Ricky: A Twisted Rebirth
by Sydney Reyes
Courtesy of Sundance Institute
Imagine getting out of your mother’s womb, free from confinement after what felt like years. Ricky (2025) by Rashad Frett is something like that, but instead, a boy is released from the metal bars of prison. We follow Ricardo Smith (Stephan James), as he attempts to re-learn what it means to live a free life as a now 30-year-old after being incarcerated for 15 years. Emerging from confinement we see a shell of a man, who is still a kid inside. Ricky is a brutally honest tale of an ex-inmate’s battle to regain normalcy.
Ricky’s form is a rough-around-the-edges, almost fly-on-the-wall style that lets viewers peek into his life. Handheld cameras were used in almost the entirety of the film, making for dizzying, shaky movement that I like to think represents the storm that must be Ricky’s mind. He is visibly confused and overwhelmed about the outside world. It seems like Director Frett and Cinematographer Sam Motamedi intended for it to feel like we are walking alongside Ricky trying to get his life back together.
Ricky’s naivety throughout the film is a harsh reminder of a life paused for the longest time. He struggles to get a job yet attempts to make a downpayment for a second-hand car, asks questions most know the answer to, and witnesses his younger brother live a more active life. James does a stellar job of bringing Ricky’s character to life. He embodies the abundant innocence remaining in Ricky, and delivers a confronting performance. From his gaze to his physical demeanor to the way he speaks, James showcases Ricky as a boy whose maturity was stunted against his will. This is reminiscent of Charles Melton’s performance as Joe in the 2023 film May December. Joe and Ricky, while having different circumstances, are both boys who never truly grew up. We watch Ricky go through adolescent rites of passage so late in life there’s a clear dissonance in the man we see on screen and the boy he is inside. These late experiences affect Ricky’s way of thinking. His lack of experience meets its worst moment when he gets subtly groomed into an uncomfortable romantic encounter with Cheryl (Andrene Ward-Hammond). These moments evoke a complicated combination of pity and protectiveness, that we can in no way shield him from his reality.
Courtesy of Sundance Institute
Parole Officer Joanne, played by the stunning Sheryl Lee Ralph is another standout performance. Ralph lends her infamous stern and firm voice to Officer Joanne, shaping a character of authority over Ricky. Despite her strict tendencies, there is still an elder figure who wants the best for Ricky underneath it all. Ralph masterfully blends these opposing aspects with Joanne, as she tries her hardest to keep Ricky in check. She serves as the voice of reason even beyond the screen—a stern angel on Ricky's, and every viewer’s shoulder.
Just when we think things are getting better, Ricky takes us back to reality as all his struggles bite back at him in the climax of the film. His societal, work, familial, and romantic issues suddenly blend into a big monster of a problem. It’s a textbook Murphy’s Law case and a notable presentation of the film’s thesis on the battles ex-convicts face. Sometimes the fight is too tough and gets the best of us, sometimes we aren’t truly ready yet for a new start. It’s okay to need more time, especially if it eventually leads to full healing.
What Ricky goes through in the film exposes a raw, non-linear journey of redemption. It’s a twisted form of rebirth, watching him find his footing like a child taking their first steps. Ricky shows us that it is not easy to be free after being cooped up for so long and that the harsh price of freedom has become too unattainable. The film urges us to practice kindness and patience while calling out both the system and culture that prevents us from doing so. Ricky is an important ode to the realities of the people behind bars who we do not hear from. It’s a story that shines beyond the statistics and does a stellar job of shedding light on the lives behind the numbers.