G&E Productions

Batter Up! Summoning The Devil in the Diamond

Our house was destroyed.

 

The year was 2012 and Hurricane Sandy ripped through, among other places, the Mid-Atlantic States.

 

It is said that the storm damaged, destroyed, or severely flooded around 100,000 homes on Long Island, where my family and I lived. By December of that year, more than 2,000 homes were deemed uninhabitable. 

 

At the time I was enrolled in grad school, studying acting. My then girlfriend was a dancer in the department and as these things go, I met and grew close to her family. As my parents went to live with an aunt and uncle of mine out east, I was fortunate enough to move into my girlfriend’s family’s home, a very generous offer that they extended to me, which also made my daily commute to Long Island University far more doable.

 

I grew very chummy with her brother Lou, a history buff who went on to become a history teacher. One day he casually told me about an academic paper he had read that he thought I might enjoy. When he told me it was about baseball (big Yankee fan here!) and the role it played in the ever-evolving relations between Japan and America, I was immediately intrigued. A scholarly article about the greatest sport in the world!? Sign me up! Amidst the cyclone of confusion and devastation that ensued, however, the existence of the article fell into the obscurity of my mind as life forced me to focus on other things.

 

Regardless, a creative seed had been planted.

 

Fast forward to September of 2015.

 

For some reason, out of the blue, I remembered that article. I never did get my hands on it and so I emailed Lou; after a quick email to his old professor, he obtained the PDF version and sent it my way. The piece was entitled For Love of the Game: Baseball in Early U.S.-Japanese Encounters and the Rise of a Transitional Sporting Fraternity; it was written by Sayuri Guthrie-Shimizu. 

As I read it, I was mesmerized by the enchanting history, a phrase not often uttered when referencing a peer-reviewed article. Don’t get me wrong – it was certainly academic, but I saw through its scholarship and could smell the fertile soil of a great story (as a matter of fact, many of the characters in my novel were directly inspired by historical figures mentioned in the piece).

 

Though I enjoyed historical-fiction, the genre was certainly not my forte. I did, however, like a challenge. Ideas started swirling in my head - directions I could take the story, historical avenues I could explore.

 

And then, of course, I started writing something else and the story once again fell by my creative wayside.

 

That is until the 2020 Covid-19 Pandemic emerged and I found myself in quarantine. Determined to remain productive – I decided to take one of the ideas I had for a novel and give it a go.

 

The problem was, and indeed it’s a good problem to have, I had a handful of good ideas that I felt could make for great novels.

 

That’s when I noticed the news was reporting a rise in Anti-Asian sentiment in the United States. Later, in August of 2021, NPR reported more than 9,000 Anti-Asian incidents had been documented since the pandemic began. The New York Yankees’ own ace at the time, Masahiro Tanaka, left the ball-club and the country to go back to Japan upon having concerns about his family’s safety due to the spike in discrimination and hate crimes against members of the Asian community.

 I thought of that article. I thought of how baseball acted as a healing factor between the Americans and Japanese after being at war with one another. All the other novel ideas suddenly paled in comparison.

 

With that article as my springboard, I catapulted into piles of research, which included World War II, Japanese culture, mid-20th century culture in general, the history of baseball (there’s so much that your average fan like myself had no idea about!), and countless other topics.

 

I began assembling. I amassed quotes, notes on fascinating historical tidbits, events, laws, pandemics, milestones, records, occurrences, statistics, journals, philosophies, articles; anything I could get my hands on.

 

The following quote convinced me that the relationship between baseball and war was far from trivial:

 

“Baseball is part of the American way of life. Remove it and you remove something from the lives of American citizens, soldiers and sailors." - Private John E Stevenson

 

I created a massive timeline. It went as far back as 1871 and as recent as 2004. This timeline became my novel’s bible. Anything that could be relevant to my story went on the chronological itinerary.

 

Upon glancing at this timeline over and over – I soon realized that my initial idea of writing a story about an American soldier and a Japanese soldier during and after WWII just didn’t seem to cover enough ground given all the wonderful information I had accumulated.

