Behind the wall at the maximum-security prison where Johnny Cash once sang about shooting a man just to watch him die, rival inmates serving sentences for violent crimes are setting aside their differences, linking arms and tearfully baring their innermost feelings to each other.
This unlikely act of bonding behind bars is the focus of a new documentary called “The Work,” which offers an eye-opening look at a four-day group-therapy intensive for felons at Folsom State Prison in California.
Within the cinder-block walls of the prison’s chapel, under the guidance of trained noninmate volunteer counselors, 40 prisoners open up and come to terms with their troubled pasts — the gruesome crimes they committed, the broken homes they knew as children, the abuse and betrayal they’ve experienced throughout their lives.
‘The only emotion those guys are allowed to show [in prison] is rage. They have to be reminded how to feel again.’
Run by a two-decade-old nonprofit called the Inside Circle Foundation, the program — which began as a prison poetry workshop — now operates in several California prisons with the aim of creating a safe space for self-reflection and healing dialogue.
“The only emotion those guys are allowed to show [in prison] is rage,” the documentary’s co-director Jairus McLeary tells The Post. “They have to be reminded how to feel again.”
Jairus’ connection to the story is personal: His father, clinical psychologist James McLeary, is Inside Circle’s CEO.
James says the therapy sessions (held weekly in addition to the four-day intensives) help inmates identify the roots of their anger and anxiety and address those causes head-on — so feelings don’t manifest through brutality and violence.
“If you know what demon is driving you, and know the cues that are precipitating you going into full-scale mayhem, you can slow the process down,” James says. “We raise their awareness and give them coping skills.”
The film, which won a grand jury prize at this year’s South by Southwest Film Festival and opens on Oct. 27 at the Village East Cinema, captures a number of transformative moments.
Kiki, an inmate serving 17 years for murder and robbery, at first tells the group he feels that “it’s not OK to cry” in prison — even though he’s mourning the death of his sister. Moments later, however, encircled by his fellow inmates, he develops enough trust to air his sorrow, weeping and shouting in grief as the men support him.
Dante, an inmate who is 17 years into a life sentence, becomes highly emotional when describing how much he misses his son and admits to having serious thoughts of suicide. With a counselor’s support and validation, he pledges to survive at least another three months. The two embrace, and Dante’s microphone presses against his chest, his heartbeat audibly slowing to a calmer rate.
The film captures some tense moments, too. In one scene, after an inmate known as Dark Storm displays emotional vulnerability, a facilitator named Brian calls him gentle. Feeling mocked, Dark Storm lunges at Brian, who later says he didn’t know the word would be so triggering.
Nevertheless, most inmates — who sign up for the Inside Circle’s program on their own — respond positively. Of the 60 participants in the organization’s history who have gone on to earn parole, not one has returned to prison, James says. And those who remain incarcerated are less likely to be written up for violent incidents, as proven in a recent analysis of five inmates before and after their four-day sessions. “The reports went from very high to zero,” he says.
Jairus adds that the volunteer counselors often find themselves confronting their own issues as a result of their interactions with inmates.
“This is not a film about prison,” he says.“It’s a film about people who just so happen to be in prison.”
James believes the prison setting itself plays a big role in compelling all parties to be authentic.
“In the prison, there’s a brutal honesty,” he says. “Outside, there’s this kind of false politeness. When you go in that chapel, you don’t get to pretend.”