Sing Sing

There's a way in which you could view this as destined for a warm reception from its inception. Hollywood loves to bask in its own importance, and a story about the rehabilitative power of the performing arts hits the bulls-eye. It deals with the cruelty of the American prison system, features "tough" characters talking about their feelings while sitting in a circle, and centers around a found family where every member takes care of everyone else, with a particularly charismatic member of the group as the informal leader. There's comedy, tragedy, and heartache. On paper, it sounds like a formulaic piece of Oscar-bait. And it would seem to have worked, as just yesterday morning it was announced as a nominee for Best Adapted Screenplay.

But if you know anyone who managed to catch it on its initial, very limited release last summer, you know just how rude that description is. Sure, none of that is technically false, but it's absurdly reductive. It ignores so much of the texture of the story and the power of watching these men find themselves and their vulnerability via putting themselves out there in a place which presents absolutely no incentive to do so. These men eschew the stereotypes of prisoners on film, refusing to present as bad asses who have it all figured out. They're neither resigned to the powerlessness of incarceration nor in denial of how awful their day-to-day life is. Rather, they choose theater as a way to get in touch with themselves and hold on to their own humanity in the face of a hostile system, or even rediscover it amidst their calcified understanding of themselves. To that end, we know nothing of what landed most of them here, emphasizing that what matters most is who they are now, not what they've done and who they were.

Although that wording isn't quite right. The story's main conviction is that in acting, they're finding aspects of themselves which were always there, but which they could not express. Nowhere is that more clear than Divine Eye (Clarence Maclin). He applied for the program, so ahead of the next production, Divine G (Coleman Domingo) and Mike Mike (Sean San José) scout him in the prison yard. Despite his tough-guy swagger and posturing, a steady look from Divine G causes Divine Eye to drop his guard just a bit and a quote from King Lear tumbles out of him, tossed off in a goofy anecdote to disguise his true interest in art, securing himself a spot. Of course, joining the group doesn't magically change him. Convincing the group to stage a comedy doesn't change him. Not even landing the lead role in the play is enough to change him; while everyone else does acting exercises and begins to rehearse, he scoffs at how stupid the whole thing is and storms out. Later, he nearly starts a fight when another actor walks behind him during a scene. But through the group's refusal to throw him out, and Divine G's patience at discovering how to connect with him on a personal level, he finally allows himself to begin to express his inner life to the world. At least, in tiny doses through the feeling he displays on the stage and in rehearsals.

The hopefulness of the main story is appropriately counterbalanced by the frequent dehumanization of the prisoners which we experience through Divine G. It's the callous and violent treatment from the guards. It's random room searches which force him to stand outside of his room against the wall spread eagle, and leave him to pick up a room ripped apart by a tornado. It's that his upcoming parole hearing rests on securing access to a tape in possession of the State. He's making it by, but you never lose sight of the pain and frustration in his voice and on his face, especially when he's gazing longingly out over the mountains. You know that despite regretting how his life got away from him, he knows he deserves better than this. Thus, it's the community he's constructed which keeps him sane, that the chance to perform allows him to emote in a way the rest of his life denies. It's not that acting is an escape, it's that he can be his true self on stage without fear of ridicule.

Making all of this even more powerful is the metanarrative aspect at play. For as shown through archival photos and video at the end of the movie, Rehabilitation Through the Arts is a real program at Sing Sing Maximum Security Prison (and a few others). They pride themselves on teaching skills through the arts which serve their participants well as they reintegrate into the world upon release, and leading to a much lower recidivism rate than the general prison population. Its success demonstrates the power of support and believing that you have the option to change your life. A further case study is the film itself: almost everyone in the main cast is a graduate of the program, playing a version of themselves. That goes for David "Dap" Giraudy, Patrick "Preme" Griffin, Mosi Eagle, James "Big E" Williams, and Sean "Dino" Johnson. Most impressively, it includes Clarence Maclin, who turns in an incredibly unique and moving performance, wonderfully portraying someone who's desperately restraining their true self for fear that to let it out is to risk their survival.

But it's Domingo who shines the brightest in the juicier, more complex part, showing us once again just how skilled he is at his craft (and bagging a Best Actor nomination). Loosely based on the real John "Divine G" Whitfield (who gets a "story by" credit, as well as an early cameo), he's the anchor of the story and of his fellow thespians, while going through his own far messier, more frustrating, and more internal arc. It's a tricky balancing act, to elevate and give space to everyone else's plotlines (especially Divine Eye's) while keeping his own endlessly compelling, but there is not a single second he wavers on that assignment. Domingo is easily in the face acting top tier, a skill he expertly deploys again and again here to wordlessly communicate his thoughts and conflicts and desires and hopes and dreams and despair and so much more, often flitting between some combination in a single shot. What emerges is a nuanced portrait of a man driven to help others, determined to find his own peace even as the world crashes in around him, while doing everything he possibly can to not become numb to it.