"In
Louisiana, life means life." At the infamous Angola Prison Farm - once
the most feared prison in America - a life sentence also meant a miserable existence
and certain death: death within walls you will never leave; violent death at
the hands of other inmates or guards; worked to death on the prison farm; death
by any available disease; death by court-ordered execution. Now known as
the Louisiana State Maximum Security Penitentiary, it is no longer the Angola
of old - but life still means life, and even if you're not on death row, hope
is hard to come by. Blues musician Rita Chiarelli has travelled to Angola
many times in the past decade, as the prison is steeped in blues history
(perhaps most famously, Huddie "Lead Belly" Ledbetter is said (likely
erroneously) to have garnered a pardon solely because the state governor was so taken
with his singing.)
Chiarelli
contacted Bruce McDonald enquiring if he might be interested in filming a
concert there, and McDonald jumped quickly at the chance. While he acknowledged that he was
initially thinking of Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison, Chiarelli had a twist. She had already played there for some
of the inmates on prior trips.
This trip, she was going to play with some of musicians doing hard time
there. There's no shortage of talent within the prison, and for those inmates who have earned a
little privilege, a bit of gear and a lot of time to practice helps keep them
focused on positive things.
We're not
just going to the birthplace of the blues, we're going to visit the blues in
the living room of their family home. Ultimately, though, while music features prominently, Music from the Big House is not significantly about
Chiarelli whipping up a hot concert playing blues, gospel, funk, and country
with men convicted of murder and rape: that's just the canvas. It's much more an exploration of
desperation, of forgiveness, and of the inexorable questions of whether
rehabilitation is possible, and whether prison exists to reform or to
punish. Neither Chiarelli nor
McDonald declare on one side or the other of these debates in the film, but the
moral struggle of the filmmaker and the subjects is palpable. Keenly shot by Steve Cosens and then
rendered into stark black and white, Music from the Big House throws life on
the outside into sharp relief.
Though it's a very selective portion of life behind the infamous
prison's walls, we can't help but hear the plaintive desperation, the surrender, and the turn
towards a sliver of hope - these things that have been the building blocks of
the blues since their inception.