Review: “Sing Sing”

Sing Sing opens on a darkened stage, a sole figure in its center bathed in glowing blue light as he delivers a powerful, Shakespearean monologue. He closes the scene to thunderous applause and walks backstage, chatting and congratulating his castmates. As they remove their regal costumes, they all don the same neutral green jumpsuits and line up in front of a police officer. Broadway, this is not. The illusion shattered, it becomes apparent that all of these men are incarcerated, this theater their prison.

Director Greg Kwedar’s film derives its primary inspiration from “The Sing Sing Follies,” 2005 Esquire article penned by John H. Richardson that details Rehabilitation Through the Arts (RTA), a program founded at Sing Sing Correctional Facility in 1996 which, according to its website, provides “arts-based workshops to thousands of incarcerated men and women, transforming lives and breaking the cycle of incarceration.” Richardson’s article also profiles some key participants in the program, like John (Divine G) Whitfield, the performer played that opening scene by Colman Domingo. Serving a 25-to-life term for a murder he did not commit, Divine G throws himself whole-heartedly into work. A founding member of the RTA, he spends time in his cell, its walls papered with sticky notes and stacked with books, writing plays (some of which the RTA has performed) and researching the system to help not only him but his fellow inmates terminate their sentences.

As Divine G and his fellow RTA members, including his good friend Mike Mike (Sean San José) and their outside director, Brent Buell (the reliably great Paul Raci), prepare to mount their next production, Sing Sing swerves in what initially appears to be a predictable direction with the introduction of Clarence “Divine Eye” Maclin (playing a version of himself), a new recruit whose membership and commitment is questionable due to the toughness he exhibits in the yard (immediately prior to Divine G and Mike Mike interviewing him, he steps away to shake down another inmate for money). Inscrutable as the sincerity of his intentions are, his sole purpose at the outset appears to be to shake up everything Divine G has built, from suggesting that, following A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream, the group stage a broader comedy (as life in prison is serious enough as it is) as opposed to a drama that Divine G wrote, and then proceeding to audition and secure the resulting play’s sole dramatic role— Hamlet— from him. But Kwedar and co-writer Clint Bentley are too smart allow their characters to succumb to the usual petty jealousies. Divine G lets his initial resentment play across his face, but rather than digging in to it, he takes the initiative to help his new colleague with a scene that he’s struggling to master, and earnestly celebrates his success. It’s hard not to be moved by the beautiful bond that blossoms from these initially tense encounters; beyond friendship, they support each other in finding renewed pride and purpose in their lives and identities.

Those moving moments, however, are perhaps a bit too prevalent throughout Sing Sing, which tends to feel like it is straining for emotion, particularly when scenes are accompanied by Bryce Dessner’s solemn score. The movie leans toward the saccharine at the expense of digging in to the meat of the matters at hand, such as the cruelty of a prison system that often tries to dehumanize its inmates at every turn, and how difficult it can be to break free of that cycle, particularly for people of color. But those issues are still present and accounted for, and there’s something graceful about how Kwedar and Bentley handle them, with dialogue that gestures toward the futility of it all without appearing overtly preachy or expository. This is a movie based on a true story, but it rarely feels like that in the usual, cliched sense. Maybe that’s because so much the cast consists not of professional Hollywood actors, but performers who are actual alums of the RTA. They’re all wonderful, and cinematographer Pat Scola grants them plenty of emotive close-ups that showcase their unique features, from soulful eyes to tattooed faces. But none are more impressive than Maclin, who is more a lead than any of them. His character goes through many ups and downs throughout the film, and in between all that he provides the sense that this is a person with a past he regrets and a future he wants to reach toward. Maybe some of that is because Maclin lived this, but there is real talent there. He just has it in his face, in his gait, in his delivery. That he holds his own against Colman Domingo— who was nominated for a Best Actor Oscar last year for his performance in the title role in Rustin, and who certainly deserves to be in the conversation again this year— is no small feat. Domingo has never been more wonderfully expressive. It helps that the film seems to actively engage with his admittedly grandiose actorly tendencies (after all, the committee holding auditions for the play pick newbie Divine Eye’s shaky interpretation of Hamlet over Divine G’s polished one). 

There are a number of other factors that set Sing Sing apart, from its inclusion of footage from real RTA plays (spliced into the film at a point that doesn’t feel forced or awkward), to Scola’s camerawork; at times, he goes handheld, the camera floating and swooping around the RTA members as they rehearse and interact, creating a real sense of the camaraderie that binds them, and the freedom that art provides. Sing Sing is ultimately a portrait of two opposing systems working side-by-side: the most humanitarian art form imaginable providing respite from an existence that constantly works to dehumanize its citizens (we often seen the inmates treated cooly by officials, and forced to stand with their hands against the wall as their cells and possessions are rifled through during inspections). In that way, maybe that it avoids getting too bogged down in facts and figures isn’t such a bad thing. There’s no more ringing endorsement for the success of the program and the importance of the arts than witnessing those who lived through it free in the world, telling their own story on the biggest platform possible with so much grace and humility.

Sing Sing is now playing in theaters. Runtime: 107 minutes. Rated R.