Sing Sing  - Review

Rating: 4 out of 5

GREG Kwedar’s prison drama Sing Sing is an exceptional piece of filmmaking on several levels.

First and foremost, it shows how positive the power of empathy, understanding and rehabilitation can be. But it also pays tribute to friendship, to creativity and deconstructs masculinity at a time when the notion of what constitutes masculinity is up for debate.

Furthermore, it transcends its genre, steering away from a lot of prison movie stereotypes to offer something less cynical and more hopeful, while still confronting some of the hard truths of prison life.

Partly inspired by John H Richardson’s Esquire article The Sing Sing Follies, the film also examines the role of the Rehabilitation Through the Arts (RTA) program and how it brings dance, theatre, music and writing workshops to prisons in the US.

It is interesting to note, therefore, that only 3% of RTA participants return to prison, according to the program’s site, in contrast to the national average of over 60%.

Further evidence of the success of this rehabilitative scheme is perhaps borne out by how many ex-RTA members make up this cast, while Kwedar, who co-wrote the screenplay with Clint Bentley, also spent time as an RTA instructor.

Ironic, perhaps, then that the film’s leading man is a professional actor, Colman Domingo, although it’s co-lead, George ‘Divine Eye’ Maclin, is played by Maclin himself.

Much like the article that inspired it, the film follows the creation of the RTA program’s 2005 production of Breakin’ the Mummy’s Code, an ambitious time-travel comedy that takes in Westerners. gladiators, ancient Egypt, Shakespeare’s Hamlet and Freddy Kreuger.

But it doesn’t exactly unfold using a traditional narrative approach, nor build to anything grand and overtly theatrical. Rather, it spends time in the prisoners’ company as they discuss acting technique and allow themselves to ‘escape’ from the harsher realities of their lives and confines into the safe space and memories that the protection of their inner circle affords.

So, while there are prison shakedowns, cell room turnovers and a couple of other sequences synonymous with prison movies in general, they are downplayed and sometimes conducted to the side of the performer - Kwedar opting to focus on the individual and their response to it, rather than the incident itself.

By doing this, his film extends a compassion to its cast that allows them to tap into their sensitive side more so than their machismo.

Domingo’s John ‘Divine G’ Whitfield is the focal point: a man in prison for a crime he didn’t commit, but who is unable to gain a sympathetic hearing even though he has amassed evidence of his innocence. He nevertheless retains a sense of hope in his predicament and the plight of those around him, often inspiring his colleagues to express themselves beyond who they feel they ought to be as prisoners, or what life has cast them as.

And yet, there’s a sense of rage too - which threatens to become exposed as events conspire to test him.

In contrast, Maclin initially presents as the archetypal prison stereotype - the tough man who exists to be feared by others, who rules by the threat of violence. When he approaches the artistic group, his advances are initially met with scepticism - but a surprising passion for Shakespeare and a gradual ability to dig deeper into himself (facilitated by the group’s cautious encouragement) show untapped depth and sensitivity, culminating in a close friendship with Whitfield.

Sure, there are elements of that terrific central relationship in The Shawshank Redemption, but this feels less cinematic and more documentary style led at times. There’s also, especially early on, a greater tension underlying the early part of their interaction, with viewers uncertain how the seemingly volatile and more violently inclined Maclin might react to Whitfield’s coaching (not least when being corrected and chastised for using the N word).

It’s also this tension that allows room for some deconstruction of classic tropes, not least the way in which the film stands proudly as an advocate for compassion and sensitivity, the deployment of which can create better outcomes for the inmates, enabling them find their truth, to be listened to and heard.

The film doesn’t attempt to gloss over their crimes or sensationalise any of them - there are nods to what got them inside but the film doesn’t probe into that side of things. And while some may argue that this deprives the film and the inmates’ stories of context (how much should we be rooting for them, for example), it does serve to showcase lives beyond the crimes - that have a chance of renewal once justice has been served. It shows how rehab, when done effectively, can offer more hope than just mere punishment and the cycle that generates.

The performances are uniformly excellent and no doubt aided by the fact they are real. There’s an authenticity leant to proceedings by the fact that much of the cast is playing themselves. It also makes the film itself more distinct.

Sing Sing is an impressive achievement both as a piece of filmmaking and as an insight into a really great rehabilitation programme. It is a soulful, compassionate and ultimately uplifting movie.