 

And so I decided to expand my story to make it a multi-generational tale. Though it has a less epic scope than something like Centennial, James A. Michener’s 1974 novel and the subsequent 1978 mini-series acted as inspiration.

 

My novel suddenly became not just about Eugene and Yuujin, my main protagonists, but also their grandparents and, to a slightly lesser degree, their parents. I could now trace and explore baseball in relation to America and Japan in its entirety.

 Which, of course, meant – more work for me! But again, being quarantined allowed for such an indulgence. And so I wrote. Every. Single. Day.

 

A little history to wet your beak - in the 1870s, as part of the state-driven modernization program, rulers in Tokyo recruited over 3,000 experts called oyatoi (foreign employees) from Europe and the United States. As Americans were valued in public education, those in that department came to Japan. And do you know what they brought along with them? Bats and baseballs! The game was primed to spread! And so I made Eugene’s grandfather one of these oyatoi…

 

After a good year, I had a solid manuscript.

 

It was important to me that the novel was not only a great story – but had literary merit as well.

 

As I thought about possible themes, motifs, and metaphors – baseball concepts lent themselves naturally.

 

For example, the idea of “making contact” came to mind. Hitting a baseball is one of the hardest, if not the hardest, feats to accomplish in professional sports. As too is making contact in the sense of forming a connection with another human being or culture. This parallel acts as the backdrop to an entire chapter late in the story. Crossing the threshold of difference to make first contact with a new world can take strength and courage.

 

Speaking of strength and courage, the novel opens with the (historically accurate) near-complete destruction and seizing of Shuri Castle. Yuujin, part of the Japanese rearguard unit, soon finds himself the last living member of his regiment and before long becomes a POW. In real life, Shuri Castle had always symbolized strength, power, and honor and in my tale Yuujin had always revered the palace. And so its physical demise mirrored the spiritual demise of Yuujin, who deals with the shame and dishonor associated with being captured. He very much wonders if both he and the castle can one day be restored to the glory and honor they once exemplified.

 Eugene, our American counterpart, is put in charge of watching Yuujin as they wait for a transport and things don’t exactly go smoothly. In fact, Yuujin gets a punch to the face. Enter one of the novel’s motifs – Yuujin’s bruise. Eugene watches the black and blue begin to form and take shape. As they become friendlier, the blemish becomes more profound, acting as a visible reminder of Eugene’s act of brutality. Bruises are interesting in that they’re not actually very deep under the skin but they’re quite grotesque to behold. Eugene marked his enemy. And then he questions how much of an enemy Yuujin truly is. Even when he returns home, Eugene is haunted by nightmares of a discolored Yuujin, his ever-swelling contusion enveloping his face.

 

The novel’s pillars of baseball and World War II, being male dominated, also opened up the natural lane to discuss concepts of manliness and masculinity – that age-old but seemingly ever-shifting question of: what does it mean to be a man? To discuss such notions through a 21st century lens, via 20th century characters, made for an interesting expedition and reflection as well.

 But enough of metaphors and themes! One of the more fun aspects about the story is bumping into major historical figures. I won’t give them all away but don’t be surprised if, while reading, you meet the likes of Joe DiMaggio, Mark Twain, General Douglas MacArthur, and Theodore Roosevelt!

 

I certainly enjoyed getting to know them. And I fell in love with all my other characters as well. Of course they eventually became their own and now I must give them away.

 

They say a flower blooming in a storm is stronger than a tree blossoming under a rainbow. A natural disaster was the genesis for this story and cultivated a decade old seed that formed during a pandemic and is now ready to flourish and present itself to the world.

 

That’s pretty special.

 

My lifelong dream has always been to become a novelist. I would like to thank Henry Gray Publishing for making that a reality.

 

I very much hope you enjoy my debut novel. And I very much hope it affects and satisfies your heart and mind in the most literary of ways.

