Sing Sing
Directed by Greg Kwedar
Written by Greg Kwedar and Clint Bentley
Starring: Colman Domingo, Clarence Maclin, Sean San José, Paul Raci
Rated R
Runtime: 1 hour 47 minutes
In theaters August 16

by Darian Davis, Staff Writer

I am thoroughly enjoying Colman Domingo’s renaissance. His range and depth of commitment continue to dazzle on the big screen in a movie that examines the tenderness and toughness of humanity with perfect balance and thoughtfulness.

Sing Sing focuses on Divine G (Domingo), a man incarcerated at the infamous Sing Sing maximum security prison in New York where he awaits a clemency hearing to clear his name for a crime he did not commit. Outside of the meticulous preparation for his hearing, Divine G spends most of his time as founding member, playwright, and player to the facility’s Rehabilitation Through the Arts program (RTA). Divine G is beloved by the troupe of individuals who contribute to the RTA, and he takes great pride in coaching them as actors and artists.

The film itself is adapted from a 2005 Esquire article titled “The Sing Sing Follies” by John H. Richardson which chronicles the real-life men of Sing Sing’s RTA program. Some of the men, now formerly incarcerated and program alumni, even appear in the film as themselves. The film’s story borrows heavily from facts about the men’s lives and experiences in the program, including their wonderfully playful production of an original time travel comedy called “Breakin’ the Mummy’s Code” by their director Brent Buell, featuring the likes of Hamlet, Freddy Kreuger, and Goliath. Archival footage at the end of the film confirms as much, and just endeared me to the movie even more.

During workshops and rehearsals, Brent Buell (Paul Raci) often encourages them to “trust the process”. How serendipitous that a film starring a Philly native (Domingo) would employ such a mantra? Philadelphia 76ers fans, whose team has been associated with the saying since 2013, now use it with derision to mock “The Process” as nothing but false hope and a series of empty promises. And yet the phrase perfectly captured Divine G’s arc as a man wholly devoted to doing everything right, in the hope that its dividends would return him his freedom and innocence. As an incarcerated person, those harsh realities come crashing in. Even as an artist, Divine G loses his grip on the RTA’s process when new recruit Clarence “Divine Eye” Maclin (himself) shifts the group away from dramas to an original comedy. The newbie even lands the only dramatic role in the new play over Divine G, pushing Divine G aside and weakening his control over the very program he founded. A tragic event, along with a random room raid and limited time spent at a small, iron-framed window, push Divine G to his breaking point, and he nearly gives up on the process entirely.

The outburst reveals a tougher side to Divine G than the tender one I watched for most of the film, and it’s a dichotomy that is referenced brilliantly all throughout the movie, including an establishing shot early on that shows a small bird alighting on a ring of barbed wire. Tough and tender. Virile and vulnerable. This duality also plays out in Clarence, the hardened gangster, as a foil to Divine G as a bookish and empathetic artist. The two often quite literally circle one another like tigers sizing each other up for the pounce, but they also have moments where they find common ground, and I love when a film features characters from two extremes who end up meeting in the middle. That happens in a few heartwarming moments in this film, and definitely got me teary toward the end.

For a movie about acting, my expectations for performances were high. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the years these men put into their craft as artists of the real-life RTA program made their film debuts seem as if they’d been in front of the camera for years. Even with dialog that can come across as oversimplified or clichéd, the ensemble finds a way to make it feel natural and believable. Having Paul Raci typecast in a similar role to his brilliant Oscar-nominated performance in Sound of Metal necessarily grounds the movie, and really sells the messy work of the creative process in all its frustrations and breakthroughs. Sean San José, a longtime stage player, delivers a warm and ultimately heart-wrenching turn as Divine G’s right-hand man Mike Mike. Maclin in particular (an RTA alum) devours his role, and proves himself a worthy scene-sparring partner with Colman Domingo as a seasoned veteran. Maclin goes from hardened gangbanger to verse-slinging thespian over the course of a film, and it’s a treat watching the arresting stares he offers Domingo in one moment melt into a tender, scene-stealing rendition of “To Be or Not To Be” in another. Not to be outdone, Colman Domingo solidifies this film as an emotional knockout. The range he gives Divine G builds a complex and nuanced portrait of a man struggling to trust in a process that is stacked against him from the start.

I love how the movie sort of begins at the end. Its very first scene opens with the sound of applause echoing to a darkened space, save for Divine G silhouetted by a spotlight as he takes a bow to end an anonymous performance. The adulation is swiftly followed by stark reality: the actors slip out of costumes and into their prison greens, they’re filed back to their blocks, and Divine G prepares for the troupe’s next performance.Thematically, the film is about cycles: the unending cycle of another day in and another day out, the cycle of creativity (finishing one play only to begin rehearsals for the next), and the cycle of the prison system itself. At the end of the film, Divine G notices a kid has moved into an empty block. The kid glances back nervously, clearly scared and almost incredulous as he comes to terms with his new reality. With the high levels of incarceration in this country, especially among Black men, the moment feels like a warning, that the cycle will continue to filter through the young and the innocent, unless something is done to break it. In the meantime, the RTA is poignantly depicted as an escape from personal tragedy and from the walls of Sing Sing, even if it’s only a jailbreak of the mind.