In the new movie Sing Sing, John “Divine G” Whitfield (Colman Domingo) has nothing but time. Sentenced to the infamous Sing Sing Correctional Facility for a crime he didn’t commit, G uses that time to write plays, serve on the steering committee of the inmate-run theater program he helped found, and help other prisoners prepare for their parole hearings. Believe it or not, that last activity presents G with the greatest challenge.
When G approaches Clarence “Divine Eye” Maclin (who plays himself in the film), a fellow member of his theater troupe, about his upcoming clemency trial, the latter dismisses the entire idea as fruitless. “You still think the system works,” he spits, launching something between a question and an accusation.
G knows better than to believe in the system. But he has also devoted his life to centering his identity, even within prison walls. “They’ve got you thinking you belong in here,” responds G, played with dignity and vulnerability by Domingo. “You’ve got to remember who you are.”
Directed by Greg Kwedar, who cowrote the screenplay with Clint Bentley, Sing Sing focuses on the power of art to help people remember their humanity. The film sheds light on the Rehabilitation Through the Arts (RTA) program, which began in the titular prison in 1996. Kwedar and Bentley draw directly from the real-life stories of Whitfield and Maclin. More specifically, Sing Sing follows the group’s staging of the play Breakin’ the Mummy’s Code, as put together by its director, Brent Buell (Paul Raci).
Kwedar begins the movie with Divine G reciting lines from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Domingo’s sonorous voice bringing even more power to Shakespeare’s words. However, when Divine Eye joins the group, he points out that the prison population has enough drama and tragedy already. They need some levity to take off the edge.
Following Divine Eye’s lead, the players—most of whom are also portrayed by real RTA participants—suggest ideas for the play, using the pretense of comedy to justify its incongruous parts. In its finished form Breakin’ the Mummy’s Code tells a time-travel tale about an Egyptian prince who encounters gladiators, cowboys, pirates and even horror movie icon Freddy Krueger.
Divine G has also devoted his life to remembering his identity, even within prison walls.
Although G would prefer to perform Shakespeare or even one of his own plays, the misshapen oddity that is Breakin’ the Mummy’s Code illustrates the point he makes to Divine Eye: it comes from the participants embracing their own wants and interests, which results in a work at once unique and free from formal boundaries. The performance, then, is an act of liberation.
Some might read Sing Sing as a heartwarming tale about criminals who regain their humanity through art and take steps toward redemption. To be sure, there are some such moments, including a powerful monologue from G’s closest friend, Mike Mike (Sean San José), about how his drug addiction impacted his grandmother. But when Sing Sing moves beyond the performers and their play to show their larger world, it usually emphasizes the harsh restrictions put upon them.
In one striking moment Kwedar cuts from a warm, rich conversation between two men to a shot from inside the barbed wire around the walls and then looking up at the concrete walls themselves. These reminders highlight the profanity of prison, showing that these men, made in the image of God and emulating their Creator by coming up with their own worlds, are being held in cages.
Such images run contrary to the Christian message. “By its announcement of God’s mercy, the gospel of Jesus Christ sets the captives free,” wrote Ben Blobaum, program director of Chicago’s Inside Out Network, on the ELCA Worship blog. “Paradoxically, some of the freest people I have ever met are currently locked in prison cells. Though physically confined, their hearts and spirits soar, weightless, into the unending expanse of the infinite God.”
Sing Sing demonstrates this tendency in a scene depicting an acting exercise. As the inmates sit in a circle, Brent asks each to close their eyes and imagine themselves in their most perfect place. The camera rotates 360 degrees to capture the look on each man’s face, the natural light pouring through the auditorium windows and illuminating their peaceful expressions. Yet even in that tranquil moment, Sing Sing underscores the limitations of prison when Mike Mike remarks that he’ll never see his people’s island home.
Christian viewers of Sing Sing will likely notice the names Whitfield and Maclin use. By calling themselves “Divine,” they lay claim to their birthright as God’s creation, reflectors of the imago Dei (image of God). That remains true whether they’re playing the part of Hamlet or a funny gladiator. Or whether they’re locked behind prison walls.