 

The Devil in the Diamond embraces the idea that two countries who share the game of baseball can never be true enemies. It is a story about the fraternity of nations and their connective tissue of baseball, which acts as a first step to re-building a peaceful future. The devil in the title very much refers to racism and bigotry, cruelty and hate. Despite it being a period piece, this novel confronts a contemporary revelation: not only does history often repeat itself - ignorance unfortunately does as well.

 

Thank goodness there’s baseball.

- G

CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE YOUR COPY!

Why I Wrote Veil of Seduction

I’ve had a few people say to me, “Wow…did you really write this? I can’t believe you wrote this!” And somedays I wonder that myself. I wonder who that voice is, the unconscious self that spent months exploring her pain and hope and righting wrongs and flinging words out with all the passion of every lost flame and tortured soul she ever encountered. I grieved for my characters, I held onto them tightly, but after all is said and done…it’s time to let them go.

I’ve been putting this article off for awhile. Somewhat consciously, mostly unconsciously. But as the year (and my deadline) draw to a close…the pressure is on. That’s how I always felt I wrote best: under pressure. But alas, I’m already getting off topic. I’m here to tell you why I wrote my novel, Veil of Seduction. What it means to me. What inspired it and why it’s important to me. I wonder why it’s so hard for me to write about it. I suppose because its personal. Or all the things I wanted to say have already been hidden throughout the text itself.

Perhaps that’s why it’s taken me so long to write this article. In many ways, developing this story was not only about exorcizing the demons I’ve grappled with, but also understanding and coming to know the demons that are in me…that are myself.

 

First looks at the original cover art and the progression of creativity! All original artwork by Lock.Wolfe


It all started with a conversation I had with my therapist. It’s hard to go into the details without giving away some spoilers but I’ll nevertheless try to be as thorough as possible. I spent a good amount of my life absorbing the energy of toxic people. I was naive, afraid of conflict and continually went out of my way to please others instead of taking care of myself. This is a pattern I was becoming more aware of and felt on the precipice of finally breaking. It was a connection I made to the many stories I had read as a young girl. Stories of bad men turned good by strong special women. I always wanted to be one of those women, and save every bad man I came across in the hopes of finding true love. But my views of romance and love were twisted, born out of abuse and domestic violence which left me trembling and raw in the aftermath of broken fantasies. I was tired. I was disillusioned. And I wanted answers to my behavior and the misunderstandings of romance, love, sex and everything in between.

 

When I set out on the road to healing, I knew the only constant provider of peace and reflection was my writing. So upon having one of those ‘ah ha’ moments during a particularly vigorous therapy session…I knew a story was on the horizon. One small string of words, which I cannot reveal without giving away an extremely important part of the plot, unleashed the monstrous and unyielding force inside me which was destined to write this novel. I found clarity in my subconscious and instead of acting and reacting, I began to think critically and rationally. I developed a mantra “Pause. Think. Act.” And I decided that my actions, my mistakes and the blindness that I experienced in my quest for love and connection needed to be explored. Not only to help close the bleeding wounds of my past, but also to help others avoid my mistakes and pitfalls. If not that, then at least to let my readers know that they weren’t alone and that many smart, talented and even extremely independent and successful people could fall prey to those who destroy and conquer. Alas, the fire was ignited and I was ready to burn. On this quest I also came to the very important conclusion that those who were out to incinerate the world and themselves were often the ones in the most pain, the people who needed the most help. However, my mistake had always been to sacrifice myself in order to provide that relief. Now, through the lens of a fictional world and the creation of my own characters, I was able to explore the ways in which humans sacrifice, lie, cheat, deny and even murder in order to avoid the thing that is staring them straight in the face—their fears…themselves.

I learned things about myself.

