Trey Moore (a.k.a. Orion Solo) and Travis Carbonella. Abbia Biao Photos.
On screen, Barbara Fair scooped a heaping spoonful of macaroni and cheese onto a plate and pulled back the foil on containers, ready for a dinner rush. Around her, conversation rose and fell; organizers chatted; kids ran around the space, getting their sillies out. She reminded a colleague to make sure everyone had a plate, including the DJ.
Then she went back to her quest to end solitary confinement in Connecticut. She was a superwoman, and deeply human at the same time.
That balance of humanity, kindness and fiery, sustained activism lit up the Flint Street Theater last Sunday, as New Haven based filmmaker Travis Carbonella screened his in-progress documentary, Stop Solitary CT: The Fight for Oversight as the second film in “Elm City Reels,” a four-part series celebrating New Haven directors.
Over a dozen attended Sunday, including Fair’s family and Carbonella’s mother, Joanne. The series comes from New Haven musician, artist and Seeing Sounds curator Trey Moore (a.k.a. Orion Solo), who also works as the theater’s manager. After starting with Stephen Dest’s My Brother Jack in September, the series continues next week with Haven: The Series from director Jacqueline Brown. Learn more about Elm City Reels here.
“There’s nothing more interesting than seeing one life unfold itself,” said Carbonella, speaking on the power of documentary film, “Something that you can’t write or you can’t manufacture.”
Barbra Fair, Kiera Tucker, Celeste Hill, and Holly Tucker.
Stop Solitary CT, which is Carbonella’s second full-length documentary, follows Fair through the 2024 state legislative session, during which she is on a journey to appoint a state ombudsman for the Department of Corrections (DOC). An ombudsman refers to an impartial government official who investigates and revolves complaints within organizations; attorney DeVaughn L. Ward now serves in that position.
Founded in 2017—around the time that there was already a legislative push to end solitary confinement in the state—Stop Solitary CT is a nonprofit organization advocating for prison reform, and specifically an end to the cruel and inhumane practice of solitary confinement. In addition, it advocates for causes such as ending state-sanctioned sexual assault through strip searches.
The film opens on an establishing shot of the Whitneyville Cultural Commons (WCC) in Hamden, where Fair hosts community meetings and community lunches. It’s a sort of starting point, both literal and metaphorical, for the advocacy and grassroots organizing Fair does in New Haven to Hamden to Hartford, from the WCC to the streets to the State Capitol building.
In the audience, viewers see her make the journey to Hartford, partnering up with other advocacy groups like the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), members of the press like former CT Mirror justice reporter Jaden Edison, and state legislators including State Sen. Gary Winfield and former State Rep. Robyn Porter.
Part of that is Fair’s advocacy and search for a state ombudsman that will hold the Department of Corrections accountable. That began in 2023, when the state created the role under the Office of Government Accountability to increase transparency for the DOC due to poor misconduct in correctional facilities and criticism it accrued over the years. That includes the cruel treatment of her son, Shelton, who she said was never the same after time in prison.
Fair was one of three nominees for the position, alongside New Haven civil rights attorney Ken Krayeske and Windsor-based public defender Hillary Carpenter. Last January, the Correction Advisory Committee recommended that Krayekse occupy the role, ranking him as their first choice. Fair followed second, and Carpenter fell last, based on their competency to lead.
Despite the suggestions from the Correction Advisory Committee, Connecticut Gov. Ned Lamont acted outside of their advice, selecting Carpenter for the role. The race became contentious and the process stalled to a halt, with members of the Executive and Legislative Nominations Committee failing to push her forward.
Carpenter received strong opposition from prison reform activists, with Fair leading the charge. Critics of her nomination argued that she did not have the lived experience to correctly serve in the role. In the end, she was not confirmed to be the state ombudsperson for the DOC, and the process returned to square one.
When the film ended Sunday, Moore and Carbonella took the stage for a director Q & A, which takes place after every film in the series. Almost immediately, Fair’s daughter Kiera Tucker wanted to know how Carbonella maintained his stamina and interest while filming over two years.
“Did any part of you ever question like, ‘Ok why am I here? What am I getting from this?” she asked the filmmaker.
Carbonella listened intently, then said he’d been passionate enough about the subject to stay with it. To film something like the fight against solitary, one has to be, he acknowledged: Carbonella managed three different cameras to capture A- and B-roll of community hearings, and made constant trips to Hartford with Fair. He leveled audio, edited footage, and then he collected more. He was determined to see it though.
It helps that he loves and admires Fair, who he met 15 years ago when they first crossed paths at Youth Rights Media. A decade and a half later, the two have a relationship that is both personal and professional, often like family. That comes through as viewers watch a tumultuous legislative process, and root for Fair as she tries to communicate with legislators who don’t always give her a direct answer or even the time of day.
Carbonella’s eye is also gentle and curious, reminding viewers that Fair, known for her tireless and fierce advocacy, is also human. She wants the same things viewers likely all want: for her family to be safe, for her kids to have access to everything they need, for her life not to feel exhausting. She wants people to get beyond survival.
In one part of the film, Fair finds herself in a karaoke bar, a week after the hearing in which she contested Carpenter’s nomination. She sings her heart out, hitting a high note with questionable pitch. During such heightened stakes in the legislative process, she’s still running on a reserve of hope, taking the time to connect with friends and family members.
It’s in this scene that viewers realize that Fair isn’t just a prison reform advocate, but a human being with hopes, dreams, and desires just like film spectators themselves. While Fair is an indomitable spirit and steadfast mind, the body cannot escape the toll from vicarious trauma.
It shouldn’t have to either, the film seems to say without ever having to use the words. Two days before a scheduled visit to the state legislature, Fair reveals that she was hospitalized for high blood pressure due to mounting stress. Carbonella documents it all, reminding people how the broken systems come at a disastrous and sometimes devastating cost for the people who must interact with them.
Carbonella talked about the gift of documenting those small habits that make Fair more human, from her choice to end meetings with bingo to her near-constant humming, a song always in her head. He stressed that it was important to him to show the raw, unfiltered process of advocacy work, and the way that work also must include breaks to be sustainable.
“[These are] small things … that make you not an activist anymore, but turn you human,” he said. “Like, just into a regular person. And that's really important, especially when you highlight activism, because it always seems like an activist or someone who's doing activism is superhuman.”
“I like the part how you ended it with the bingo,” chimed in Fair’s cousin, Celeste Hill. “But was it difficult to add the singing to it too?” The audience filled with laughter.
Carbonella was also honest about the realities of being an artist interested in social justice work, including the difficulty of getting the film into screening rooms. In previous projects, he’s worked on content mainly for social media. He’s still not always sure how to get it in front of people.
Fair’s daughter, Holly Tucker, raised her hand and offered a solution. A student of sociology and human services at Albertus Magnus College, Tucker suggested it be shown in high schools and post-secondary institutions like Albertus, or integrated into curricula that focus on law and social justice.
She also shared her gratitude for Carbonella’s efforts. As she spoke, she faced Carbonella’s mom, Joanne, who sat in the back row.
“You have an amazing son and [from] doing that film, he's become family,” she said, adding that her seven brothers “all love Travis.”
“He's just a new family member now,” she added.
Joanne Carbonella, in turn, fondly remembered how Carbonella became interested in film, from a camcorder he received one year for Christmas to an early career making music videos, skits and small projects with friends. Now, she said, it feels like a full circle moment.
“He’s been doing this with his heart for so many years,” she said. “Every piece that he does, you could see the connection and it’s so heartfelt … You feel it, you know?”