Penned Up is a bold, funny, and deeply moving new play that celebrates storytelling, second chances, and the unexpected bonds that form behind bars. Written and directed by Danusia Iwaszko, who spent over 17 years teaching playwriting in men’s prisons, the play draws on real-life experience to create a world that is at once confined and vibrantly human. Through the eyes of Dorota, the warm-hearted tutor, and her six prisoner students, the play explores laughter, heartbreak, and the slow, sometimes difficult work of trusting one’s own voice.
What makes Penned Up truly remarkable is its honesty: the prisoners’ humour, scars, and humanity are laid bare, giving audiences a glimpse of lives often unseen. By the end, it becomes clear that this is more than theatre—it is a lifeline, a mirror, and a reminder of the power of creative expression to heal and transform. As Iwaszko herself reflected, the play raises a question that lingers long after the curtain falls: “How can we have empathy if we don’t know what these people are really like?” With that in mind, our conversation with her unfolded like the play itself—candid, thoughtful, and sometimes surprisingly funny.
The Indiependent caught up with Iwaszko to talk about the making of Penned Up, the challenges of teaching playwriting in prisons, and the profound role theatre can play in reshaping how we see justice, empathy, and second chances.
The Indiependent: What first drew you into teaching playwriting in prisons, and when did you realise those classroom moments could carry far beyond the prison walls?
Iwaszko: Hi! I took on prison teaching 17 years ago as a routine teaching job. I was wary of how it would go, since playwrighting is a complicated business with character creation, dialogue, etc., and I wondered if the prisoners would learn the skills. But they loved it and rose to the challenge, producing excellent work and enjoying the process.
It was only in 2021, when I was talking to people about teaching in prisons, that I noticed a shift in public opinion—people saying that prisoners “shouldn’t have this opportunity” and that “they are evil people” or “lock them up and throw away the key.” So I thought I’d share my experience for people who are basing their opinions on TV and film dramas and know nothing about the guys. If they are given the chance and the tools of reform, it’s a win-win: they don’t re-offend (saving society 60k a year per prisoner), and they have a life after prison.
When writing Penned Up, how did you find a style that could hold humour, heartbreak, and tension at once—while still staying true to the humanity of your characters?
My writing was, as ever, based on the characters and, in this case, the truth. I stuck as close to the truth as I could. Prison teaching can be very funny—the guards have often come into my class and asked us to keep the laughter down—so writing the humour was easy. The prisoners have humour, heartbreak, and humanity; my play just holds up a mirror to them. The tension lies in how they will change and whether they will rise to the challenge.
Dorota feels like she carries shades of your own voice. How much of her reflects you, and where did you bend reality to serve the story?
Yes, Dorota is me, and I consciously wrote her as a catalyst for the play. It’s not her story—as in real life, it’s not my story; I am the catalyst. There is very little fictionalization in the play.
Of course, you didn’t just write the play—you directed it too. How did balancing both roles sharpen or complicate your relationship with the play? Did your instincts as playwright and director ever come into conflict on stage?
I always put on my director’s hat when directing my own work, as if I were directing someone else’s writing. This leads to cuts and changes in the rehearsal room when working with the actors. I work very collaboratively with the actors and technicians, so we cut and change to serve the play.
When it came to casting, what qualities were you looking for in the actors, and how did you help them keep the inmates’ voices authentic?
I think casting is key for every play. I work very carefully, starting with tapes of the auditions and then meeting individuals in person. The inmates’ voices are in the script, and all the actors connected with them during rehearsals.
During those years of workshops, did you face resistance—from guards, institutions, or even the prisoners themselves?
I have encountered a great deal of resistance to my work over the years, from prison guards to institutions, but I’ve also received a great deal of support. I believe people are entitled to their opinions, and I [am entitled] to mine. Sometimes I try to convince them, sometimes I don’t say anything, and sometimes I use their attitudes in the play.
Now that the play is reaching audiences beyond the prison walls, what responses have struck you most deeply?
Firstly, I’m so moved by people being moved by the play. Many people have found it uplifting, which is great. I hate brutal prison dramas that just reinforce the idea that these men are animals and brutes. The laughter is gratifying. I want people to have an enjoyable night out, not be beaten over the head with a stick.
[Meanwhile] The reaction in prison is very different. Most of the prisoners haven’t been to live theatre, which is interesting in itself. That they enjoy it and see that not all prison drama is about violence or portraying them negatively creates a very jubilant atmosphere. They recognise themselves.
Looking ahead, where do you see Penned Up going next—whether through more performances, publication, or perhaps a move into another medium?
I hope it does have a future life. I am CEO of a charity, The Hal Company, and we produced Penned Up as part of our objectives—delivering writing workshops to marginalised groups and writing plays that show the true reality of these communities. Hopefully, we may tour it or stage it again. I have also completed my next play, Tough Love, about delivering writing workshops in women’s refuges, with the aim of holding up a mirror to these brave and funny women and their stories.
Finally, Penned Up sparks a broader conversation about the justice system, rehabilitation, and society’s view of prisoners. How do you see theatre influencing our understanding of incarceration, empathy, and second chances?
Well, from the response to this play, it’s clear it can have a powerful effect. People have said it has opened their eyes, changed their opinions about the prison system, and highlighted the importance of teaching and providing opportunities for prisoners to reform. How can we have empathy if we don’t know what these people are really like?
Penned Up plays at The Alex, Faversham (3 October) and continues at London’s Arcola Theatre until 11 October.
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Words by Khushboo Malhotra
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