In case you need a quick synopsis :)


A lot went into this novel: inspiration, history and plenty of research. I spent hours compiling a great wealth of information on Nellie Bly, a journalist in the early 1900s who became famous after she went undercover and was institutionalized at Blackwell Asylum on the now Roosevelt Island in New York City. She pretended to be insane, was officially committed (after being examined by a doctor, judge and a police officer) and then began her investigation into the conditions of the asylum. Bly was pulled out less than two weeks later due to the horrific climate and wrote her exposé “Ten Days in a Madhouse” in which she contested that any sane person, and there were quite a few she met there, would be completely out of their mind after ten days of such horrendous and awful care. Her work and writing led to reform and further consideration of how patients were treated in state asylums.

Nellie Bly - American journalist, industrialist, inventor, and charity worker

Bly’s Exposé “Ten Days in a Mad-House”

I also spent time reading about the glorious history and ominous beauty of Newport, Rhode Island where I personally spent a significant amount of Summers in my youth. It is where Lorelei’s, our main character, journey begins. This was my starting point for diving into the dark side of the wealthy who resided there during the Gilded Age. I found plenty of research to develop, particularly in regards to the families who summered on the isolated island and the type of deboucharous parties that took place as well as the glorious architecture of homes like Seaview Terrace and the Breakers…it was nice to be able to breathe life into them and revisit them in the time periods in which they were in their grandeur, to uncover the delicious secrets and scandals that lay beneath the the glittering gold.

Seaview Terrace located in Newport Rhode, Island where the novel is set. This location plays an important role in the book!

Exploring the rich and gaudy juxtaposed and highlighted the wild gap in affluence that existed during this era, especially within mental health institutions and how care was distributed based on wealth brackets. This led me to more general concepts and necessities like economic, social and political happenings in America during the 1920s. This became an essential area of study; I felt that in order to truly understand the world I was creating, I would require a solid grasp of the issues which might affect the characters based on their locations, backgrounds and even their sense, or lack of, morality.

 

I don’t want to give away too much, but there was also research behind each character’s name, their backstory, where they came from and even the evolution of their beliefs. I spent hours creating a mythology to justify the twists and turns as I raced around every page wondering what lay next! As much as I prepared myself with a thorough outline, one of the many joys of writing is when you find yourself held hostage as your characters throw you for a loop and take you in a completely different direction than you originally planned. That happened with Chapter 26 (if you know you know!).

I am once again stalling as I draw closer to the core of my thoughts. It lays, very much at the heart of the story: the false delusion of the anti-hero and the through-line of narcissism that persists in villainy. The thing which I have again and again explored in my life with no resolution and constant repetition. Until now. Until this novel acted as a final confirmation to something I had suspected for quite some time. It pained me to do the dirty work of an author and break the ties that so fully bound me to my insipid belief that I could change others. That I could save those destined for destruction. The illusion has been lifted and I thought it would break me. But when I wrote the final lines of this story. I signed with relief. Things were different. I was different. And I knew someday, I, with Lorelei by my side, would be able to tell this story in the hopes that it would not change others, but allow them a new perspective on an old trope that no longer serves us as women, nor as humans.

It’s been a climb, a struggle, but I’m still here. Getting this book out was terrifying. The process was loaded with multitudes of rejection and self-doubt. Constant revisions and failures. Cries of joy and tears of rage. And I will tell you now, as I sit up much too late into the night continuing to write about this story, that it was so worth it. I love this story. If you ask me tomorrow, I might hate it. But right now, in this moment, I know writing it has changed my life. And I acknowledge that true change can only come from the self, from within.

My final thoughts. I lied to you. I have not let go of these characters. Not even close. So when you turn to page 323, don’t fret, there will be more coming your way.

Give you a hint? I couldn’t possibly. Nice try.

Write On,

E

The Small Moments: My Experience (Thus Far) With Zen Art

            In 2018 I was granted the Hemera Contemplative Fellowship for Artists and went off to the Zen Mountain Monastery for a retreat.

            I had never explored anything of the sort but was always fascinated with meditation and the Buddhist experience.

