Film Review: ‘Sing Sing’ explores the strength it takes to be human

Playing Hamlet is one of those things an actor dreams about. But winning the role is only half the battle.

In “Sing Sing,” Clarence “Divine Eye” Maclin finds that out the hard way. His director Brent (Paul Raci) gives him the note to try and embody the Danish prince before he delivers the famous “to be or not to be” speech, to find the character in the way he walks onto the stage before he starts to speak. Clarence struggles with this direction, particularly when it comes to confidence – as Brent puts it, he walks to his mark like he’s asking the audience for permission to be there.

So how do you stop asking the world around you for permission to exist? That’s a question that Clarence will have to reckon with, and one that “Sing Sing,” directed by Greg Kwedar and co-written by Kwedar and Clint Bentley, seeks to help him confront. The movie follows a group of incarcerated men at Sing Sing Correctional Facility participating in the Rehabilitation Through the Arts (RTA) program, a real program that offers arts workshops for men and women in prison.

In a lot of ways, “Sing Sing” is the quintessential prison movie – think “The Shawshank Redemption” or “Cool Hand Luke” – but with a tone and approach that slightly differs from what audiences might be used to. It doesn’t shy away from how terrible prison can be, but operates with a softer touch than most. It’s not interested in defiance in the classic, cinematic sense, but rather on a more intimate level, exploring the strength and determination it takes to just be human, especially when the world around you is intent on treating you as less than.

“Sing Sing” begins just as the RTA’s production of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” is ending, the group looking forward to a new show and new recruits, including Clarence. John “Divine G” Whitfield (Colman Domingo) is the de facto leader of the RTA at Sing Sing, and pushes for Clarence’s inclusion in the group, despite some worries from other members about his reputation and temperament. Clarence immediately starts to push back on John’s leadership, suggesting the group put on a farcical, time-traveling comedy instead of John’s original dramatic work, and auditioning for the role of Hamlet (yes, Hamlet is in the time-traveling comedy) – the role John was sure he was a shoe-in for.

Outside of Domingo and Raci, many of the actors in the film  – including Maclin – participated in the RTA in real life, adding another level of authenticity to the story. “Sing Sing” doesn’t have too many big, over-the-top monologues or moments, but you can imagine a world where this film is filled with Hollywood actors who bring a lot of bluster to the moments it does have. There’s a time and place for that type of drama, but this particular group grounds the action, both big and small, in a lived experience. Domingo and Raci are wonderful additions to this mix, both of them naturally empathic in a way that attunes to the actors around them.

Bluster and bombast is exactly the sort of thing “Sing Sing” takes and turns on its head, Kwedar and cinematographer Pat Scola employing blocking and camera movements that you associate with one feeling for something entirely different. In a prison movie, you might expect two foes to circle each other aggressively just before a fight. In “Sing Sing” circles still represent a challenge, but one to be overcome, whether it’s an early moment of tension between Clarence and John over who should play Hamlet, or the camera following Clarence as he circles the group with confidence the first time he nails his monologue. The circle is not a place where people go for conflict, but rather a place for understanding.

Those moments where “Sing Sing” skirts your expectations are where it really finds its authenticity. The movie never backs down from the realities of prison life – there’s a particularly brutal moment where a woman at John’s clemency hearing uses his involvement in the theater program against him – but still manages to find those moments of joy. In one scene, John practices for his clemency hearing with his friend Mike Mike (Sean San José), who can’t help but goof off when John mentions that he used to be a DJ (“I bet you were funky as hell,” he croons with delight). You expect John to berate him for not taking his freedom seriously. Instead, after a beat, he joins in on the dancing and cutting up.

Every moment like this, even though it’s different from what we might consider “realistic,” feels more honest than a grittier prison drama. The woman at the clemency hearing suspects John of putting on an act because of his involvement in RTA, but in reality the RTA is the only place these guys don’t have to put on act – the only place they can fully live in their vulnerability, their sadness, their goofiness, their joy. Early in the film, when Clarence bucks against another actor for a perceived slight, Sean “Dino” Johnson delivers one of the film’s big monologues – about the day-to-day violence and posturing these men have been taught to see as “normal” – with the gravitas and wisdom of someone who knows the truth. The RTA is not about teaching inmates to act, but rather about giving them a space where they don’t have to – a place they can just be.

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