Any performance vying for being the best of Colman Domingo’s distinguished career has a high bar to clear. The actor first began as a kind of utility player in cinema, playing small, vital roles in films by Spike Lee (“Miracle at St Anna” and “Red Hook Summer”), Steven Spielberg (“Lincoln”), Lee Daniels (“The Butler), and Ava DuVernay (“Selma”). In the meantime, he oscillated between stage as actor-playwright and television.
Domingo’s career gained steam with his incredible turn on stage in “The Scottsboro Boys,” and then found further momentum with his starring work in the post-apocalyptic series “Fear the Walking Dead.” Ever since then, he’s been on an exceptional hot streak: the loving father in “If Beale Street Could Talk,” a code-switching pimp in “Zola,” a slide trombone player in “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom,” villainous turns in “Candyman” and “The Color Purple,” an Emmy-nominated performance in “Euphoria” and an Oscar nominated turn for Best Actor in “Rustin.” Domingo has played every character imaginable, stretching himself beyond measure while enchanting audiences with a dramatic dexterity his films can barely contain.
And yet, astoundingly, he has never been better than in Greg Kwedar’s A24 distributed drama: “Sing Sing.” The script, adapted by Kwedar and Clint Bentley from the Esquire story about the Rehabilitation Through the Arts (RTA) program — an initiative to provide incarcerated individuals with the space for healing through staging performances of plays — is among the most delicate and caring he’s ever received. The camerawork by cinematographer Pat Scola and Kwedar understands and captures his boundless capacity for invention. The character of Divine G, a playwright and incarcerated man seeking parole, is multifaceted and aching — representing his richest character yet. Placed at the center of a deep ensemble involving Paul Raci as program director Brent Buell, Sean San José as Divine G’s best friend Mike Mike, and an unforgettable Clarence “Divine Eye” Maclin as himself — a hustler and dealer who forms a close bond with Divine G — Domingo has found a cast of characters capable of playing with the same verve and attentiveness as him. The result is a vital, humanist portrait that shows Domingo at his most tender, his most broken and his most empathetic.
RogerEbert.com met with Domingo at the Peninsula Chicago to talk about the collaborative spirit on “Sing Sing,” dancing with the camera, and whether he’d ever do a comedy.
This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.
As I was preparing for this interview, I was thinking about how long you’ve been working. And I tried to remember what I first saw you in, and the first film that came to mind was “Red Hook Summer.”
Wow. That’s a real deep, deep dive!
You’re in what, I think, is among Spike’s three best double dolly shots.
Isn’t it fantastic? And it’s wild because I always tell people I got one of Spike’s best dolly shots. It’s so character and story driven, and emotional.
Yes!
And I can still remember the day we did it because he was leaning out of his car and when I showed up to set, he was like: So, you ready? You ready for this? You ready for the dolly shot? I said: I’m good. I’m good. He was like: All right, I’m just making sure you’re ready. And then we did it. I’ll never forget it, really. I knew I needed to build on the dolly, and pull up all of the emotion in one take. And we did that, and Spike lost his entire mind. [Laughs] So I think what he used was the first take.
Oh wow.
It was the first and then it was on to the next one.
I think the one in “Red Hook Summer” is the closest he’s ever gotten to matching Melvin Van Peebles’ take in “The Story of a Three-Day Pass.” You can feel the room, the characters, along with the external and internal emotions of the character. In any case, I saw “Sing Sing” back at TIFF, and have loved it ever since. How did you work your way into this character? I know the person you play, Divine G, has a story by credit. Did you lean on him to build the character?
I found my way into this story, I think, in a more unique way. I didn’t have to do a deep dive into the prison industrial complex. I had to take a bit more of myself and put that into the given circumstances. Because what I knew about Divine G was that he went to the performing arts high school in New York. I didn’t go to performing arts high school. I’m a performing artist. He’s very bookish and well studied. He spent most of his time in the law library. When he was on the inside, he was advocating for others and was in service to other members of his community to advocate for their liberation, believing that the system could work while knowing that the system had not served him.
So that taught me a lot about him. He’s someone who’s filled with hope and still has that creative spark, being a founding member of this RTA program. I didn’t have to do a lot of observing pf him. I wasn’t trying to mimic him. I needed to take what I knew and build a character with that and build someone that’s based off of him — but make him more of an every man so the audience can see themselves in him. Because it could be anyone of us that’s wrongly accused of something.
So I wanted to make sure that that was clear. For me, it was about doing that deep dive and then really bringing a bit more of myself. Honestly, I know for sure, and I can actually articulate it now because I saw the film for the second time just the other day, what I saw was a very unmasked performance, something that is a bit more raw and a bit more closer to myself than I ever imagined. It was just very human. I didn’t have to pull that out, like with all the research of “Rustin,” which was required to be him. I could be more internal, which was a great exercise. It stripped me a bit more bare.
