Tell us a bit about your organization and what your specialty is in the film and video space.
I am the lead producer, and one of the lead performers in the film, The Bad Infinity. Staging Film—the producing company (of which I am a founder)—is an experimental cross-medium project. We are a community of theater makers and filmmakers exploring new ways to tell theater stories on film. We meld the contemporary stage and screen to create short “translations” (rather than adaptations). This means experimenting with untraditional techniques in cinematography, set design, sound design, and performance to record the visceral magic of theater on screen. The result is something that does not fit neatly into a defined medium, but rather shines in the liminal space between.
What is your organization’s ethos and how does it set you apart from industry competitors?
Our initiative approaches filmmaking through the lens of a rich—and at times nostalgic—theatrical tradition, particularly experimental theater. It’s a distinctive and unconventional foundation from which to create films. We see our cinema as existing in dialogue with theater, informing how we shoot, design, and shape performance. This interplay between the two mediums is central to our creative process, lending our work a layered and hybrid sensibility.
How can people join or learn more about what you do?
Tell us about your Telly Award winning piece. What’s the story behind it?
This film is an homage to the work of avant-garde playwright, Mac Wellman. Wellman has been a fixture of experimental theater since the 1970s; his brand of philosophically knotty and outrageously anarchic anti-theater helped define what it meant to be experimental. Despite Wellman’s long and illustrious career, this film represents the first time his work has been adapted from stage to screen. Graham Sack’s cinematic adaptation fuses three of Wellman’s works: the acclaimed play, “The Bad Infinity” (1983); “Speculations,” a treatise on his theory of multi-dimensional drama; and “Hypatia, or The Divine Algebra,” an Opera Libretto. The result is an experimental “cinema essay” that intentionally collides Wellman’s language for poetic theater with film and television—uncannily resonant in our post-Covid media landscape.
What are you most proud of about this piece? What was your biggest challenge during production and how did you solve it?
The biggest challenge? Honestly, just getting it made! Bringing the right people together was crucial—I had a strong sense of who was right for the project, but then I had to make sure they could collaborate. There was a lot of back and forth about how best to approach this film. After all, no one was out there saying, “You know what the world needs? A Mac Wellman film!”
That said, this is the very first film adaptation of Wellman’s work, which I think is something to be incredibly proud of. Mac Wellman is a quiet giant in American theater—his influence runs deep (especially through the students he’s mentored, many of whom have gone on to shape television and film).
This piece captures a snapshot of his unique voice. The ideas are startlingly resonant—and bringing this work to the screen, for the first time, is something I’ll always be proud of.
Do you have any advice to other filmmakers based on your career or your team’s approach to work?
Just do it. (And ask for help… it’s hard, but asking for help is a big part of team building).
Can you share a behind the scenes story or fun fact about the making of your piece?
This film was made on an ultra-low budget, and it was a real challenge to pull off. We had to beg, borrow, and rally support throughout the entire process, which ultimately turned it into an incredible community effort. Many of our locations were donated or offered at a very low cost. One of my favorites was the Harlem Flophouse, run by René Calvo. My other company, Woodshed Collective, had previously used the Flophouse for fundraisers, and René generously allowed us to film our dinner scenes there.
It truly takes a village (and then some) but when resources are limited and time is tight, the creativity and ingenuity tend to pop; and the process turns into a kind of extraordinary act of diplomacy.
Tell us about the most memorable response you got from this work.
My dear friend, the actor Tony Roberts, passed away earlier this year. I loved Tony—he was one of the most inquisitive and insightful people I’ve ever known. When he saw the film for the first time he wrote me: “Wow is right. My head is still spinning. I laughed at times, and thought certain lines were profound. My curiosity was aroused and I’m sure that if I watched it again I would see connections and insights I couldn’t absorb the first time around, either intellectually, or emotionally. So the question I have at this juncture is something like: Should ‘theatre’ exist as an art form that communicates ‘in the moment’ or does it only gain significance, or achieve impact (intellectually, and emotionally) if it is viewed, heard, or read multiple times. ‘Time’ itself seems to be under scrutiny in this wonderfully original presentation. And that’s as much as I can opine at the moment.”
Complete this sentence: ‘Great video storytelling is…’
… about turning what seems impossible to film into something potent and curious on screen.
