Sing Sing is a feelgood prison drama that doesn't quite hit the right note

The cast of Sing Sing are mostly former inmates of the prison playing themselves. (Supplied: A24/Dominic Leon)

By Jamie Tram

In the congested field of crowd-pleasing indie dramas, there are few currencies more coveted than authenticity. This month, it's been almost easier to take note of the new releases that aren't based on true stories — such is typical of January, the annual feasting ground for award season cinema where Australians can finally watch the prestige-y titles that Americans have been posting inscrutable memes of.

Scratch beneath the grab-bag of story cliches and rote visual cues of Sing Sing and you'll find a real-life tale worth investing in. The film takes place behind the bars of the maximum-security facility of its title, where a group of inmates are planning their next theatre show. Pivoting away from Shakespeare, the tight-knit troupe are presenting an original new play, Breakin' the Mummy's Code — a spirited, time-travelling jaunt that scrambles the temporal and fictional boundaries between Ancient Egypt and Freddy Kreuger.

The group is spearheaded by John 'Divine G' Whitfield (Colman Domingo; Zola), a writer serving an erroneous sentence for murder, and a passionately protective founder of the group. His nurturing presence extends beyond the stage, where he doles out legal advice to his fellow inmates; his own clemency hearing is approaching, and he intends to prove his innocence.

"People that are locked up, people that may have committed crimes, people that may have made mistakes in their lives,
they still have the ability to change, to grow, to be contributors to society," Clarence Maclin (right) told Screen Daily. 
(Supplied: A24)

Within the confines of his stuffy concrete cell (where photographs, books and legal documents line the walls), he is glimpsed working on his own play, a rise-and-fall saga of a fictional record producer that is ultimately passed on by a troupe who hunger for comedy. In an evocative microcosm for the indignities of prison life, we later watch as the room is crudely overturned in a routine check; the assertion of his identity behind bars necessitates a literal, never-ending act of rebuilding.

For all its joyful unseriousness, the production (organised by the non-profit organisation Rehabilitation Through the Arts — or RTA) is a sincere undertaking for its actors, many of whom are played by their real-life counterparts. Clarence 'Divine Eye' Maclin offers an extraordinary breakout performance as an abrasive newcomer to the program, whose acting acumen is initially assessed by Divine G when he extorts a fresh inmate during a courtyard drug deal.

"The great challenge was to fold myself in with these men. I didn't want to stand out as an actor," Domingo told
USA Today of working with the former inmates. (Supplied: A24/Dominic Leon)

The rehearsal sequences are riveting, bolstered not just by the procedural satisfaction of the play clicking together, but the intensely endearing rapport shared by the troupe. Sing Sing's most rewarding journey is carried by Maclin, who lands the part of Mummy's Hamlet over Whitfield (with a less studied and more instinctual take on the Prince of Denmark). The production prods at his hard-earned defences, prompting the actor to lash out at corny drama exercises and blocking rehearsals — yet is met with un relenting kindness from his peers.

Maclin and the other RTA alumni are so adept at playing themselves, lending an unvarnished, affectless gravity to their roles, they end up contradicting the artifice of the surrounding film. It's hard to imagine an intimate independent drama getting greenlit without a beloved star attached, but there's an uneasy tension to the centring of Domingo as the lead character when the story itself belongs to the supporting players — even with a cameo from the real Whitfield.

"I like to hold off on meeting anyone that I’m going to portray. I only met him the night before I started shooting," Colman Domingo told W Magazine about playing John 'Divine G' Whitfield. (Supplied: Madman Entertainment)

That Domingo makes for a superb Divine G is beside the point, but is worth mentioning nonetheless. It's a wonderful display of resilience, his Whitfield carrying a sense of pride and purpose in his composure, and a dazzling spirit behind his eyes. He's vulnerable but never meek, hardening his sturdy physicality and rich baritone voice when standing his ground. Taken in isolation, it's a rapturous performance from one of our finest character actors.

The broader problem lies in the film's plainly contrived construction, in spite of the laudable efforts made to incorporate former RTA members in the creative process.

"Everyone on our movie, the core cast and crew … we all worked for the same rate. And we all collectively
own the movie as well." Sing Sing director Greg Kwedar (left) told KCRW. (Supplied: A24/Phyllis Kwedar)

The film hammers lived experience into three distinct acts, liberally borrowing from countless other stories of outcasts putting on a show. Drama often exists for the sake of drama; some of Sing Sing's most forceful emotional beats, carried by a bracingly raw Domingo, end up being its most insincere.

Bryce Dessner's score registers as cut-rate Nicholas Britell, his syrupy chorus of strings needlessly intruding on most of the film — heaven forbid a moment of startling intimacy or creative spontaneity speak for itself. The swaying, handheld camera work is a simpering evocation of veracity, at one point attempting to eke wispy, shallow-focus poetry from within a coil of barbed wire.

It's an extraordinary story hobbled by deeply ordinary filmmaking; a triumph of schmaltz over sincerity. The film's excellent ensemble is still worth seeing, even if one suspects that Breakin' the Mummy's Code would make for a better use of their talents.

First published at ABC News, January 21, 2025