Review: Sing Sing

Sing Sing is a profoundly affecting film — one of those rare cinematic experiences that doesn’t just explore emotion but distills it. Passion, grief, pride, love, despair, and hope ripple through the story, not as themes hammered into place but as truths discovered naturally through the lives of its characters. Prison here becomes a metaphorical stage as much as a literal one — an enclosed world in which much larger questions are asked: about purpose, about goodness, about how to hold on to dignity when the world seems determined to strip it away.

The story follows a group of incarcerated men participating in a theatre rehabilitation program. But unlike most prison dramas, Sing Sing doesn’t frame redemption as a plot twist or catharsis as something to be “earned.” Instead, it’s woven into every moment — quietly, patiently, and powerfully. These men are indeed trapped, but their struggles and triumphs echo far beyond prison walls. The film speaks to anyone who’s ever felt stuck — by relationships, health, money, grief — and it seems to communicate something close to parable about this universal condition.

The performances are extraordinary. The ensemble is made up mostly of formerly incarcerated individuals — “non-actors,” technically, though you’d never guess. There’s a beautiful honesty in their presence. They're not merely playing themselves; they’re performing with nuance, vulnerability, and craft. Whether art imitates life or vice versa hardly matters — the result is authentic and deeply moving.

Colman Domingo, as Divine G, delivers a magnetic performance. Yes, he exudes cool — as always — but there’s more here. He acts not just as a protagonist, but as a kind of emotional conductor, guiding the ensemble while never stealing their spotlight. His theatrical, dapper energy may contrast with the cast’s grounded realism, but that dissonance feels intentional. Divine G is meant to be something other — an outsider, a catalyst. Domingo’s stylised approach elevates the story without undermining its intimacy.

Critics may quibble with how closely the character resembles the real Divine G (on whom the character is based), but that feels beside the point. The film operates on a fable-like emotional wavelength, where poetic truth trumps journalistic precision. Like Nomadland — another masterpiece populated by “non-actors” —Sing Sing finds something magical in the space between performance and reality.

It’s inspiring without being sentimental, moving without being manipulative. A vital reminder of the transformative power of art—and of the radical dignity of people too often dismissed.

Hooray. Go watch it.