TThere is charm, energy and optimism in this big-hearted film, inspired by the Rehabilitation Through the Arts project, which teaches theater skills to U.S. prisoners. It grew out of a 2005 Esquire magazine article about a fantasy comedy musical ensemble performed by inmates at Sing Sing, a maximum-security prison in upstate New York. The film invites us to hear the words of the title as joyful imperatives. Performed largely by real ex-inmates playing themselves, the film features rehearsal scenes interspersed with private conversations, sometimes tense and sometimes moving. There is a similarity to Alan Parker’s Fame, which the film playfully alludes to, though the plot is obviously too serious to allow for the more obvious comparison to Max Bialystock’s song “Prisoners of Love” at the end of “The Producers.”
Everything here is so uplifting that it seems petty to find fault with it. But as stirring and admirably intentioned as it all is, there is something surreal and out of place in the characterization of the lead role, played dominantly and mesmerizingly by the excellent Colman Domingo, who has received numerous awards, including the London Critics’ Circle Innovation Award named after the late Derek Malcolm. Domingo plays John “Divine G” Whitfield, an inmate who in real life was a visionary and inspirational driving force behind the Rehabilitation Through the Arts program, and wrote many plays for it. The real Divine G has a cameo, while the star player of the group, a serious tough guy transformed by his encounter with Shakespeare, is Clarence “Divine Eye” Maclin, playing himself here and doing so very skillfully. Most of the other roles are also played by former inmates, but the group’s leader, Brent Buell, is played by Paul Raci (known from the 2019 film “Sound of Metal”, where he played the deaf therapy counselor who is tough on Riz Ahmed).
Whitfield realizes that Divine Eye has an untapped talent and that he could be redeemed through the artistic process. Divine Eye threatens another inmate with a very severe beating for an unpaid debt. Could the spiritual healing of the theater make him forget everything? And there’s Whitfield’s own personal torment: Will all this theater stuff feel pointless if his parole application is denied?
Domingo’s Whitfield actually looks like a seasoned Broadway star: witty, stylish, elegant and dapper, and something of a celebrity – another prisoner even asks him for an autograph – but also self-deprecating and thoughtful, always ready to listen to the creative input of others. It’s a really engaging and likable performance – but it’s completely and almost startlingly different from everyone else’s, and the real Whitfield really isn’t like that. At times Domingo is like a locked-up Henry Irving. Domingo clearly doesn’t want to downplay his performance or create a social-realist approximation of the real cast’s personalities or even Whitfield’s actual personality. He’s bigger than that, and while it’s a very engaging spectacle, it’s oddly out of step with the rest of the cast and always runs the risk of overshadowing Maclin, who is in some ways the film’s key figure. Well, it’s a fascinating cinematic tribute to the rehabilitation program: effective altruism in action.
