Queer film club: Sing Sing
When I went to see Sing Sing, a film about a theatre programme in a prison, I thought there was a reasonable chance that I’d be watching a queer film. Prison dramas don’t have a reputation for being gay but theatre very much does. The odds were 50/50.
As it turns out, Sing Sing is not an overtly queer film in any way. None of its characters are openly LGBTQ+ nor does it explicitly tackle any queer issues. It does, however, employ queer thinking: a way of thinking that challenges traditional assumptions and approaches, and fights against social inequality. Moreover, it uses this way of theorising to dismantle toxic masculinity - one of the queerest themes of all.
Directed by Greg Kwedar, who co-wrote the movie with Clint Bentley, Sing Sing is a film about the transformative power of art. It follows a group of incarcerated men who belong to a theatre group as they stage their first original comedy. In doing so, the men work together to reclaim their humanity while living alongside one another in one of the most dehumanising settings imaginable.
It wasn’t until I had left the cinema - and, as I often do, taken a deep dive into the online discussion surrounding the film I’d just seen - that I realised just how many of my preconceived ideas had been challenged as it unfolded. Sing Sing didn’t live up to any of my expectations in the best way possible.
There are a lot of tropes which a prison-set drama can fall into, all of which Sing Sing manages to pivot away from, choosing a much less followed but far brighter path instead. There is no mindless fighting, no ill-considered plots to escape and no ‘copaganda’ (portrayal of law enforcement in a positive light).
Instead, the film shows a group of men who come together to find levity through self-expression. Who choose to act and play together, creating their own fantasy inside the harshest of realities. In doing so, they explore the full spectrum of emotion; from grief and anger to joy and unadulterated silliness. Some of the most moving scenes are montages of play-acting and pretend sword fighting. Visuals of men Indulging in much-needed childlike escapism pack far greater a punch than any violent altercation could.
Other emotive moments come when the frolicking stops and the men begin opening up to one another. Short, profound statements - “We are here to become human again”; “Everybody thinks something about you, just because you dance” - teeter on the edge of queerness, discussing toxic masculinity without falling beyond subtlety. Whether it is through dancing or dialogue, all of the themes in Sing Sing - empathy, self-expression, compassion - are explored with a similar degree of softness.
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The film shows a group of men who come together to find levity through self-expression. Who choose to act and play together, creating their own fantasy inside the harshest of realities.
Sing Sing is a much more nuanced and careful depiction of incarcerated people than we are used to seeing on screen. This sensitivity challenges prejudice. “Whether we will admit it or not, we all have an unconscious bias towards people who are in prison,” says Colman Domingo while talking to Letterboxd about his starring role in the film.
His character, Divine G, finds hope and healing through the creation of theatre while he is imprisoned for a crime he did not commit. Domingo’s composed, dignified demeanour makes your heart swell and break at different moments as Divine G tries desperately not to crack under the pressure of a dehumanising system.
Domingo didn’t win the Oscar for his portrayal of Divine G. He does, however, hold the title of the first openly gay Black man to be nominated for an Oscar - an important moment for both Black and LGBTQ+ representation. He’s also the most stylish man in Hollywood (an arguably less important but still notable title). As a whole, Sing Sing didn’t sweep awards season in the way they hoped or deserved to. However, the conversations the film sparks still resonate long after all Oscar buzz has died down.
Alongside Domingo, the ensemble cast includes 13 formerly incarcerated actors who have all previously taken part in the Rehabilitation Through the Arts programme similar to the one depicted in the film. To avoid the possibility of creative exploitation during the production of the film, an equity model was put in place. All members of the cast and crew were paid the same amount and they were also each offered a stake in the film, meaning they now collectively own the movie. Sing Sing has truly shaken up the system, rethinking not just how people are characterized on screen but how movies themselves can be made.
Adding yet another layer of reality to the production, the movie was filmed in a decommissioned prison. Watching former prisoners act as prisoners in a former prison is meta. Take it one step further, you are watching a piece of art made by people who have been healed by art about the healing power of art. This multi-level piece of cinema proves that something beautiful (be it a play or picture) can be created inside somewhere brutal (whether that’s a prison or the film industry).
Sing Sing shows that wonderful things can happen if you choose a different starting point from what is considered the norm. It started from somewhere far away from preconceived ideas, and continually pivoted away from cliché and exploitation and towards nuance and equity at every turn.
The results were groundbreaking; Sing Sing became the first ever film to be screened simultaneously in prisons and cinemas. Hopefully, this innovative approach will inspire future filmmakers to consider an alternative route. More queer thinking in film, please.