‘The Alabama Solution’ Review: Prison as the New Plantation (HBO Max)

The premise put forward by this documentary may not be entirely new, but the way it is articulated is deeply persuasive. The Alabama Solution focuses on abuses of power inside the prison system of that southern U.S. state. Not only physical violence and mistreatment, but also living conditions and a form of economic exploitation that turns incarceration into something disturbingly close to slavery. When one considers that a large portion of the prison population is African American, the historical parallels become impossible to ignore.

The idea that prison is not fundamentally different from slavery is reinforced by the way The Alabama Solution tells its story. Directed by Andrew Jarecki (Capturing the Friedmans, The Jinx) alongside Charlotte Kaufman, the film is largely narrated through cell phone footage smuggled into prisons and used by inmates to document—and above all, to show—their daily lives. The images reveal crumbling infrastructure (flooding, rats, filth, overcrowding, and conditions that defy description) as well as the physical violence inflicted by guards. Ironically, the phones themselves often arrive through those same guards, who exploit the situation for their own side businesses, including the sale of drugs and other “goods.”

This irony is no accident. The film’s central argument is that the abuse of power in Alabama is systematic and brutal, and that no one in authority seems concerned about the consequences. Let them film, let them protest, let them go on strike—neither the governor nor state officials will lift a finger to improve conditions, solve problems, or support rehabilitation. The system works just fine for them, bolstered by a tough-on-crime discourse enthusiastically echoed by the media. Complaints are ignored, even when they come from the U.S. Department of Justice. Responsibility is endlessly deflected. “It’s an Alabama problem that needs an Alabama solution,” officials say—and nothing changes.

The film weaves several narrative threads in parallel. One follows the structure of a crime investigation, centering on the suspicious death of an inmate named Steven Davis, who died after being brutally beaten by guards. Authorities deny wrongdoing or justify the incident (claiming he was armed and threatening), while the documentary attempts to reconstruct what really happened and identify those responsible. That inquiry, in turn, leads to further deaths, unfolding into a chain of events that feels almost fictional in its complexity and darkness.

More politically and economically central are the detailed accounts of everyday prison conditions. What becomes clear is that inmates are held far longer than they should be—parole is rarely granted—and, more crucially, are forced to work without pay. Their labor sustains not only the prisons themselves but also external production, in a system that closely resembles forced labor. Challenging these conditions is a core element of the film, led by two prisoners, Robert Earl and Melvin Ray, who have spent decades incarcerated, educating themselves, and emerging as de facto political leaders of internal protests. Their voices and faces, filmed by their own hands, guide the narrative.

With these elements carefully interwoven to sustain a constant sense of mounting tension, Jarecki and Kaufman deliver a devastating portrait of a system that, under the banner of “public safety,” replicates the logic and mechanics of slavery. It is a system defined by physical and economic abuse, in which no one is ever held accountable because—as politicians and media outlets repeatedly suggest—the victims are prisoners and therefore deserve their fate. When authorities appear to intervene, it often turns out that they are simply constructing yet another business opportunity.

The presence of cell phones inside the prisons is crucial to the film’s impact. They do more than suggest that reality is worse than outsiders might imagine; they expose conditions that are outright shameful and inhumane. People spend years confined among rats, routinely beaten, and forced to work from dawn to dusk without pay—often for the rest of their lives. And if someone resists or even files a complaint, the consequences can be far more severe. Any resemblance to slavery is not coincidental.