Four takeaways from the life-after-prison drama ‘Lettie,’ from a theater critic and criminal justice columnist

The play Lettie focuses on a complex character who tries desperately to reconnect with her family after spending several years in incarceration. Running at People’s Light through July 13, the play follows the eponymous protagonist (Danielle Skraastad) as she struggles to readjust to a new world, succeed in reentry programs, and prove herself as a good mother.

To review, I invited Inquirer columnist Helen Ubiñas, who covers the criminal justice system and has reported on the challenges formerly incarcerated people face when reentering society. Here are four takeaways from our post-show conversation.

Lettie, Ubiñas said, offers a new narrative because most storytelling about formerly incarcerated people centers on men. Knowing that women of color occupy a large portion of the prison population, we were both curious about the play’s decision to focus on a white woman.

It seemed to echo an Orange Is the New Black storyline, though Lettie, from a working-class background in Chicago, is far from that show’s privileged protagonist.

“Why center on a white woman, versus a Black or brown woman, when we all know what the demographics are?” asked Ubiñas. “There’s a space and a place for this woman’s narrative, but there also has to be space for other narratives to complete the picture.”

The play opens with Lettie, who was incarcerated partially due to her addiction problems, landing at a halfway house and seeing her sister Carla (Teri Lamm), who has been raising Lettie’s teenage kids — Layla (Bryanna Martinez-Jimenez) and River (Jacob Orr). At one point Carla blames Lettie’s ex — Layla’s absent father, who is Latino — for being a bad influence.

“This story centers on this white woman, and the bad influence is a Puerto Rican man,” said Ubiñas. “Why does it always have to be the Puerto Rican dude?”

Ubiñas and I share a heritage as Puerto Ricans from the New York/New Jersey area. During the show, our ears perked up when Layla asked Lettie about her Puerto Rican identity.

She tells her mother that Carla’s husband, Frank (Kevin Bergen) — whom Layla calls dad — has made racist comments about her Mexican boyfriend. Frank also got angry when she checked “other” in the demographics section of an application, and he told her to select “white” instead. The apparent tension surrounding her identity at home was confusing; for Lettie, it was enraging.

Lettie confronts her sister while dropping Layla off at home. When Carla asks where they had been, Lettie responds shouting: “We didn’t f— any spics!”

I gasped. Ubiñas was similarly shaken up. Surrounded by a nearly all-white audience, we were both stunned to hear that slur, and it yanked us out of the experience.

“I can still hear that ‘spic’ in my head. I was shocked,” she said when we spoke the following day. “What are the chances that two Latinas walk into a theater and that is part of the dialogue?”

Playwright Boo Killebrew, a white woman, intended for the line to jolt. But did it hit the same way for the white viewers next to us? Did they also question the trope of a white woman getting into trouble because she dated a Puerto Rican man?

Killebrew could have made the point by writing “any Puerto Ricans,” though the vulgarity felt true to the foulmouthed Lettie. “It did, in many ways, fit Lettie’s character — even when she was trying to grow, evolve, and stand up for her kids, her delivery was unsophisticated, edgy, jarring, to say the least,” said Ubiñas.

Ubiñas added that she was tired of Puerto Ricans serving as a punchline or a stereotypical bad seed in pop culture.

Ubiñas has reported on the setbacks people experience when trying to find their footing after they’re released. Lettie offered an unflinching portrayal of the sadness and emotional reckoning that she has seen a lot of Philadelphians confront.

“They leave prison, the handcuffs are finally off — only to have the handcuffs put back on by society,” Ubiñas said. “They face [enormous challenges], in terms of housing and getting a job, and getting reacquainted with their friends and family and the world they have left.”

After seven years apart from her children, Lettie is fixated on when she can see them, but she struggles to be accountable for her past abuse. She falters in the work training program and can’t afford to move out of the halfway house.

According to Ubiñas, the play worked because it “didn’t seem to sugarcoat anything.”

With a minimalist set and just six actors, the drama builds from high-pressure confrontations into all-out shouting matches. Minny (Melanye Finister) is a Black woman Lettie befriends in a reentry training program for welders. Finister is a standout supporting actor who challenges Lettie, and the pair’s banter is a balm amid the script’s intensity.

As the plot unfolds, each character reveals more layers behind their actions — Frank’s disparaging attitude reflects his own job problems; Minny’s ferocious caregiving grows from a violent past; Carla’s protective mothering partially stems from her infertility.

The role of Lettie requires an emotional range to go from zero to 60 instantaneously while remaining on stage almost the entire time. Skraastad balances optimism, pessimism, and sarcasm to portray Lettie in all her complexity, which made the work feel more realistic.

“There were no real 100 percent heroes here, and no 100 percent villains,” said Ubiñas. “That’s biggest strength of the piece. …Nobody was redeemed.”

Lettie’s realism means that there can be no fairytale-like ending. In the real-life stories that Ubiñas has covered, repairing family relationships torn apart by the criminal justice system is frustrating and painful; in Lettie, the journey back together is worth the hardship.

“Lettie” runs through July 13 at People’s Light, 39 Conestoga Rd., Malvern, 610-644-3500 or peopleslight.org.