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Jennifer Joseph
Jennifer Joseph: ‘You only get what you work for in life.’ Photograph: Richard Saker/The Observer
Jennifer Joseph: ‘You only get what you work for in life.’ Photograph: Richard Saker/The Observer

Jennifer Joseph: ‘Once I tell women my story, everything changes’

This article is more than 7 years old

As she takes on three Shakespeare plays set in a women’s prison, the actor reflects on her own time behind bars

Jennifer Joseph, 48, is currently appearing in the all-female production of the Shakespeare Trilogy – Julius Caesar, Henry IV and The Tempest – at the Donmar at King’s Cross, London. Set in a women’s prison, the production is directed by Phyllida Lloyd, stars Harriet Walter and is a collaboration with the charity Clean Break, of which Walter is a patron. Clean Break works with female prisoners, former prisoners and those at risk of offending, to develop their creative writing and acting skills, and Jennifer Joseph is an alumnus. She has had roles in several films, including Honeytrap, and on television in My Mad Fat Diary.

You play Trebonius in Julius Caesar, Sir Walter Blunt and the Sheriff in Henry IV, and the boatswain in The Tempest. How is Shakespeare for you?
I spent two years at Clean Break and I did find Shakespeare very, very boring. Then one tutor suggested I play the nurse from Romeo and Juliet in Jamaican patois. I thought: “This woman has lost her mind.” But Anne McNulty [former casting director at the Donmar] said it was the best reading of the nurse she’d heard in 30 years. In 2012, I auditioned for her for Julius Caesar [when the play was originally performed]. That was different again. We saw it the way Phyllida sees it. In The Tempest I responded to the Shakespearean conversation in my own words, and Phyllida loved it. I’ve learned more about Shakespeare than I ever imagined.

Had you always wanted to act?
Yes, as a kid, but I didn’t know how to get there. At Clean Break, I had to do a creative writing course. I wrote something about an eating disorder, way out of my experience. Zawe [Ashton – actor, playwright, author] suggested I perform it at the next open day. I performed it, going with the flow, and ended up in an emotional state on the floor. I thought: “I don’t even know what this is, but I like it.” I love acting. In 2006, at the end of my training, Zawe shook my hand and said: “Jen, I’ll see you on stage.” Me – on stage!”

What put you on the path to Clean Break?
When I left school, I got a job as a sales assistant. I was promoted and got my accountancy certificate. Ten years ago, at 38, I was the single mother of three kids. We had a nice life. I worked hard. Then I met a guy locally, got chatting and told him we were going on holiday to Jamaica, this and that. I was flattered by his attention. In Jamaica, I bumped into him again ... It ended up with him taking my passport, keeping us captive and packing my suitcase with packets of weed. When we got to London. I was as nervous as hell, sweating profusely. I knew I was going to get caught. My son was eight, one daughter was about to go to college and had to defer for a year. My middle child was about to do her exams. It was a terrible time. It wasn’t my choice. But I’m old enough and ugly enough to hold myself responsible, and I know how I got into that situation. I should have been stronger. I’d never been arrested before. I was a mess.”

The trilogy draws on experiences of women in prison. You spent 10 months of a 27-month sentence in HMP Bronzefield and Downview. What was it like?
I decided to put my nut down and do my bird. I was a model prisoner. I became a kind of advocate, especially for the younger women. It took away the tempest in my own heart, it gave me a purpose. Some young women would be released early and be back inside 10 days later. What’s that about? Young women would be living in a car, with their boyfriends. I’d tell them: “You may love him but if he loved you, he’d want something better for you.” A lot of them did change and normalise their lives.

How did it happen for you?
I was a broken woman when I came out. I was depressed, my children didn’t know who I was. One day, a friend told me about Clean Break. All I heard was: “They allow you to act.” It was the best thing I ever did. It was the saving of my soul.

The Tempest goes to New York for a month in January. Will you go too?
The Donmar tried and failed to get me a visa [because of the drug conviction]. Around the same time, in December 2013, I had three cardiac arrests and no oxygen to the brain for 47 minutes. The artery to my heart was 99% blocked. The upside of me not getting a visa is that, if I’d gone on the plane, the altitude would have put too much pressure on my already blocked artery. Since then, we’ve tried endlessly to make a dream come true for me, but the US is giving me a real fight. Ten years on from my conviction, it’s still refusing a visa.

Lessons so far in life?
You only get what you work for. If I see a person who’s wealthy, I think to myself: “I don’t know what you did to acquire that money, and I’m not sure I’d do what you did to get it, but if it’s legit, anyone can get where you are.” I can’t forgive myself for putting my children through what they experienced, but each day they tell me how proud they are of me.

What role would you most like to play?
I’m so happy to try it all. I act as part of Clean Break in prisons. The women come to a performance to get out of their cells, but once I tell them my story, everything changes. They want to know there’s life after prison. They want to learn about hope.

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