Film and TV Editor John O’Connor Discusses Daughters and Sing Sing and their Portrayal of the American Prison System
Fifteen men sit in a circle. Their jumpsuits are orange; all wear the prescribed shoes, a number of their sleeves are rolled, and some of these men will never leave. Besides their incarceration, they have one thing in common, they want to see their daughters. They have all signed up for the 10-week ‘Date with Dad’ programme, which allows the men to see their children for a father-daughter dance. For many, this event provides the only opportunity to ever be able to hold their daughters.
“Our daddies are our mirrors," is the first line uttered in Netflix’s newest documentary Daughters (2024) by director and founder of the ‘Date with Dad’ programme Angela Patton. It is a line that not only serves an explanatory purpose but also sets the pensive tone of the documentary, which spans over ten weeks as a group of girls prepare for the dance while their fathers partake in parenting sessions.
These sessions in the DC prison are captured very simply yet poignantly, providing the viewer with the gift of sight into a world they might not be familiar with, a gift kindly wrapped in the care and warmth of the visual language created by the cinematography of Michael Fernandez and the sombre score of Kelsey Lu.
Prison, in many of these families' lives, is portrayed as an addiction, with many of the fathers in question relapsing and subsequently finding themselves back in the confinements of the DC prison’s walls. The documentary refrains from mentioning the crimes that saw these fathers incarcerated, in an attempt to instead focus on humanising the men. A hard feat to achieve on screen, the documentary succeeds in this to a devastating degree. The documentary holds no position of judgement, only understanding.
The girls, their heads adorned with tiaras, twirling in sequined dresses, and eyes glistened with tears, finally run to their fathers; their first ever embrace. This moment of reunion, or, in some cases, introduction, is underscored by the moments of isolation and the vestiges of a family that you see as the documentary unfolds. The only fragments of communication between the girls and their fathers prior to this are phone calls. During these calls, they approach a moment of reconciliation, an ominous voice transcends over them, reminding them, “This call is from a federal prison.”
The necessity of family and connection is palpable in Daughters. Prison is shown as a pit to traverse in seeking connection; with the ‘Date with Dad’ programme acting as a bridge. One little girl says, “Earth takes one year to circle round the sun. He'll keep going. He'll never stop.” The power of our planet is only comparable to the strength of these young girls and their torn apart families—the strength to seek connection and wait for family, even when the white picket fence of American suburbia is replaced with the metal bars of the American prison system.
Once you have watched Daughters, it will stay in your mind for much longer than you imagine; it has not left mine, and I cannot imagine it will for some time. Tears are a more-than-acceptable reaction to this documentary, and the understanding you will no doubt develop afterwards is a testament to the brilliant filmmaking. This documentary will break you, but will then put you back together; maybe better than before.
After the dance, the documentary continues. The director, Angela Patton, examines how the families have been affected by her ‘Date with Dad’ programme and the American prison system. For many, it was an extraordinary opportunity to bring their family together, but for others, the walls of a prison seem like too large an obstacle to cross. Families are being torn apart by violence and crime every day in America, but thanks to this programme and the documentary, which painfully chronicles a broken country, we are able to see, if only for a brief interlude, the unforgettable moment of a family coming together.
Sing Sing (2024) diverges from the stereotypical grim and bleak portrayal of the American prison system and instead offers a depiction of the system in a way that has never been shown before on screen. Directed by Greg Kwedar, the film follows Divine G (Colman Domingo) as a real-life inmate who partakes in the Rehabilitation Through the Arts (RTA) program at the Sing Sing Correctional Facility in New York.
Similar to Daughters, it is an outreach programme in the prison that acts as a beacon of hope for those inside the system. A promise of what waits for them when they leave, or, in some cases, what can fulfil them as they spend the rest of their lives in the system. Daughters portrayed the harsh reality of incarceration and the effect it has on the related families in a devastating way, whilst Sing Sing emphasises the positive and life changing impact of creative outlets on inmates.
This raw and hopeful portrayal challenges the viewer to reconsider their perceptions of the American prison system and those inside. Divine G (Colam Domingo) is imprisoned for a crime he did not commit, and then finds purpose in performance and storytelling in the theatre group, showing how it can provide an overwhelming sense of purpose and community. Although the message is hopeful, it does not mean the film refrains from asking demanding questions, such as, ‘Why is such a kind, talented, and most importantly, innocent man put in such a situation?’
Both portrayals, despite their differences, share the same message. Individuals, especially those isolated in the prison system, seek human connection and purpose, whether it’s through being a parent and holding your child, or storytelling and performance. Everyone, specifically those systemically and unfairly imprisoned, deserve a second chance, a moment to connect and to feel human again.