When reflecting on a film like the spectacular Sing Sing, which is somehow only the second feature from director Greg Kwedar after he made his feature debut with 2016's tumultuous Transpecos, one must also reflect on mass incarceration in America. Not only that, but one must think deeply about the stories we tell ourselves about this uniquely American crisis.
Is there a part of us that is drawn to a drama about individual redemption and personal healing so we don't need to confront the systemic failings that roll on like a machine swallowing people whole day after day? Is there a way to tell these stories that don't paper over injustices that remain ongoing?
In the case of Sing Sing, the answer is not just a resounding yes, but it's a truly beautiful one. Rather than offering easy answers to what remain inescapably harsh realities about the world, it is a rich portrait of a group of men coming together to find a way to not just make art, but survive. They do so in the confines of the Sing Sing Correctional Facility, a maximum security prison where the real life inmates have spoken up about dire conditions, alleged brutal beatings and even waterboarding (in addition to just enduring the agony of being locked away).
When faced with the potential to spend years of your life in such a place, finding hope is all that may stand between you and despair. Out of this necessity was born the real-life Rehabilitation Through the Arts program where the men work together to put on various theatrical productions. As we hear at one point in a key conversation, they are there so they can "become human again."
While Kwedar wrote the script for Sing Sing with his creative partner Clint Bentley (Jockey), these moments and the film itself are grounded in the lives of the people held there. They are again shaping their own stories, only now many of them are even playing versions of themselves.
In particular, former Sing Sing inmate Clarence "Divine Eye" Maclin gives a debut performance that is overflowing with grace, charisma and depth. The film centers on his relationship with John "Divine G" Whitfield, played by Oscar-nominee Colman Domingo (Rustin), as the two go from initially challenging each other to opening up and then ultimately helping each other in the original play they're staging, as well as life itself. Just as we trace the development of the production — a wonderfully absurd mashup of many genres and influences — we also see how Whitfield is attempting to prepare a clemency case so he can someday be free. It provides a gentle yet necessary throughline showing, while these programs can offer some hope, true salvation is a longer road.
In exploring this, all involved give remarkable performances so authentically layered and thoughtful that you feel like you're just wandering into a room to see a group of people gathering. Some of this could be too easily dismissed as being because many of the cast are playing versions of themselves, but that in many ways can be even harder as you must make sense of who you once were before stepping back into the inmate "character" now years beyond them. In every line of dialogue, be they genuinely funny in one slightly dark gag midway through surrounding a rehearsal of sorts or devastatingly painful when discussing long-awaited mail that's received, a beautifully complete picture is captured, eschewing cliché to get to the very heart of their lives.
Shot on gorgeous 16mm by cinematographer Pat Scola, who previously worked on the recent Pacific Northwest gem Pig, Sing Sing is a film that also just looks great from start to finish. It ensures that the typical idea of how we picture a film about prison is gently upended in the visuals just as it is the story, never letting us forget the humanity of the characters and the beauty that resides within all of us. Films cannot change the systems in place, but they can resist dehumanizing people. At the same time, when we then see a conversation where reality comes crashing in and Whitfield is accused of lying because of his acting background, Domingo's performance rips your heart out, as we are reminded of the casual cruelty of this system.
Sing Sing doesn't simply tell a feel-good story that can be reduced to being about the "triumph of the human spirit," hollowly allowing us to forget why such triumph was even needed in the first place. Even as all involved break free of the limitations that have been imposed on them in life — as well as the limitations in most films of a similar ilk — it pushes us to reflect on the realities that necessitate such work. In the end, Sing Sing is a work of poetry that truthfully confronts us just as it creates one of the most enduring and well-told character studies you'll see all year. May the day come when the dreams of all who have been locked away can break free with as much beauty as they do here.
Sing Sing
