An Unlikely Review: Theatre Inside Prison

“I have decided the time has come for me to write, to set forth in words my personal testament – not because I’m planning to die, but because I’m planning to live.” 
—Leonard Peltier, U.S. Prisoner #89637-132

Imagine you live in a place that exists on no map. Imagine time has suddenly stopped.

In the radical play written and performed collectively by incarcerated women participating in Freehold Theatre’s Engaged Theatre Program, this place is called Ignotus Fuego.

Populating the town, which lies in the shadow of a mountain, are two kinds of citizens: the Locals, who have lived here “since forever” and the mysterious Visitors, who appeared suddenly and somehow caused time to stop. 

The Locals are a colorful group: they are Noche Luna, the Tattoo Lady who lives inside the clock tower; Santino, the mute boy with a bouncing ball; the Town Drunk/Narrator, who lives by the Stairs to Nowhere; the Barista, who works at Happy Coffee; and the Librarian, Wendy. This bunch is full of wisecracks and distinct personalities.

The Visitors, on the other hand, are bland, dressed in grey and visibly burdened by their purgatory. They can’t go back where they came from. Towering over them is the dismal clock tower, forever projecting the same time: ten after ten, and incessantly mocking the visitors by reminding them that they are going nowhere.

Then a Stranger appears. He is a musician who likes triple espressos and, as the Librarian’s prophecy confirms, will set them free when he finds out where the Visitors came from. 

So the Stranger sets off to listen to their stories and his journey carries him to an amalgam of places: a stream, a High School hallway, a Native American boarding school, a boy’s car, a misty forest, even inside a Polaroid picture. At each place, a Visitor reckons with what brought her to this place – and through that telling, she is eventually set free. When all the Visitors have told their stories, the light of a rotating sun returns to Ignotus Fuego.

Of course, at the end of the play, the performing inmates, or “offenders,” are not set free. The real life visitors – some supportive audience members who came for Freehold, some family members who came for the inmates – are allowed a quick visit after the Q&A and then are ushered in two groups back out of the prison.

Robin Lynn Smith, the director of this program and of Freehold Theatre in Seattle, walks quickly out of the building to pull her truck around so she and the volunteers can break down the set. Last night was the second and final performance of the play that participants have been working on for over five months.  It is over. And it’s time to go home and prepare for the next year of workshops that will culminate in a performance much like this: powerful, hugely important to its participants – and fleeting.

Stay tuned to the CAB. I’ll be reporting more on the Engaged Theatre Program, showing video of the performance described here, interviewing the director and giving you other insights into the making of this very unusual artistic experience that's been living out its mission quietly in our community since 2003.