You’ve mentioned in other places that you didn’t sign up for this project, you helped to build it up. I was wondering if you could talk about the difference between the two.
That’s funny. I guess that’s a different way to put it. Because when I signed up for this, there was an offer and there was an invitation for me to be a part of building this. That’s different from being cast. Anybody who knows me, they know that I have my own production company — I’ve made my own way in this industry as a director, as a writer, and all the different things that I do. They wanted that. They were like: We want you to help us think about this, to help us interrogate the work and help us wrestle with the language. Help us build this. And so I had an opinion about everything: the scenic design, the staging, the text, craft services, flowers. Which is beautiful. That means we’re really building this in a community sort of way. When I see the film, I don’t know where one person’s work ends and another one’s begins because it was really creating a brain trust and sharing and giving all that you had.
With some projects I’m required to leave one part of myself behind. I’m like: Oh, well, I’m not directing this. So I’ll just keep my opinions to myself as a director. I’m like: How’s that being staged? You’re putting the camera there? [internally] Don’t say anything. Just do your work as an actor. But with this it was like: No, Colman, what do you think? So I would ask: What story are we telling here? What are we doing here? Where’s that? What lens are you on? I see the whole of this and it’s such a deep, deep collaboration that I feel my fingerprints on every frame.
So this aligned more to your background as a playwright and director. It’s fascinating how this film sort of challenges what we think of auteur driven filmmaking, it’s more nakedly collaborative.
This is what I think is Greg Kwedar’s superpower. This is an auteur film. His way of doing it, he’s someone who is questioning a lot and feeling and figuring it out. He puts brilliant people all around him, people who may not have done this before or have had this position — but he’s interested in everyone finding out and figuring this out together. I think there’s something really dynamic and beautiful about that. He’s a director who’s willing to say: I’m not sure. Let’s try to figure that out together. He doesn’t come in knowing every single thing, which I think is the most liberating thing on the planet.
I stand behind people like that because I know that they’re curious to help figure it out. They build the room with smart people. I’ve been in rooms with President Obama or at a dinner with Obama. I see the way he gets information from people. He knows he’s smart and he wants to build with other smart people: What are your ideas? I think that’s what makes a great leader. That’s why I really applaud Greg Kwedar for what he’s done.
His curiosity is evident, especially with regard to how the camera observes performance. This film has so many long takes that allow the actors to play a bit. Do you prefer longer takes and the ability to riff, so to speak?
I think so because I’m that actor that when directors call cut too soon, it sends a chill up my back because I know I always have more. That’s not to say that I’m going be flagrant with the use of time or anything like that. But just keep that camera going a little bit longer because there’s probably a little bit more. I’m also probably even thinking about your cut. If I turn my head here and a camera operator doesn’t rack focus, I want to flip a table. [leans into the mic] He laughs, he laughs! He doesn’t mean that angrily.
But it’s true. I’m trying to offer up something. I know where the camera is. I know what’s happening. I’m always saying: I need a camera operator to dance with me. If you’re just saying, I’m going to stay locked here and then I move close and you don’t come and get in my eyes when you see the emotion coming, we’re not serving each other. Are you just gonna stay there? I was giving you this. You could move in, baby. I got you. I don’t know if that’s gonna happen on the next one.
This is a film that I feel like really gets to what you love to do as an actor.
I think so. And I also think that’s Pat Scola’s cinematography, his handhelds and what he does with natural light — he’s unabashedly going and looking at the landscape of the human face. And with that, maybe because his lens sometimes is so close, I felt more vulnerable. I could not give a large performance. It had to be subtle and nuanced. I felt that he was looking into my soul. I’ve never said this before, but I do believe it’s some of my best work.
It’s all the elements that were set up for me to be as vulnerable and as honest as possible. And also with my castmates, we really played off of each other because they were just coming from an honest place. These men who have this lived experience, they were offering that as well as the skills that they’ve learned on the inside. And so I wanted to meet them where they were and where they stood. We created something beautiful and dynamic that was really sincere. That’s the word I often say, it feels sincere. And it feels gentle. It doesn’t feel like the film is trying to pull the wool over anyone’s eyes. We’re trying to strip back and reveal even more. So that’s what I feel like I’ve been a part of. That feeling has been consistent from the beginning and in the way we’re releasing this film.
And with regard to meeting your castmates halfway, many of them in these long takes are also exploring memories and experiences and bringing them to the surface. What’s your responsibility as a scene partner during those moments?
To be generous and gentle, and to never judge. Judgment is like death to creativity. When you’re standing and you think a person’s supposed to do something or you think a scene is supposed to be a certain way, I’ve never been that person. I always show up to a scene open and available. Even though I’ve done my research, I know the texts, I know probably even what the colors of the scene might be — it’s the exploration, to be challenged with something new and different. That’s what I got from working with Clarence, Sean San José — who happens to be my best friend, as well — or Paul Raci. We all sort of get off on the fact that we’re not exactly sure what the other person’s going to give. There’s a sparkle in our eyes and a sparkle in our performances. That’s what I hope to get pretty much every time I get on set. I hope for that moment.
