups. Raymon had the advantage of prison theater experience – he had a role in the previous play and was confident about his potential to contribute once again. Andrew, on the other hand, had no theater experience. He was often sullen and withdrawn, seemingly anxious about what he’d gotten himself into.
When Andrew and Raymon were cast as Lou and Tommy in “Tough Guys,” the relational distance between them suddenly disappeared. Both were excited about their roles and diligent in preparing for performance. Any time they were off stage they were rehearsing together. Andrew’s aptitude for performance improved so quickly that soon Raymon was playing catch-up. Both seemed energized by their collaborative interaction.
For Raymon and Andrew, theater was the catalyst for relationship development. Their friendship buoyed them even through the most stressful period in our rehearsal schedule. Two weeks before performance, two cast members were locked down in C-2 cell house for a week while the Kansas Bureau of Investigation dealt with a homicide.
The anxiety in the cast was particularly evident at one rehearsal as we discussed understudy assignments for the absent actors. An argument about unfair distribution of parts ended with two men threatening to quit the show. After I dismissed the two central antagonists to allow them to cool down, only three of eight cast members remained: Raymon, Andrew and the always dependable Vince. As always Raymon and Andrew were ready to work – to refine their performance of “Tough Guys,” to help one another learn their understudy roles by “reading in” the missing parts, to help Vince secure a couple of difficult line sequences.
The relationship Andrew and Raymon developed through theater sustained them despite our crisis of confidence. It sustained me as well during the doubtful period of waiting until the next rehearsal when the men were released from lockdown and the show’s success again seemed possible. For me, Raymon and Andrew’s attitude demonstrated the truth of what it means to be a “tough guy.”
In a place where caring relationships are often remote and unachievable, theater creates human connections. I believe that as men in prison learn to manage relationships on stage, they are rehearsing for life after incarceration. Theater on the inside improves relationships on the outside – out there on the dance floor of life.
References
Cleaveland, William. Art in Other Places. Amherst, Mass.: University of Massachusetts, 2000.
Palmieri, Marc. Poor Fellas. New York: Dramatists Play Service, 2001.
John McCabe-Juhnke ’78 is professor of communication arts and has taught at Bethel since 1986. John spent his previous sabbatical, in 2001, doing a theater-in-prison project at Lansing Correctional Facility and has been doing volunteer theater work at Hutchinson since then.