            The closest I came was probably my acting training. The foundation of the program was Suzuki, a post-modern Japanese movement technique. Basically, the method approaches text from a physical standpoint whereas Western trainings tended to start from the psychological. In Tadashi Suzuki’s seminal work The Way of Acting, he states that the exercises he created for his actors were “a means to discover a self-consciousness of the interior of the body, and the actor’s success in doing them confirms his ability to make that discovery. The actor learns to become conscious of the many layers of sensitivity within his own body.”

            Of course physicality and the traditions of Japanese performance are no strangers to one another; one simply needs to turn to Noh or Kabuki for evidence. It is said that such movements are akin to worship as physical performers call forth energy with their bodies to then ingest that vigor inwards, representing the maturation or fullness of that life energy.

            My own teacher, Maria Porter, trained with Suzuki himself in Japan and made it her artistic mission to fuse and repurpose this Eastern acting methodology with the trainings of the West.

            These vague (but related) connections were my only points of access, outside of various cultural depictions, to some aspects of Zen Buddhism, which commenced in China but later branched out to Vietnam, Korea, and Japan (of course Buddhism itself originated in India).

            Needless to say, I was intrigued to learn and delve into the Zen Buddhist lineage established by the late John Daido Loori Roshi. The monastery maintained that they were dedicated to sharing the dharma as it has been passed down, generation to generation, since the time of Shakyamuni Buddha.

            I didn’t quite know what that meant but I knew they offered something unique as part of the retreat: the opportunity to study Zen Art. I also really didn’t know what Zen Art was but figured it would somehow expand my knowledge and perspective in regard to my craft. 

            And so I went out into the peaceful woods, put away my phone for the duration of my stay, and approached the main building that at one time was a Benedictine monastery.

            I strolled through the meditation and dining halls until I found myself in the dormitory for visiting practitioners. I put my bag down not knowing what to expect. I took a deep breath. And I began my journey.

            Throughout the retreat I, along with numerous others, participated in all the customary happenings one might predict; we were woken up every morning by a gong, had vows of silence, ate healthily (and deliciously), learned meditative disciplines such as zazen, helped clean the residence, acknowledged our thoughts as we attempted to clear our minds, learned about the history and legacy of Zen Buddhism, engaged in liturgy, and inevitably did not reach enlightenment.  

            But it was the Zen Art, as I predicted, that struck me most. Zen priest Jody Hojin Kimmel, Sensei, taught the class.

            The session, at first glance, seemed quite elementary. We were painting pictures and they weren’t necessarily meant to be “good” by the standards of any certified art historian. We painted on instinct. We painted without looking. We painted without caring about the colors. We moved our brush not with a sense of purpose but with the pull of creative inertia.

            The cornerstone of the practice depended upon an artist’s willingness to feel a piece instead of planning it. I recalled instantly the acting note I would always receive in the early years of my studies: You’re in your head; get out of your head!

            And so I did my best. Little by little, I left my preconceived notions behind. I did not think what I wanted the piece to look like. I did not think about what I wanted it to say. I just painted.

            A sense memory emerged as my mind made a further connection to my old training. Theatrical performances that are in the Suzuki style often challenge audiences to recognize that the feeling a piece evokes supersedes the intellectual understanding of it. In this way, I felt a bit at home as this helped ease me into the concept of Zen Art.

            Hojin Sensei spoke of the relationships between artist and subject, artist and object, and object and audience. I found it fascinating.

            I painted one picture in particular that I deemed worthy of my attention. If you saw it, you would probably wonder which kindergartener drew it, but to me I looked at the piece and saw the universe, wonderment and possibility. I thought, in a way, it was a study of myself. Perhaps all Zen Art is. Perhaps all art is.

            I wish I still had it. Ironically I think someone mistook it for modern muck and tossed it accordingly.

            During the last night of our retreat, as we meditated in the zendō, we were told there would be a treat that not every group experienced due to scheduling. The Rōshi of the Mountains and Rivers Order, the abbot of the monastery, Geoffrey Shugen Arnold, would be seeing interested practitioners one at a time for a very brief encounter. We were given the opportunity to ask him one question, any question, and he would answer it. We quickly learned the ritual, the proper way to bow and kneel in front of him, and the conventional way to address and speak to him. We formed a seated line outside of his office and waited our turn, nervous that we were going to screw up the customs and formalities.