In terms of building the moment and the energy, of course, this was shot in a decommissioned prison. Could you talk about how that space impacted your performance and your approach?
In every single way, man. The first time I went to my “holding cell” I kept getting lost. I think I’m really good with directions. Not in a prison. Because by design you can never figure your way out. Everything looks alike. I would always have to have a PA take me to the bathroom because I couldn’t figure out the way back. That’s by design. These things play with you psychologically, you’re in this loop and maybe you’re going to be in this loop for the rest of your life. That’s the way I took it. Maybe it’s kind of poetic in a way.
I’m sure it’s by design, even the lack of air. It didn’t feel like the air was moving in this space, especially when you get into these small cells. You look at these cells, you’re like: This isn’t for a person. No matter what they’ve done, it doesn’t feel human. I don’t know how rehabilitation can happen in this environment. It doesn’t feel like a place where hope is poured into. That’s why this program in particular, RTA, coming into this space is like that big hand of love coming in and saying: Hey, it’s not over. We can give you tools to get better, for you to heal communities and heal your spirit, to work on your trauma and work on the stuff you’ve done.
But in the space I was in, I didn’t feel any of that. It felt like the antithesis of it. So it did get me to think about it differently. I always took my breaks outside. I had to go outside and get some sunlight and get some fresh air. At the end of the day, Sean San Jose, who plays Mike, Mike, and I would go for a walk. We would go back to the town of Beacon and go for a long walk down by the water. We needed that. You realize what such a simple thing, needing to go outside for a walk, does for you. You don’t get that there. If you do, it’s very controlled. It doesn’t feel like a place where life springs.
At this point in your career, you have a lot more freedom in what you get to choose. Is there a guiding ethos to the roles you decide to take?
I think if people look at my entire career of the past 33, 34 years, they’ll see that I’ve had that ethos since I was 21 years old. They will go back and look at me being in “The Scottsboro Boys,” they will look at “Passing Strange,” they will look at the film work and the tv, whatever it is, and see the line. I want to be purposeful. I want it to be intentional and mindful with the work that I do. I feel like what I have is a gift. I’ve been gifted with this, to do well with it, and to tell people’s stories and to tell complex stories about African American men in different ways. I don’t take that lightly, man. I really don’t. I really do feel like I’m in service. And it’s guarded me and allowed me to be honest. When people are like: Oh, but you did a zombie show. I’m like: Yeah. But it was about our humanity. I did the best of the best. I did “Fear The Walking Dead,” which is about who are when the shit hits the fan.
Yeah. It wasn’t D-level schlock.
I’m like: Nah. I didn’t pander in any way with my career. That was eight seasons of a character that I really cared about, and I was fighting for his humanity and fighting for mine too. While I was doing it, I became a television director and a producer as well. Everything is in concert with what I believe my soul desires to do. It makes sense that I did “The Color Purple,” “Sing Sing,” and then did pickups with “Rustin,” three things that are very humanist. And I will continue to do that.
I’m about to go do a comedy with Tina Fey — ”The Four Seasons.” It’s just about relationships in our fifties. If that isn’t humanist, I don’t know what it is. But it’s a comedy; it’s a swing for me. It’s doing something different. But it’s still very much about who we are. I would write that as a playwright on my board: Who are we? Who are they? What are they trying to be? What happens if they don’t get what they need? These are the questions that I’ll always have with every character, with every play, with everything I direct. Because I think that’s what keeps me so grounded. That’s what I know my purpose is. I sometimes wish I could do something that just paid a lot of money. But then I would just feel mad. It’s not for me.
That was one of my questions. Because I know that one of the last times you visited Chicago, you took an improv class. Would you ever do a comedy?
I love comedy. I feel like I’m a pretty funny person. I got good timing. My comedy started with Shakespeare and romantic comedies and stuff like that years ago. I feel like, now, maybe I’m in a place where I’m ready to keep expanding, but still with that same ethos. Who doesn’t want to do a romantic comedy? I would. I wanna be in love. Why not?
But again, at the end of the day, when I read a script, there’s something in my gut where I know I have to do it. I’m curious about it. It’s going to break me open in some way. It’s gonna change me in some way. I feel like just relating to the RTA program and “Sing Sing,” as well, it’s going to bring something out in you. You’re kind of nervous about it. You’re a little scared about it. But that’s part of the journey.
I feel like I’m building more life skills with every single thing I do. I feel like I’m becoming, hopefully by the time I’m 70, a more complete, evolved individual because I believe I have those tools with my work. My work shows me and teaches me about who I can be and what I want to be in the world. So I’m still building and evolving into that man because I have this incredible work and this foundation that’s been built. It’s kind of cool.
