From The Shawshank Redemption to The Green Mile, we’ve seen plenty of movies about life behind bars, but far fewer about what happens afterward.
In his latest film Newborn, David Oyelowo plays a man stepping back into the world after seven years in solitary confinement, carrying the psychological weight of that time. The story shifts the focus from incarceration to its aftermath: the strain on relationships, the challenge of rebuilding a life, and the lingering effects of extreme isolation. That last element is a more pervasive issue than you might think: Oyelowo points out that roughly 80,000 to 100,000 people in the U.S. are currently held in some form of isolation.
We caught up with the critically acclaimed actor to talk about the role, how fatherhood shaped his approach, and what Newborn reveals about the realities of incarceration in the U.S.
Katie Couric Media: You’ve played a number of real-life figures, including Martin Luther King Jr. in Selma. What drew you to the fictional character of Chris Newborn, and what felt most important to get right about him?
David Oyelowo: The same thing that draws me to every character I play, whether they're fantastical or very normal, extraordinary or ordinary — the question of what makes them human.
Playing Dr. King was less about adding to his iconography or his reputation as a world figure than about who was the person behind the speeches, the marches, and the social activism.
We often see films about incarceration that center around people of color, and they tend to focus on the incarceration itself. This story is about the psychological fallout. What happens in the mind? How is one’s psyche affected, especially by something as debilitating as solitary confinement? It became very clear to me that [solitary confinement] is the definition of dehumanization — to extricate someone from humanity to that degree, punitively. And often it’s not commensurate with what they’re supposed to have done. Sometimes people are innocent.
So I’m fascinated by human beings, and I’m always looking for ways to reveal the nooks and crannies of our humanity in places where we don’t often get to see that.
Chris is coming out of seven years in solitary confinement. How did you approach portraying that kind of psychological reality?
I’m not about to go and experience solitary confinement. Studies have shown that after 13 to 14 days, you're never the same again. Your brain is fundamentally rewired.
So I read a lot. Books like Solitary by Albert Wood Fox, who spent over 40 years in solitary confinement. Another called Hell Is a Very Small Place. But my primary source was a man named Richard Rosario, who spent 20 years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit — seven of those in solitary. He was incredibly generous and vulnerable about what he was still dealing with.
A lot of what I bring to the film is based on his guidance, especially the struggle to reconnect with loved ones after being released.
The film focuses on life "outside" after prison — an angle viewers don’t often see portrayed. What do people misunderstand about that reentry?
It’s not dissimilar to how people misunderstand life after war. There are mental, emotional, and physical circumstances people have endured that make reintegration incredibly challenging. And I just don’t think the support systems are in place — not in terms of knowledge, and not in terms of institutions or organizations. Those systems exist, but not at the scale of the need.
There are a lot of people walking around fundamentally broken by the prison industrial complex. And I think that’s one of the things people don’t fully grasp — you don’t know who you’re riding the subway with or standing next to in the supermarket.
Through this film, that’s been extraordinary to me. I can almost guarantee that in your orbit right now, there are people who have not only been in prison, but have likely endured solitary confinement. On any given day, between 80,000 and 100,000 people in America are in solitary. Over the course of your life, you’ve almost certainly interacted with people who have gone through that, without ever knowing it.
And their struggles — depression, difficulty holding a job or maintaining relationships, even suicide — are often tied to experiences like this.
Zooming in on that experience, what was the most difficult part of stepping into Chris’s mindset?
So much of life for someone who has endured solitary confinement takes place in their own mind. The levels of paranoia, distrust — not just of your environment but of yourself, your own thoughts.
Humans are not designed for isolation. Even during the pandemic, we got a small taste of it, and that was gnarly. But to be in a 10-by-8 cell for 23 hours a day, with everything designed to make your life uncomfortable, you crawl into your own head to survive. And that’s not a healthy place to be confined. Even when Newborn is out, he’s still confined — you can only imagine what habits you form after seven years.
What was it like portraying someone trying to move forward while still mentally stuck in the past?
One of the most fascinating and beautiful things Richard ever told me is that it was the love of his family that kept him going, and has kept him as close to sane as possible beyond this experience.
Our story is essentially a love story wrapped in a psychological thriller. He’s trying to get back to his wife, trying to get back to his son. At its core, it’s about the bond between that man and woman, and between a father and his child.
My favorite line in the film is when my character says to Jake, his son, “You are my mission.” I find that so deeply relatable. I’m a father myself, and my children are my mission. I really feel that truth.
Did this role change how you think about the U.S. criminal justice system?
As a Black person living in America, when you look at how much Black and brown people over-index in the criminal justice system, there's no question that it's an extension of slavery. There is no question that the desire for free labor is driving some of this industry — and I deliberately call it an industry.
Even though there are people espousing rehabilitation, you cannot say that and have solitary confinement as part of the system. It is a truly medieval practice. The most shocking thing I encountered was speaking to a young man who endured solitary confinement at age 14 for a year and a half. I don’t know how that’s possible in America. I don’t know how we’re not all screaming from the rooftops that that's just not OK.
The film is an unashamed critique of solitary confinement. You’re seeing how detrimental and inhumane it is. Spend a moment thinking about where you were seven years ago, and then imagine someone spending almost every hour of every day in a single room during that time. It shouldn’t happen. It’s tantamount to burying someone alive.
And it’s not just “criminals” this happens to: Richard Rosario was in Florida when the murder he was accused of happened in the Bronx. Two witnesses said it was him — that was enough.
So I hope the film elicits compassion — that people recognize the humanity in those affected.
Newborn is out now, playing exclusively at select AMC Theatres.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity and length.
