In the three-time Oscar-nominated drama “Sing Sing,” Jon-Adrian “JJ” Velazquez and his fellow cast members tell a story that began nearly 20 years ago in a maximum-security prison.
In 2005, a group of men in New York’s Sing Sing Correctional Facility performed a time-traveling musical comedy called “Breakin’ the Mummy's Code” for their fellow prisoners. The delightfully offbeat play follows an Egyptian prince who, after his “mummy” dies, solves a series of riddles featuring familiar characters: Robin Hood and his Merry Men, Maid Marian and Hamlet, to name a few. “Sing Sing” tells the story behind the original production and Rehabilitation Through the Arts (RTA), the program that made it possible.
Velazquez is among 13 RTA alumni who play themselves in the film. “I remember my mother telling me, ‘In your mind, you have to find your freedom,’” said the 49-year-old father who spent almost 24 years in prison for a murder he didn’t commit. “And that’s what acting became for me.”
On Feb. 3, Velazquez and other “Sing Sing” cast members reunited at New York Theater Workshop to perform “Breakin’ the Mummy’s Code” for the first time in 20 years. In two shows presented by A24 and The Just Trust, Velazquez played the guard who protects the mummy’s tomb.
In this as-told-to edited and condensed for length and clarity, Velazquez explains how acting saved his life, redefined his purpose, and inspired others to do the same.
Not long after I arrived at Sing Sing Correctional Facility in 2005, someone told me there was going to be a play in the auditorium. I’d seen plays put on by theater groups from the outside, but this time, it was incarcerated people putting on a show. I had never seen anything like that inside prison, so I had to check it out. And boy, was I amazed.
The name of the play was “The N Trial.” Clarence Maclin, one of my co-stars in “Sing Sing,” was playing a prosecutor who was putting the N-word on trial. He was going into the history of the word, and a lawyer was on the opposite side defending it. The N-word was played by an actual person, too!
What I really found interesting was the way they used art to tap into the intellect and culture of Sing Sing’s population. After “The N Trial,” I saw people correcting others who were continuing to use the N-word, saying “No, brother, call me beloved.” Usually, the mentality in prison is mind your business. But now, people were correcting one another. I remember thinking, Wow, how do you not be a part of something like that? That’s how I discovered Rehabilitation Through the Arts.
Through acting, I learned not to be so serious. I was facing the most serious circumstances of my life, and it was hard to step out of that sometimes. I came to prison as a destroyed 22-year-old, because I was incarcerated for a crime I didn’t commit. My father was a military veteran in the Army, and he came home and became a police officer for Amtrak, so I grew up believing in the system. So, in 1998, when they accused me of [fatally] shooting a [retired New York] police officer, I went to the precinct and I volunteered for a lineup. This was against my lawyer's wishes, but I was so naive. I thought, What could go wrong? I'm at a precinct. This is the police. They’re gonna do everything right.
It was the worst decision that I ever made. I was a father of two, and here I was, facing the death penalty for the murder of a police officer. I couldn’t wrap my head around how my life had changed in the blink of an eye. I was callous and somewhat bitter when I first got to prison because of it. I was losing myself. I remember my mother telling me, “You gotta understand that they can lock up your body, but they can’t lock up your mind. In your mind, you have to find your freedom.”
And that’s what acting became for me. In prison, you can sometimes forget you actually are human, because you may not be treated like one. You forget that you can be playful in such a serious place, where your life may be on the line the minute you walk out of a classroom or your cell. Acting meant having safe spaces to be able to escape from those harsh realities that nobody wants to face or talk about. That’s what made it a blessing.
Acting opened the doors for me to apply myself in so many other ways. I became a part of the Inmate Liaison Committee, sitting down with prison administrators to advocate for the population. I was also the president of Latinos Unidos, an organization that supports incarcerated Latino individuals, and I worked with Hudson Link For Higher Education in Prison, helping others pursue degrees.
One of the most meaningful things I did was co-create the C.H.O.I.C.E.S program (Choosing Healthy Options and Confronting Every Situation) to teach the significance of healthy decision-making to the children of incarcerated parents. We created a culture where people inside were contemplating their choices on a regular basis, realizing that better decisions lead to better lives. When you lose everything — your freedom, your control over your own life — you learn just how much that ability to choose matters. I exercised that freedom every chance I got, making sure every choice I made was the right one. That mindset shaped my path in prison, and eventually, it led to my release.