            His office was more like a miniature monastery. He sat in the center of the room; his body typified the characteristics one thinks of when imagining such a figure. I performed the procedure (aware that it indeed very much felt like a performance) and sat across from him. I knew what my question was going to be from the moment the opportunity presented itself. I was going to ask about Zen Art and its realistic implementation in film. After all, Zen Art seemed antithetical from a logistics point of view as a director and a crew tend to need to know what’s coming next. And so I asked.

            Shugen Roshi nodded his head and thought. He talked about balance, acknowledging the need for planning and practicality. But he stressed that I should find moments. Those small moments. Moments when I could let go and allow a course of action to unfold in the way it seemingly wanted to.

            At the time, I think I was disappointed in the answer. I nodded gracefully and thanked him.

            At the end of the retreat I felt refreshed and calmed. I walked out and headed towards my vehicle to find a dent. That’s right: my car had been hit in the Zen Mountain Monastery parking lot. Apparently, the universe balances out very quickly. I actually snickered in disbelief. The small moments. Luckily it was minor and the individual responsible gave me her name and information.

            On the drive home I wondered where the happy medium existed in film, the goldilocks zone of embracing the unplanned and accepting the spontaneous (that stretched far beyond improvisation) without jeopardizing a project.

            Two years later, during the height of a pandemic, I received an opportunity to experiment with this concept when I was hired by Teri Hansen to direct her short film Into the Water. Of all the projects I had been a part of, this one seemed to lend itself most towards the liberating practice of Zen Art.

            Into the Water was a spiritual journey about a woman who ethereally encounters her anxieties, fears, ambitions, and dreams - for when there is seemingly insurmountable hardship, there is always hope. The film’s themes include rebirth, self-examination, and the ever-blurred relationship between endings and beginnings. It was very much inspired by the Buddhist concept of Bardo.

And so, when filmmaking seemed to be at a momentary standstill, 19 ambitious artists, including a handful of Broadway actors, went to a lake house, followed all the newly created health guidelines, and made a union-approved movie.

            This was the first film I directed where I did not pen script. It was not my story. It was Teri’s and it was personal to her. She was the producer and lead. I would have normally been far more specific and stringent with what I envisioned but I found for the first time that was not truly my job; my job was to try and understand her vision and attempt, to the best of my ability, to bring it to life.

            I found my naturally less personal relationship to the material, in some sense, freeing. I just let things roll, pun very much intended.

            I started to judge the performances and sequences not through my usual lenses of discernment and continuity but instead through a connectivity of sensation. I sought out the small moments - moments of impressions and evocations. They became my cinematic chaperone, guiding me towards the truth of a scene, the truth of a character, and the truth of a moment.

            Interesting to note, Zen Art wasn’t the only inspiration I drew from for this project. I also channeled my inner Werner Herzog (I didn’t even know I had an inner Wener Herzog). I knew our schedule required us to often shoot in a single shot to save time and thusly we were going to avoid shooting for coverage.  Who better than Herzog for such an approach? The unchained freeness of flow of the camera and its relationship to the image has been a trademark of Herzog throughout his career and that technique seemed to mesh well with both what we were attempting to create and Zen Art itself. As the director himself has said, the goal is to capture “only the truly intense and the remarkable.” Perhaps the New German Cinema pioneer had been a Zen Artist all this time.

            I often think to myself – what’s next in my Zen Art journey? How can I build off that singular experience? Surely every project could benefit from a touch of that artistic independence. I constantly attempt to balance such unrestraint with self-imposed constraint. The mere thought tends to spiral me into vexation.

            At such times, I think of Shugen Roshi and the way he nodded his head and thought. I think how he spoke of balance; the need for planning and practicality. I think about what he stressed: those small moments. I think about letting go and allowing my art to unfold in whatever way it wants to.

