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The most truly surreal sequence in the entire film is undoubtedly the big song and dance number featuring all of the women imprisoned for being “drug mules”. Almost every woman here is a foreign national or a woman of color, so race and class implications abound. However, instead of delving more deeply into this topic, the audience is treated to a bouncy dance number, presided over by an officer who periodically states “There's something in your luggage, unless I'm quite mistaken/Her Majesty's prison is your final destination!”

Viewers meet several women in this sequence, all of them with a tearful tale of abuse or regret, but as soon as the audience identifies with the woman the filmmakers cut back to the song (and some booty-shaking), and then back to yet another tale of woe. The blend of deadly serious (and often emotion-filled) personal interviews with this incredibly silly song is utterly strange, but it certainly lends an air of dark comedy to the film.

Via the interviews and the infrequent glimpses of unscripted prison-yard footage, the audience is privy to a rather ambiguous segment about sexuality inside prison. Mary offers frank observations about lesbianism among the inmates: “a lot of women in the prison, they're not really gay. A lot of women just do it for the comfort because they need that security, that loving while they're locked away. They feel like they've lost everything else, and that there's someone there to comfort them, I suppose”.

While there is a rather confusing scene in which unnamed prisoners actually discuss the benefits of girl-on-girl action while in prison, it's worth noting that none of the women actually identify themselves as being gay, straight, or bisexual. Several of the women mention boyfriends and husbands, but are shown holding hands with one another walking through the yard during the discussion segment.

There is some ambiguity with Sam, who claims that after a night of partying she was "out of control' and her brother found her in bed with his girlfriend. However, she never discusses this any further, and there is no other mention of women in her past. Mary reveals that she slept with men for drugs, and Sam admits that she married her husband for the express purpose of regaining access to her children.

It's an interesting point; if all of these women are merely resorting to lesbianism because of the situation they're in, why is this film being shown in gay film festivals like Outfest? The actual lesbian content is light, and presented rather curiously.

Questions of orientation aside, if there are any common themes linking all of these women, they are undoubtedly abuse, drugs, and their own children. Mary, Sam, Maggie, and Charmaine (one of the “mules”), are all victims of physical or sexual abuse, and nearly every inmate has a history of drug use. Towards the end of the film, the subject of the inmates' children comes up, and Mary, Sam, and Maggie all share the pain of being separated from their kids. Mary relates that she was happy when she met her children's foster parents, and that she felt “safe” with them. Maggie sings the aforementioned lullaby to her children, and reveals that all four have been adopted since she went into prison.

This is the most “traditional” sequence, but it's also the most powerful; it uses a fairly universal concept (motherhood) to allow the audience to sympathize with these inmates. Mary, Sam, and Maggie are no longer “criminals”, we now see them as mothers, and we feel for them. Maggie's lullaby augments this, showing her soft and vulnerable side.

It is impossible to view this film without making some comparisons to the drama series Bad Girls; which it certainly mirrors in terms of subject matter. Parallels can be made between the character of Zandra (from Bad Girls) and Maggie from Songbirds: they're both inmates who have lost their lives and their children to drug addiction. Showing the plight of these women (whether the medium is fiction or documentary) is interesting social commentary; clearly the writers and filmmakers favor these young troubled women over the British penal system.

All comparisons to Bad Girls aside, Songbirds succeeds in breaking new ground without actually saying anything new. What it lacks in polish, it makes up for in its earnest interest in the self-expression of its subjects, and the remarkable talent of some of these women is readily apparent. Some of the editing choices are dubious, and some of the songs are rather wrong for the mood, but overall, Songbirds is worth it just for the freshness of the viewing experience.

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