In 2021, I was granted executive clemency [by New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo] because of the work I was doing inside. It wasn’t based on my wrongful conviction. I wasn’t pardoned. In fact, I served 23 years, seven months and eight days before they let me out on community supervision. It felt like a slap in the face, because that was like another sentence. No favors were done for me. I finished parole on March 9, 2024, only months before the Manhattan prosecutor's office completed their investigation [and a judge] officially exonerated me on Sept. 30, 2024. They tried to break me at every turn, but programs like Rehabilitation Through the Arts and Hudson Link kept me going.
Just months after I got out, I found myself back in prison — this time, a decommissioned one — to play myself in “Sing Sing,” a movie about the very program that had given me hope. It was surreal. After spending 20-plus years fighting to get out, I was now walking back in, wearing that uniform and embodying the spirit of being incarcerated again. I was the last person on the cast to have been released; everyone else had years out to process it. It wasn’t easy for me.
We filmed for 18 days in July, and if you know anything about prisons, you know they are conductors of weather. It was unbearably hot, and every moment in that space carried the weight of the years I lost. But this time, I was an actor. And I was a part of telling our story on our terms.
What people don’t realize is that much of the cast knew each other long before the film. While we were incarcerated, several of us were in school together, earning degrees in behavioral science. We sat in classrooms, supported each other and worked toward something bigger than ourselves. Those bonds don’t fade. When you’ve relied on someone at your worst, that stays with you. That’s why our recent performance of “Breakin’ the Mummy’s Code” at the New York Theatre Workshop was so important. It wasn’t just a show to us; it was a reunion.
I prepared for this performance by re-reading the script, studying my cues and watching old prison performance videos [that director and playwright] Brent Buell sent us. Everyone acts, whether in job interviews or daily life, projecting an image to seal the deal. But this was different because of the passion we brought. We wanted to change how the world sees us and move beyond the stigma of being seen as a “prisoner,” an “inmate” or a “felon.”
Acting has opened up a new dimension of activism for me. In the last year and a half, I’ve met amazing people — from actors and filmmakers to regular people — all dedicated to being part of the change. I want to continue using the platform [“Sing Sing” created] to raise awareness and push the pendulum in the right direction. I fought to get out of the system, to escape that darkness, and yet I find myself fighting just to get back into prisons to help others. When I was on parole, and I’d try to go into prisons, they would tell me to come back when I was off parole, when I was exonerated. Well, now I’m exonerated and knocking on the door again. Can I come back in now?
People think I’m crazy for wanting to go back, but I know the truth: There is so much talent behind those walls. So many people never had the opportunity to see what else was possible. They didn’t know how to deal with their circumstances, circumstances where poverty was their father and lack of opportunity was their mother. They thought what they were doing was the way to survive.
My mission is to go into prisons and help those who, like me, have talent but lack opportunity. My hope is to show them that they can survive, live their best life, and that they don't have to commit a crime. That’s the message we need to spread. That’s what I do through my own work and my work with my castmates.
I’m also focused on continuing my activism, including an anticipated lawsuit against New York City for my wrongful conviction. After everything I’ve been through, this lawsuit is about fighting for my respect. Beyond that, I’m excited about the movie me and my team are working on about my story. This work I’m doing now, as an actor and activist, is my purpose, and I’m here to keep pushing forward.
Jon-Adrian “JJ” Velazquez is an actor and activist committed to legal reform. He was wrongfully convicted of the 1998 murder of a retired police officer, and spent nearly 24 years in prison before being exonerated in September 2024. During his time at Sing Sing Correctional Facility, Velazquez led many programs and initiatives, including organizing TEDx events and advancing education through Hudson Link. His advocacy expanded into projects like the Pulitzer Prize-winning podcast, “Letters From Sing Sing,” the book “The Sing Sing Files,” and the MSNBC docuseries, “The Sing Sing Chronicles.” He also stars as himself in the A24 film “Sing Sing.”