            At such times, I am not so disappointed in his answer. Though often solitary in such recollections, I nod gracefully and thank him.

Onwards and Upwards, Always,

G

Hi! We Exist!

Welcome to G&E in Motion, the very first blog post from you guessed it – G&E Productions – where we are choosing to stand at the very peak of the artistic mountaintop and shout to all those who will listen - Hi! We exist!

As this is the initial entry, we think it only makes sense for this to act as an introductory post. Who are we? What are we all about? What can you expect moving forward? 

On the set of Transit

On the set of Transit

Let’s begin, as any good origin story should, with our formation. A few years back we got our hands on a rare edition of Shakespeare’s First Folio. We very carefully syphoned the ink from the brittle pages, converted it into its former liquid form, and injected that shit directly into our eyeballs. The result was more catastrophic than we could have possibly imagined– we became artists.

G&E Productions officially launched in 2017. Created by co-founders Gregory Cioffi (the G) and Emily Dinova (the E), it took nearly two years, a lot of work, and much research to finally realize the importance of the already outdated blog format.  Artists, am I right? 

 Let’s get on with it then shall we?

What ARE we?

We are a Cinematic and Theatrical Production House.

But more than that…

We are Renaissance Artists. 

To put it simply, we belong in no box. 

We are actors. 

We are writers. 

We are directors. 

We are producers.  

We are what we believe the 21st century needs – a revitalization of professionals who are immersed in all mediums and forms of art. 

We are also thieves as all this information came directly from our website – like verbatim (we know you didn’t visit it – but maybe now you will). 

We are not interested in creating more of the same. Instead, we welcome the ever-changing craft of artistry and the new movements of expression that are created when diverse art forms influence and merge with one another.  

G&E Productions is founded on creating edgy, intelligent, unique new works. We embrace collaboration and are constantly pushing boundaries. We embrace the differences between individuals and their distinct perspectives. And most of all we embrace the truth that art, in any form, is a vehicle for social understanding and change. And change is what we plan to produce. 

WOO! That’s exciting. I dig it. I’m on board.  

G & E on the set of Wet Paint

G & E on the set of Wet Paint

But what have you actually ACHIEVED?

Our company officially begun alongside the inception of a film entitled The Museum of Lost Things. The film was completed in 2018 and went on to win awards at the Long Island International Film Expo (Best Story), The Madrid International Film Festival (Best Supporting Actor), and The Global Shorts Film Festival (Honorable Mention), all the while being accepted into other festivals around the country. Gregory Cioffi, who directed the piece, received a Certificate of Recognition for exceptional talent by The Town of Hempstead, N.Y.

Last year, G&E’s three-minute film A Foot in the Door won the Reel13 Film Challenge and, in May of 2018, aired on THIRTEEN, the flagship public television station of the New York City tri-state area and the most-watched public television channel in the nation. 

Wet Paint, a short horror film about the strange correlation between those who suffer and greatness, is currently on the festival circuit, already having been accepted into The New York Short Film Festival, The Scared for Your LIIFE Festival, and The Russian International Horror Film Awards. 

Most recently G&E completed production on Transit: A NYC Fairytale, a film that was 187% funded through crowd sourcing (you read that right) starring Pooya Mohseni, the newly chosen actor to head the Pantene campaign created for their new partnership with GLAAD. The film is slated to be released in 2020 (that’s this year guys!).

Pooya Mohseni on the set of Transit

Pooya Mohseni on the set of Transit

And that’s just the film stuff! We aim to produce one piece of theatre every year! We urge you to look up Capture, Emily Dinova’s raw and visceral story of a woman’s fight against domestic violence. It was the recipient of the 2015 Fresher Writing Prize in the United Kingdom (Best Stage Play) and was also published later that year by the Fresher Publishing Company. Capture was part of The Venus and Adonis Festival in NYC and received staggering praise. In June of 2016, it had a production in Bournemouth, UK at the Shelley Theatre and subsequently in 2017, a production at the Seven Angels Theatre in Connecticut. 

