“Tender” is not a word you’d expect to use when describing a film set entirely within the confines of a maximum-security prison. And yet, tender is exactly how I’d describe Sing Sing, a touching new drama about a group of incarcerated men who find renewed purpose through a theater program. The film, which stars Oscar nominee Colman Domingo alongside an ensemble cast comprised mostly of first-time screen actors who are also real-life former participants of the program, doesn’t skirt around the more troubling realities of life behind bars. But in its focus on healing, Sing Sing successfully taps into a mood that feels (thankfully) atypical for the genre it’s operating within. A film about men that deliberately bucks against stereotypes of hypermasculinity, it’s a wondrously humanizing portrait of one of society’s most routinely misunderstood groups of people.
Based on a true story, Sing Sing follows along as the members of the titular prison’s Rehabilitation Through the Arts (RTA) outpost mount an ambitious original production of a time-traveling comedic play that blends Shakespeare, Captain Hook, gladiators, mummies, and, for some reason, horror franchise fixture Freddy Krueger. The crux of the story centers on the evolving relationship between John “Divine G” Whitfield (Domingo), a talented playwright serving time for a crime he did not commit, and Clarence “Divine Eye” Maclin (Clarence Maclin, playing himself), a prison badass whose admission into the program sets the film on course. The two may share similar nicknames, but, at least initially, they are juxtaposed as foils who must work toward finding a middle ground.
New York’s infamous Sing Sing Correctional Facility provides the setting for Sing Sing, but the energy within the RTA program is starkly contrasted with the rest of prison life. Inside these meetings, the vibe is decidedly jovial; men laugh and play and crack wise. Under the stern but sensitive eye of program director Brent Buell (Oscar winner Paul Raci), the members of RTA rehearse by trying on new accents and toying around with different characterizations; when someone nails a challenging monologue, they’re met with deafening applause and cheers. RTA provides the men, otherwise seen as hardened criminals, a space to be soft, to be vulnerable, to let their guards down and be raw and open with their feelings. In one of the film’s most touching sequences, Brent guides his actors through a meditative exercise, asking that they reflect on a moment in their lives when they felt most at peace. Their responses, ranging from recollections of mowing grass on a hot summer day to fond memories of sharing a “coffee soda” with their doting wife during a playful picnic in the park, are moving in their gentle simplicity.
These moments all work in service of Sing Sing’s thesis that a person’s temperament is often controlled by their environment and not the other way around. The film doesn’t judge its characters based on their perceived innocence or guilt—its focus is instead on the process of getting better. Though certain parts of Divine G’s storyline are directly related to his innocence, the sense of purpose he finds through RTA is treated no differently than what anyone else in the program gains from their own experiences.
And that’s, perhaps, why Clarence emerges as the film’s beating heart. Though Sing Sing doesn’t focus too heavily on his exploits prior to joining RTA, it does offer just enough of a peek for us to trace its impact on Clarence in real-time. During one of his first program meetings, he becomes visibly frustrated when asked to dig deeper during an acting exercise, and after Divine G pulls him to a private room—both to comfort him and to warn him against carrying around a concealed weapon—he becomes even more irate, responding, “You don’t get to tell me what I need in prison. So don’t tell me what to do, and don’t bring me in no fucking dark corners anymore. This shit make a nigga nervous.” The scene stands out because it’s one of very few moments defined by masculine aggression and the threat of violence. But as Clarence leans more into the process, he, too, finds a new way of handling his emotions.
Of course, healing isn’t always so straightforward, and Sing Sing smartly uses its seemingly most level-headed character to drive that point home. After a tragic development in the final act, Domingo’s Divine G has an emotional blow-up, eventually landing him on the outs with the rest of his RTA mates. In a brilliant reversal of roles, it’s Clarence who eventually comes to comfort him. “I see that you need help, but you won’t ask for it,” he calmly tells G. “You refuse to extend your hand to ask for it, bro, as many brothers as you’ve helped in here.” The scene is one of Sing Sing’s strongest, a superbly acted heart-to-heart that encapsulates the film’s themes of brotherhood. That Clarence takes it upon himself to seek out a despondent Divine G, extending the same unconditional friendship he was once so resistant to accepting himself, reinforces the possibility of real rehabilitation.
With an appropriately tear-jerking conclusion, Sing Sing emerges as one of the most hopeful and heartfelt movies to hit theaters this year. In its delicate exploration of men learning to look within, it flips the “prison film” genre on its head. As one of the RTA brothers says during a particularly emotionally charged rehearsal, “We’re here to become human again…and to enjoy the things that are not in our reality.”
Sing Sing is playing in select theaters now and nationwide August 23.