In Sing Sing, theatre is a humanity-affirming, hope-giving act. Watching the film, though, I was reminded that theatre is not inherently humanity-affirming or hope-giving. As with anything, it is a tool shaped by those who wield it, and how, and to what end, they do so. Often, theatre and its institutions reproduce the very oppression that structures the lives of the characters in Sing Sing. The recent, industry-wide reckoning with our racist practices and ideologies is evidence of that. Sing Sing illustrates that when theatre is wielded by those existing in opposition to the cruelty of the carceral system, its most profound impacts are more potent. If theatre is not healing the people in this story, they are, in a sense, healing theatre, by stripping it down to its core. The theatre in Sing Sing is focused, above all else, on the act of being human and creating space for others to be so. It is not focused on money, power, entertainment, or even craft. It is not hierarchical, but fundamentally collective (every decision is put to a group vote; every artist is a person first—with a set of unique experiences, emotions, and struggles that makes them a better artist). It is made in a space built not on ego or transaction, but mutual care. It is as much or more about process as it is about product (in fact, we never see a final performance, as the story ends instead on Divine G being released from prison). It is raw and unregulated. It exists without the sanitization of art-making institutions. And above all, it fundamentally resists structural oppression, by undermining the inhumanity of the prison system.
Free theatremakers must know the critical difference between the pathologizing endeavor of taking art into prison to impact the lives of imprisoned people, and honoring and nurturing imprisoned artists.
So the characters in Sing Sing are making theatre truer, righter, and more humane. This is summed up in a pre-show huddle up ahead of their culminating performance. After a beloved cast member has died and Divine G has given up and then returned to the show again, their director, Brent (Paul Raci) says, “Who would have thought that the beginning of the healing for this planet would start right here, behind the walls of Sing Sing?” They are not being healed but instead do the healing. Free theatremakers must know the critical difference between the pathologizing endeavor of taking art into prison to impact the lives of imprisoned people and honoring and nurturing imprisoned artists. Some of the greatest artists we have are locked up, contending with great barriers to sharing their art with the world. As much as they need to witness the art of the outside world, the outside world needs to witness theirs.
Empathy is widely referenced as the highest ethical charge of our work as theatremakers. Bill English, the co-founder and artistic director of San Francisco Playhouse says, “Theatre is like a gym for empathy.” Sing Sing shows us that profound things happen when the gym for empathy is run by people who are systematically deemed unworthy of it. It paints a detailed, messy picture of how theatre can activate and answer back to this human need for empathy—a need strongest in communities that are routinely denied it. Theatre is most true, most just, and most impactful when, often against the odds, it reaches these communities.
If we are to call theatre empathy in practice, and ourselves empathy practitioners, then it is our responsibility to contend with the strengths and limitations of our art form in the most abject circumstances our society produces. Confronting this can make our art less self-important, and more meaningful, grounded, and vulnerable. It helps us approach our work with humility, understanding that it’s not some untouchable salve for all wounds, but taking seriously its ability to provide a sense of hope amid all the darkness. And critically, it reminds us to position ourselves always in opposition to systems that threaten empathy and hope. Prison abolitionist Mariame Kaba says, “hope is a discipline.” Sing Sing crystallizes this sentiment, coloring it in. Hope is our ability to believe in a more humane world, with softer places for people like Divine G to land. Theatre programs like RTA nurture this ability, giving theatre its greatest impact.