He went behind bars for Netflix. The biggest takeaway had nothing to do with prison

SALT LAKE CITY — In the summer of 1971, a psychological study at Stanford University plunged into chaos.

Twenty-four male students were each paid $15 per day to participate in the study examining power dynamics. They were randomly assigned roles of "guard" or "inmate" and then put in a simulated prison.

Psychological abuse followed. The guards taunted inmates, forced them to perform humiliating tasks and denied bathroom breaks.

Inmates broke down within days. Some experienced severe emotional distress; others rebelled. Six days in, the study — originally intended to last two weeks — was shut down.

Now, 55 years later, Netflix has revived the experiment, repackaging it into a reality show, "The New Stanford Prison Experiment."

Despite the original study's notorious legacy, 30 people — both men and women — agreed to join the series.

Among them was Sonny Robertson, who is from Orangeville, Utah, and joined the project anticipating a test of his resilience. Instead, the experience left him with an unexpected lesson in human connection.

Robertson, who was assigned to be an inmate, described his experience on the series as "life-changing" and positive. He said he created deep friendships he expects will last a lifetime.

For the first time since his childhood, Robertson was completely disconnected. For two weeks, there were no phones, no television, no news or social media, and no outside communication.

In that digital isolation, Robertson noticed himself forming deeper personal connections with those around him.

"You had nothing but each other," he said. "Imagine how deep of connections you got with one another. ... (There were) deep conversations."

"It's crazy how simple human connection can be," he continued. "This experience changed my life."

Inside the Netflix experiment

Beyond the very basics, the Netflix version of the experience was substantially different from the Stanford one.

"If we were simply recreating the original experiment, that would be unconscionable," said Jane Lipsitz, the series' executive producer. "It felt like the right time to revisit that question with a new generation and ask whether power inevitably changes us — or whether we're capable of resisting the roles, the rules and the systems we're placed into."

The original experience was methodologically flawed and lacks any real scientific value, per researchers at the University of Melbourne. Netflix aimed to iron out those kinks, but the series still feels closer to a reality competition, like "Survivor" or "Big Brother," than a legitimate scientific experiment.

Still, Robertson says the series was completely unscripted and unprompted, and producers simply told participants to be themselves.

"(It) was surprising to see how Netflix kept everything real," Robertson said.

The casting process involved several interviews across roughly four months before participants were selected. Filming was done a year ago at a real prison in Georgia.

Once there, the 30 participants were divided into two groups: 22 inmates and eight guards.

Unlike the original experiment, the Netflix production implemented several safeguards intended to protect participants.

Everyone underwent background checks and psychological evaluations. Medics, psychologists and off-duty guards were available around the clock.

Participants also had regular interviews throughout filming and were given a safe word ("pineapple") they could use if they wanted to leave the experiment or speak with a therapist or producer.

Walking into the prison was a "surreal" experience for Robertson. The tight confines of his cell initially felt claustrophobic, but his years of military experience helped him adapt to the unfamiliar environment.

"I couldn't think about it too much or else I'd panic," he said. "I just had to go into that military instinct and training."

Within the first two days, Robertson said he and the other participants began adjusting to the environment, growing used to the cameras and starting to act more like themselves.

He was surprised by how some participants responded to the experiment. People he initially expected to stay composed allowed their emotions to get the best of them.

But the biggest lessons Robertson took away had little to do with the experiment itself.

Freedom behind bars

Stripped of all technology, Robertson found a fresh outlook on the importance of face-to-face conversations and being present with the people around him.

Without modern distractions, Robertson said he and his cellmate got especially close during filming. The two formed a tight bond through long, meaningful conversations, and he now considers him a lifelong friend and brother.

"This two weeks of no communication definitely gave another perspective on life and who you are," he said. "It (was) almost like a deep, fast course of a self-learning experience."

"Since then, my life has definitely changed," he continued. "I've been more in touch with people and made it a point to be more in the moment and present with people rather than being on my phone."

Robertson also said the experience changed how he approaches difficult conversations. In an environment where walking away from conflict was not an option, participants had to address disagreements directly, a lesson he's carried to life outside the prison.

In the year since the series wrapped filming, Robertson has continued putting those lessons into practice. He's made a point of regularly calling friends and family, making plans to see them and spending time connecting in person.

"'We gotta meet up. We gotta meet up and just be around each other,'" Robertson said he regularly tells friends and family.

"(I'm) just making it a point to actually meet up with people," he continued. "Whether it's in silence and just being in each other's company or going out for a bite to eat or going to see a movie or just going on a weekend vacation somewhere."

He stays in touch with the friends he made on the show, too. Many of them stay in touch through a group chat on social media. Of those friends, Robertson said they have all described their experience on the series as positive or meaningful.

Still, not every participant had a smooth experience inside the prison. Five people dropped out during the experiment. Some left over intense power struggles; others exited over frustrations about mistreatment and conflict. And one man, who is a former convict, said he felt triggered by being in the confines of a prison again and demanded to be removed.

But despite power struggles and differences among the participants, many of the men gradually connected, learned from one another's experiences and challenged assumptions they had about each other.

Removed from distractions and expectations of everyday life, the prison experiment opened a space for men to form emotional connections and become vulnerable, reflecting broader conversations about male loneliness and the need for meaningful connection.

For a television series modeled after one of the most infamous experiments, the contrast between the two experiences is striking. One ended in distress and early shutdown, while Robertson walked away with lifelong friendships.

"Everybody needs to have a detox from the chaos of this world and social media and phones and electronics," he said. "This was a positive experience."

"We all learned about ourselves and ... forming deep connections with people without the chaoticness of the rest of the world."

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