Roger Ebert

If you read the synopsis of “Sing Sing,” you might mistake it for a movie you’ve seen before. It’s a drama starring Colman Domingo as one of a group men in serving time in prison whose participation in a theater arts program gives them something to look forward to and improves them as human beings. It ends on what a studio boss might call an “up note.” But it doesn’t move or feel like any other prison movie, or movie about theater students, that I’ve seen, and its commitment to the truth of its characters — and of life itself — is rare and precious. 

Writer-director Greg Kwedar and his script partner Clint Bentley developed the project after buying the rights to the 2005 Esquire article “The Sing Sing Follies,” by John H. Richardson. But they didn’t just shrink-wrap a true story in Hollywood cliches. They did what good journalists would do and re-reported the entire thing by interviewing people from the story as well as various participants in the Sing Sing correctional facility’s theater program. Then they cast some key roles with people who went through that same program. 

And then—the crowning touch—they kept the movie loose and airy (but never slow) and allowed scenes to play out in a way that feels real, especially in the drama club meetings. Participants are shown rehearsing scenes, talking about their meaning and construction, giving each other notes on how to perform the material, and talking about how the art informs their lives (or the reverse). The result is probably closer in feeling to work by an English “realist” director like Mike Leigh or Ken Loach, letting the form of a scene or an entire sequence change according to whatever’s happening onscreen that’s most interesting and shooting it in a way that makes it feel like it’s all spontaneously happening. The film crew strives to get as nice a shot as they can without sacrificing that feeling of immediacy.

Domingo plays Divine G, one of many real people who went through the program. He was an actor and aspiring playwright in high school before his life went off the rails. He’s a devotee of theater, loves to act and read plays, and approaches it all with the quiet fervor of somebody who found religion behind bars. Some of the most memorable images in “Sing Sing’ focus on Domingo’s face in closeup as Divine G performs, thinks, or silently observes others.

The prison is a cold, cruel place full of violent men whose daily life revolves around trying not to antagonize the alpha dogs within the prison population or the guards looming over them. Discipline/punishment seems arbitrary. Cells get “tossed’ by guards in a heedless manner that seems meant more to humiliate and terrorize than find forbidden things.

The theater program is an oasis from all of that. “We’re here to be human again,” one participant says. It’s also a place where the effectiveness of art as a tool of enlightenment can be demonstrated just by showing a bunch of actors doing their thing. 

Paul Raci, who was so memorable as the hero’s mentor in “The Sound of Metal,” is a measured and understated but strong presence as the group leader who has to wrangle all of the egos assembled in front of him every week. He has an ego himself: the movie doesn’t get into the details, but it’s inferred that he writes all of the original plays performed by the group, that while he takes suggestions for what types of material to combine, it’s ultimately his show, and he has to go off and struggle with the blank page just like any other author.

There’s a bit of tension courtesy of a dynamic but edgy and sometimes combative new troupe member, Divine Eye. He’s played by Clarence “Divine Eye” Maclin, who went to Sing Sing for armed robbery in real life and is playing a fictionalized version of himself here. At first, it seems as if the movie is setting up a rivalry between the two Divines, possibly an “All About Eve” scenario about jealousy and treachery in a theater group. 

But here, as elsewhere, “Sing Sing” doesn’t choose a well-trod path. Divine G is a fundamentally decent person who has insecurities like anybody (the suppressed terror in the character’s eyes when he fears he’s about to be eclipsed by a newcomer is beautifully expressed). But he also has enough self-control and confidence to see beyond the immediate moment and transform a potentially ruinous situation into something beautiful just by being his best self. The burgeoning relationship between these two actors is the secret backbone of the movie, and its conclusion has the kind of understated sincerity that old movies by directors like Howard Hawks and Billy Wilder used to do so well.

“Sing Sing” is a small enough movie that it won’t be playing in every multiplex. But you should still try to see it with an audience if possible because it’s the kind of film that reaffirms what the experience is about. You can feel the collective mental hum of an audience recognizing what the movie is up to — usually a few beats after it has started down a specific path, because it’s pretty sly about what it’s doing. Sometimes the movie seems to be going off on a tangent, only to reveal itself as an element that would diminish the whole if removed. 

I learned, and rediscovered, a lot about film, theater, and the arts while watching “Sing Sing.” The more you sit with it, the more you admire everything it does and is. 

Chicago (July 11, 2024) – Entertainment industry leader and philanthropist Chaz Ebert today announced a bold initiative aimed at restoring civility in political discourse across the United States. Ebert is calling on members of Congress and all candidates seeking elected office to pledge their commitment to fostering a more respectful and empathetic dialogue among political leaders and with the American public.

Ebert is urging politicians to embrace Forgiveness, Empathy, Compassion and Kindness, the four attributes that encompass the FECK Principles outlined in her new book, It’s Time to Give a FECK: Elevating Humanity Through Forgiveness, Empathy, Compassion and Kindness. These principles serve as a framework for promoting understanding and constructive dialogue, especially amidst today’s increasing polarization, rancor, and vitriol in political discussions.

