Sing Sing presents a well-acted yet declawed survey of the potential for prison "reform"

The power of performance is the central exploration of Sing Sing, the latest collaboration from director Greg Kwedar and co-writer Clint Bentley (Transpecos, Jockey). Taking place in the titular maximum security prison in Ossining, New York, the film follows John “Divine G” Whitfield (Colman Domingo), a skilled writer and thespian serving a sentence for a crime he didn’t commit. Based on a real person who has since been released, Domingo’s rendition is brimming with empathy and nuance—elements often missing from media focusing on incarcerated individuals—yet the story itself presents a flawed notion of “serving time” and becoming “reformed” as a result of incarceration without unpacking the institutional violence that lands Black men behind bars at a disproportionate rate.

As a longtime member of Rehabilitation Through the Arts (RTA), Divine G and a regular cohort of incarcerated actors stage two plays a year. After a successful performance of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the troupe decides to tackle an original concept for the next project, set to premiere six months later. Though Divine G initially offers a drama that he personally penned to the group, everyone decides that a comedy—one involving pirates, gladiators, ancient Egypt, and, most importantly, time travel—would be a unique and fruitful challenge. Theater director Brent Buell (Paul Raci) volunteers to shape this hodgepodge of ideas into a legible plot, promising to return after the weekend with a fleshed-out first draft. In order to quell Divine G’s disappointment over the troupe ditching drama, Brent conveniently inserts a Hamlet monologue that the passionate performer would be a shoo-in for. That is, until intimidating newcomer Divine Eye (played by the real Clarence “Divine Eye” Maclin in an incredible debut) impresses with a spur-of-the-moment reading of King Lear. As a result, he’s cast as the Prince of Denmark in the play, eventually titled Breakin’ The Mummy’s Code, leaving Divine G to portray a Roman gladiator.

While much of Sing Sing chronicles the rehearsal and eventual orchestration of the play, it is also focused on both of the Divines navigating the judicial system in the hopes of either getting their sentences overturned or achieving parole. Divine G is intimately familiar with the paperwork and legalese necessary to maneuver these convoluted procedures, while Divine Eye touts a defeatist attitude. Yet this juxtaposition evokes a trite view of imprisonment and the potential for subsequent “freedom”; the wrongly convicted are presented as rational and intelligent, while a person convicted of a crime is unpredictable and prone to violence. One specific scene that speaks to this dichotomy occurs when Divine G urges Divine Eye not to carry a knife to RTA rehearsals, as its discovery by higher-ups could jeopardize the entire program. Divine Eye retaliates against G’s paternalistic plea, calling him the N-word in the process. Clear-eyed and somewhat condescending, G simply responds by telling him that he and his fellow troupe members prefer the term “beloved,” which causes Eye to storm off.

Whether or not this event actually unfolded like this in real life, it certainly feels like an ill-advised scene for two white writer-directors to hinge these characters’ sensibilities on. However, it should be noted that the filmmakers truly “did their homework” before embarking on the project, connecting with RTA directors and volunteering themselves by teaching filmmaking to those incarcerated in Greenhaven Maximum-Security Prison in Stormville, New York. Both of the Divines also have “story by” credit, a vital component that definitely enhances some of the film’s more vulnerable scenes. (The aftermath of a friend’s death as well as the touching final scene immediately come to mind.)

Kwedar and Bentley also consulted Buell in order to ensure that their on-screen adaptation of Breakin’ The Mummy’s Code was up to snuff, and utilized a cast of actual RTA alumni for the film’s thespian cohort. Despite this genuine commitment to having people who were incarcerated tell their own stories—and understand first-hand the way that RTA programs support those who are still behind bars—the resulting product feels naggingly surface-level in its interaction with racial injustice and incarceration. The RTA program is important and much-needed; rates of recidivism are far lower for program participants, likely aided by its commitment to its radical “Reimagining Myself” re-entry program. A lot of work and advocacy is involved in ensuring that resources are made available for members, but Sing Sing puzzlingly positions the act of performing itself as what changes certain individuals from violent offenders to reformed citizens.

Again, it’s one thing to present a story as it’s told by those who lived it. It’s more than understandable for formerly incarcerated individuals to opt for the chance to present an account that doesn’t center on their trauma or prison POV clichés of fear and brutality. But it should be the filmmakers’ responsibility to challenge certain elements of this biographical narrative in relation to its real-life implications: What is the benefit of portraying prison as a place of unlikely opportunity, connection, and growth? Any material impact that those involved in RTA experienced likely stems from the volunteers and program directors who fight for increased funding in order to provide adequate services—artistic and otherwise—for the incarcerated people they work with on a daily basis.

Domingo is resplendent in this role, and Divine Eye is enchanting in this self-referential filmic debut. Raci is also perfectly cast, espousing intense chemistry with the actors cast from their previous participation in RTA. However, the strength of the cast alone can’t elevate Sing Sing to the realm of truly socially conscious cinema. (Think of how recent entries like Clemency, The Prison In 12 Landscapes and Hometown Prison suffuse storytelling with tangible arguments for reform). Though rife with phenomenal performances, an air of performative engagement can’t help but cling to the fabric of Sing Sing.