RICKY: A Young Black Man in America

A film review by Dr. Lloyd Sederer

Awarded for Direction, Rashad Frett, US Drama, Sundance Film Festival, 2025

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RICKY is the fictional story of a young black man in America, the northeast, not the south. Phillip Roth wrote, “... fiction is the closest thing we have to the truth".

Convicted of armed auto theft at age 15, Ricky was sentenced as an adult to what would last 15 years in a men’s prison.

As the screen comes alive, we see a stocky, powerfully built black man still looking 30, his possessions in a small bag as he walks out the sally ports of a prison. He has been released on parole, wearing an electronic “bracelet”.

Stephan James plays, no – is, Ricky. His screen brilliance exudes psychic turmoil, with grimaces, long pauses, and few or no words. His vacant eyes disappear into himself, as if he were beat with a whip while his emotions roil beneath the surface. We also witness his deep well of resilience to defeat by a culture of animus to and among young, black men.

On parole, Ricky has meetings to attend, where his violations of timeliness and attendance are failing marks reported to his Parole Officer. He goes from one low wage job to another, never realizing paid work as a prison trained barber. The ‘tough love’ of his parole officer is a touch of kindness, a bright though distant light when so much else was hell. He stifles his pain, and remarks, “...{it} hurts more than prison”, referring to life after release; he tries several times to take his life. Yet, he has the unceasing, life sustaining and loving demands of his mother, who will “never give up” on him when he needs it, as he often does, as does she.

An ensemble worthy of Mr. James (who also produced the film) supplies a torrent of grim, enraged, and loving feelings to vividly contrast Ricky’s taciturn demeanor. They include Ricky’s mother, a passionate, pained Winsome (Simbi Kali); his parole officer Joanne (Sheryl Lee Ralph) urging “...you can do it”, as she did, having herself gone from homelessness to law enforcement; his younger brother, James, burning his way to disaster (Maliq Johnson); and the only visible white person in the film, Leslie Torino (Titus Welliver), a retired military man with a cool car and a pistol, who embodies a message of honor and integrity.

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Prisons are legendary for making life-long felons of first-time offenders. Many will die along the way, killed by their “brothers”, by police trained to shoot for their safety, and those ‘lifers’ who die from illness and old age in prison wards appearing like minimally supplied general hospital units. Until these men die, prisons are PhD programs in anti-social behavior; women’s correctional lives are not quite the same, rife as they are with rage, jealousy, manipulation, and their complex attachments to their children.

This film takes us on the dreadful ride Ricky endures. Which presents viewers’ questions such as - take your choice: Has he not had enough punishment? Is his life inescapably ill-fated by the scars from the world of his youth, further doomed by the social inequities of his life, his efforts notwithstanding? Or is it American culture – and its suction pump of prison - disproportionately aimed at poor people of color.

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Black Americans represent “13% of the U.S. population but account for roughly 37% to 49% of theincarcerated population” (https://www.prisonpolicy.org/blog/2023/09/27/updated_race_data/), not including many in other correctional systems, e.g., police, pretrial detention, sentencing, and diversion.

Prisons are a growing, prospering industry, an injection of jobs and money for poor counties and states throughout the USA.

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Can another story be written for the vast numbers, especially men and women of color, populating our jails and prisons? Yes, but not by incarcerating offenders, especially for non-violent crimes.

Many readers are familiar with Alternatives to Incarceration (ATI). Colleagues working in this area tell me that many DAs, tasked with bringing an offender to trial, express an interest in unlocked detention centers for inmates judged to be a minimal escape risk and not a danger in their community - in less costly facilities that could repurpose the high costs of locked incarceration to better pay for both mental and occupational rehabilitation. A pioneering program is underway in New York State.

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The film closes after Ricky has served two years for a second car theft conviction, this time taking the “rap” for his younger brother, as he did for a friend his first time around.

He is being driven in an open convertible. The speed, wind, and his long-lost freedom bring a big smile to his face. On the surface, he seems to have shed the miseries of this further incarceration. We hope the best, but we know better.

But the “best” for the legions of Rickys in all our communities, especially those poor, of color, and carrying the traumas of their past, calls for an infrequent combination of safe, affordable, housing, the dignity of steady work with a living wage, and supportive relationships.

As the film’s Parole Officer said, “It’s gonna be hard, ...hard. But you can do it!”

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Ricky is currently playing in select theaters nationwide, as well as for purchase on Apple TV and Fandango at Home

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Lloyd Sederer MD is a psychiatrist, public health doctor, and non-fiction writer.

www.askdrlloyd.com