Ebert’s call to action urges leaders from both political parties to commit to civil discourse not only through the November election but as an ongoing commitment to effective governance. She specifically calls on members of Congress and all candidates seeking elected office to adopt and practice the FECK Principles.

To emphasize her point, Ebert will distribute copies of It’s Time to Give a FECK to Congressional representatives and local politicians, encouraging them to use it as a guiding framework for this initiative.

“I believe that embracing Forgiveness, Empathy, Compassion, and Kindness is essential to restoring faith in our political system,” said Chaz Ebert. “It’s urgent that our leaders adopt these principles to set a powerful example for our nation and help unify our communities. They can still advocate strongly for their positions while upholding these values, and directly contribute to a more civil and compassionate political climate.”

Ebert’s vision for this initiative aligns closely with the core messages of her book, emphasizing the relevance of the FECK Principles to the current political landscape. Detailed within the book are practical steps for embracing these principles and fostering a more civil and compassionate climate that can transform political discourse and unify communities.

To learn more about the FECK Principles, visit giveafeck.com.

For media inquiries, please contact Bonnie Rice at Elevate Communications, brice@elevatecom.com.

Order on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookshop, or Books-A-Million.

About Chaz Ebert

Chaz Ebert is the CEO of Ebert Digital LLC, publisher of the preeminent movie review site RogerEbert.com; and legal adviser and TV and movie producer at Ebert Productions. For twenty-four years, she shared a life with Pulitzer Prize-winner Roger Ebert. In their work to foster empathy through cinema, they established the Ebertfest Film Festival and the Roger Ebert Center for Film Studies at the University of Illinois. Chaz has passionately continued to lead all events while nurturing film critics, filmmakers, and technologists through the Roger Ebert Fellowship. She awards the Golden Thumb and Ebert Humanitarian Awards to filmmakers who exhibit an unusually compassionate view of the world.  

What is it about the sound of wind? It can be undeniably relaxing, a common setting on white noise machines. But there’s something slightly menacing about it as well. Something coming. Something moving. A storm on the horizon. A pathogen traveling through the air. 

The sound of wind rustling the grass and leaves is almost a character in “Family Portrait,” adding to a rising tension in this unique, confidently made film that very purposefully plays more like a dream than realism. Set in the days just before COVID, it’s a foreboding film, a drama that recreates the sense that something bad is going to happen or may have happened already, and the common practice of a frozen shot of a happy family doesn’t capture what’s happening around that single second of forced smiling. That might make “Family Portrait” sound like a melodrama as hundreds of filmmakers have used events like the one Kerr does here to unpack the fragile bonds between blood relatives and those who marry their way onto family trees. But this is not exactly that movie. This is a relatively happy family. Like so many were in early 2020.

Kerr’s opening shot is one of the best cinematic overtures of the year. In silence, we watch a group of seemingly well-off people moving through a field, images that recall a family gathering. It’s almost as if the camera can’t figure out who it should settle on, giving us the POV of a participant in the event while also defining the film’s fluid visual language. A character walks into a moving frame that goes too fast for her to keep up or slides over to someone else, almost like the wind is moving it. Silent at first, the sounds of the event slowly filter in as the kids play and the adults talk over one another.

After that tone-setter, Kerr settles into a large family estate where relatives have gathered for an annual event: the taking of a photograph for the year’s holiday card. Most scenes unfold with a static camera, almost as if someone placed one in the room to eavesdrop on a conversation – although that shouldn’t be construed as a criticism of Kerr’s incredibly strong eye, one that can make even these frozen shots feel more than mundane.

Eventually, a protagonist emerges in the form of Katy (Deragh Campbell), who has brought her Polish boyfriend Olek (Chris Galust) home to take the family portrait. Tension seems to emerge from the fact that he’s not included in the shot and that no one seems to have the urgency needed to take it with enough time for Katy and Olek to make their flight out. Conversations circle back to some of the international tension with talk of the death of a family member and a fascinating one about a photograph that may not be what it seems – you know, like how family photos don’t tell the whole story too.

It becomes clear that the matriarch of this clan has inexplicably disappeared. They can’t take the photo until they find Mom, but only Katy seems overly concerned. Is it because of the flight she might miss, or is something stranger going on? An extended sequence in which Katy walks the grounds and swims leads to a companion shot to that opening montage in which, soaking wet, she moves through a space where she passes other family members. Again, Kerr’s camera isn’t locked on Katy in a traditional manner, enhancing a sense of displacement and confusion – two things that would define so much of 2020.

Even at 74 minutes, “Family Portrait” sometimes feels like it would have made a stronger 20-minute short film. It’s stuck in that space where a filmmaker has too many ideas for a short but not quite enough meat on the bones for a feature. 

And yet, a mastery of tone here makes that criticism fade in memory—kind of like how we pick and choose what we remember from family gatherings. Snippets of discussions with interactions come to me when I think of annual Tallerico family reunions of my youth, and the photo that usually ended such events. If I close my eyes, I can almost hear the wind.