Looking for something a little lighter? We got you. Emily’s next play, Cold Porridge, was a satire on all things murder mystery that received attention from The Huffington Post, Local Theatre New York, Stage Biz, and HMag during Winterfest 2018 at the Hudson Guild Theatre. #Range

Okay, okay. You’ve done some stuff. We get it. But WHO are G&E exactly?

Gregory-cioffi-gandeproductions

The G 

Gregory Cioffi (SAG-AFTRA, AEA) is a published writer, professional actor, and director. His works have been published in The Feral Press, Mystery Weekly Magazine, Queen Mobs Tea House, Little Old Lady (LOL) Comedy, Blood Moon Rising Magazine, Fleas on the Dog, The Five-Two, Aphelion, and Allegory Ridge. Six of these stories have been archived in Yale Univeristy’s Beinecke Collection (Rare Books and Manuscript Library). 

Greg portrays Fat Ricky in the television show The Godfather of Harlem. He was featured in Martin Scorsese's film The Irishman, and played notorious gangster Tommy Lucchese in AMC's mini-series The Making of the Mob. Greg continuously plays Tony in various national and international tours of Tony n Tina's Wedding

Greg received his Bachelors of Arts and Masters of Science in English Education with a concentration in English Writing and was further awarded the Writing Across the Curriculum Award in recognition of writing intensive studies. He then earned his Master of Arts in Theatre Acting. 

Last year Greg was granted the Hemera Contemplative Fellowship for Artists and went off to the Zen Mountain Monastery to study Zen Art, allowing him to expand his knowledge and perspective regarding his craft. 

Greg has proudly served on the SAG Awards Nominating Committee.

He currently teaches two courses at Nassau Community College (an acting class and a creative writing course). 

Emily-dinova-gandedproductions

The E

Emily Dinova (AEA, SAG-AFTRA Eligible) is a writer, actor, director and producer living in Hoboken, New Jersey. She has an MA in Stage and Screen Writing from Regent’s University (London, UK), a Bachelors in English with a Theatre concentration (Writing, Directing, Acting & Film) from Marist College (Poughkeepsie, NY) and studied Opera at the Instituto Lorenzo de’Medici (Florence, Italy). 

She has appeared Off-Broadway in several shows including My Big Gay Italian Wedding, My Big Gay Italian Funeral, Gay-Porn-Mafia, and the upcoming play Reel Wood. She tours regularly, both nationally and internationally, as Tina in Tony n Tina’s Wedding. Emily just finished filming Ghost Guidos, a parody television pilot currently looking for a network to call home!

The above-mentioned Cold Porridge was her fifth play to hit the New York Theatre scene in a little over two years. Others include: The Locals [wrote/acted in] at The Jewel Box Theatre, Copse, [wrote/directed] for the Midtown International Theatre Festival, and Ruptured [wrote/acted in] for Manhattan Rep.

Most recently, Emily directed the film Transit: A NYC Fairytale. The fundraising video stirred up debates and discussions on social media regarding its subject matter with one post alone reaching 10,000 people. Emily headed a promotional campaign for the film at the 2019 Pride Parade in NYC. The film is currently in post-production. 

Emily is an avid traveler, constantly looking to explore new places, cultures and people, which serve as the inspiration for a lot of her work. She’s completed two novels, Bode and The Veil of Seduction, which she hopes to publish soon! 

And that’s pretty much who we are and what we do! 

We hope to publish at least one blog post a month! At times they may be articles, other times press releases, and sometimes just exciting updates!

The point is - we hope you follow us and find this blog interesting or helpful or inspirational or hilarious. We’ll take any of those.

Thank you for reading the inaugural post of G&E in Motion.

As long as we’re moving, we’re grooving - and hopefully - improving.

Onwards and Upwards, Always - G&E

kandeproductions-tony-and-tinas-wedding.png