In 2020, photographer Luke Gilford published National Anthem, a monograph documenting the queer community in the International Gay Rodeo Association. The photographs are arresting and beautiful. Gilford grew up in the Southwest and loved rodeos as a kid. But the culture itself – macho, often homophobic – didn’t include him. He left the rodeo culture behind, until he discovered the IGRA. Gilford said in an interview with Vogue, “It was a revelation because I was, like, wow, you can exist safely in these spaces and find community and do so many of the things that I love doing – but in a queer community.” He spent a couple of years traveling through Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona, documenting this vibrant sub-culture within a sub-culture. Gilford’s first feature film, “National Anthem,” takes place in this community. 

Dylan (Charlie Plummer) is 21 years old but carries responsibilities far beyond his years. His mother (Robyn Lively) spends her nights drinking and bringing men home, leaving the care of Cassidy (Joey DeLeon), Dylan’s much younger brother, to Dylan. Dylan works as a day laborer. He cooks meals for Cassidy; he makes sure Cassidy does his homework, and he has conversations with him about things. He is tender with his brother, and patient. Dylan is saving up to buy an RV. Freedom. Does Dylan have friends? It doesn’t look like it. Girlfriend or boyfriend? No time. 

One day, he gets a two-week gig working at a ranch in the desert. From the back of the pickup truck transporting him there, he stares up at the words above the entry gate: House of Splendor. Within seconds Dylan realizes House of Splendor is not your ordinary ranch. He is struck by three women in billowy dresses riding horses. Everyone is working (driving tractors, feeding animals, gardening), but everyone looks happy. Dylan is captivated. He’s like Viola in Twelfth Night, who asks, “What country, friends, is this?” Pepe (Rene Rosado), the rancher who hired Dylan, puts him to work without explaining “what country” House of Splendor is. The work is hard, but the atmosphere is friendly. Dylan gets an instant-crush on one of the horse-riding women, a trans woman named Sky (Eve Lindley), who clearly feels his interest in her and encourages it. She’s welcoming. Everyone is.

The concept of “chosen family” has much resonance for people whose actual families shunned or abused them. House of Splendor, populated by queer rodeo riders of all sexual/gender identities, is a place of “chosen family.” Dylan has never been exposed to anything like this, not just different sexualities, but people who are kind and respectful to each other. These happy people live together on the ranch, eat food they grow, take care of animals, and participate in rodeos on weekends. They include Dylan in all of this.

The community seems like a utopia (or, at least, a utopia for people who never need any alone time). We don’t get to know many people in this community, beyond Sky, Pepe, and the wonderful Carrie, played by Mason Alexander Park with such warmth and intelligence it emanates off the screen. Dylan crushes on Sky; she is his first love, but Carrie is the guide, the warm mother figure (who also welcomes Cassidy to the fold on a day they all go to a county fair). All of these people, of course, have been through the trauma of non-acceptance from their families and the outside world. The political element – like Tennessee banning drag performances or the harmful legislation being passed – isn’t mentioned, but the lack of mention gives this community even more poetic resonance. These people are not just “survivors”. They are thriving. The rodeo is their world. They have created the world they want to live in. 

Gilford said in an interview, “One thing that I love about this community is that if you show up, you’re accepted. There’s something really beautiful about that. That’s what America is supposed to be.” Hence, the title. Gilford’s cinematic eye is attuned to details, and there is a documentary feel to many of the sequences, particularly the rodeo scenes. These are the real people doing the real thing. He’s also attuned to Dylan’s awakening, as is Plummer, whose face is so open and transparent the camera catches everything. The dawning of love, of “finding his people” (as Sky observes), is everywhere on his face. Gilford and cinematographer Katelin Arizmendi help us enter this world by presenting it lovingly and intimately. The big skies, the earth, the sunsets, the way people’s skin reflects the light, and the collage-like presentation of all the people who live at House of Splendor embed us in their experience. Gilford knows this world very well and it shows. 

These people participate in all the “tropes” of Western life: ranching, farming, rodeo, line-dancing. The people in this community take their cowboy hats off and place them over their hearts for the national anthem. They do this without irony or snark. This is their culture, too, whether or not the mainstream accepts them. The romance between Dylan and Sky, and the somewhat tense “love triangle” with Pepe, tends towards cliche, but, thankfully, Gilford – and the actors – fight against it. The visual language of the film is so strong, so poetic and palpable, it’s clear that “National Anthem” is not about whether Dylan and Sky will “make it” as a couple. “National Anthem” is about this shy young man “finding his people,” finding his chosen family. Whether or not he stays with them is not even important. He now knows there’s a wider world out there. There’s hope. For Dylan, and for his little brother. 

In his introduction to the National Anthem monograph, Gilford wrote: “One of the great powers of the queer rodeo is its ability to disrupt America’s tribal dichotomies that cannot contain who we really are – liberal versus conservative, urban versus rural, ‘coastal elite’ versus ‘middle America.’ It’s incredibly rare to find a community that actually embraces both ends of the spectrum.” “National Anthem” is tender and sweet, and it expresses all of these things in its visual language, allowing these sensations to be present without speaking them out loud. No one monologues the theme of the film. The theme is present in every frame. Gilford’s affection for the characters is clear. I’m happy to have met them, to have been welcomed into their world for a short time.