Christine Yoo is a director, producer, writer, a volunteer at San Quentin State Prison, and co-founder of the San Quentin Film Festival. As a producer she has worked on non-fiction series for National Geographic, History, Oxygen, and PBS, among others. Her independent work focuses on under-served voices. Career highlights include the documentary short “A Conversation With Claudia,” a special project for P.S.1/Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), serving as co-writer of the cult anime series “Afro Samurai”, and directing, producing, and co-writing the award-winning Korean-American rom-com “Wedding Palace.” “26.2 to Life” is Yoo’s first feature documentary.

“26.2 to Life” is screening at the 2022 DOC NYC film festival, which is running from November 9-27.

W&H: Describe the film for us in your own words.

CY: “26.2 TO LIFE” tells the story of three incarcerated men convicted of murder who are members of the 1000 Mile Club, a long distance running club at San Quentin State Prison, which is organized and coached by veteran, volunteer marathoners who come into the prison to train and workout with the incarcerated runners. The club’s running season culminates in an annual marathon, 105 grueling laps around the prison yard.

This film captures the marathon inside California’s oldest prison and explores what brought these men to the starting line at San Quentin on and off the track. Though they are linked by absentee fatherism, multi-generational incarceration, the criminalization of race and poverty, and the fight for freedom, Markelle Taylor, Rahsaan Thomas, and Tommy Lee Wickerd each have unique stories to tell.

The marathon serves as a metaphor for how these men approach living life with a life sentence. I was inspired to tell the story of the 1000 Mile Club because their story was one of redemption and resilience, and it showed me that individuals can and do make a difference, that change is possible and it is happening. 

W&H: What drew you to this story?

CY: Over 20 years ago, I became friends with Hyun Kang, a fellow Korean-American who could’ve easily been my brother — but he found himself sentenced to life in a California State Prison without any hope of ever getting out before he died. I have always been interested in social justice issues, and in particular those relating to the criminal legal system, but until that time, I had not known anyone personally who had been in prison. My friend’s experience made me think much more deeply about the impact of incarceration, not only on the individual and their family, but also on the larger community. It also made me want to understand how people who expect to be in prison for life find ways to continue living.

The opportunity to explore that question came to me after I read an article in GQ about the 1000 Mile Club. I knew immediately that I wanted to make a film about the marathon. I couldn’t get Van Gogh’s “Prisoners Exercising” out of my head. I have experienced “runner’s high” and the sense of freedom that comes from running and could imagine how beneficial that could be to people in prison. What I didn’t yet understand was how critical a role running and a running community could play in the process of personal and social transformation. 

I have a narrative background and was going to write a narrative script. But after I began researching, talking with the coaches, currently and formerly incarcerated members of the club and going inside the prison, I was compelled to tell this story as a documentary because I felt people needed to hear what I was hearing straight from the source.

W&H: What do you want people to think about after they watch the film?

CY: I hope the film will spark dialogue about our approach to incarceration, rehabilitation, and community engagement. The 1000 Mile Club taught me that, with support, rehabilitation is a realistic goal and it can change the prison system and our relationship to it as we know it.

My team hopes the film will inspire new 1000 Mile Running Clubs in more prisons and communities across the country and we are creating a toolkit to facilitate that goal.

W&H: What was the biggest challenge in making the film?

CY: The hardest thing about shooting in a prison and telling a story that required multiple-entry access over a long period of time was not knowing the next time we would get access to shoot. Also, we knew lockdowns could happen at any time, and nothing is guaranteed, so every second inside counted. This was further complicated by the fact that I did not have contact with subjects the day before shooting, so plans had to be made well in advance. Often I asked Marion, Tommy’s wife, to help coordinate shoots, especially when we shot inside the cell block or areas off the track. She would relay the schedule to Tommy and then Tommy would share it with the rest of the guys. 

Carefully planning what gear to take inside was always a priority. First off, having gear on a truck or in a holding area to access is impossible, so everything we took inside we carted around in rolling laundry hampers so we could be mobile. Inside the cell block, it was quite dark and there was a very limited amount of space to maneuver, so we had to be improvisational and flexible. 

On race days we had multiple-camera coverage and several field teams gathering footage, but without access to walkie-talkies inside the prison, we had to cover a sporting event without the benefit of immediate communication among the teams. We had to have very detailed plans going in about who was doing what and when. There was a lot of consulting with the Coach about what he thought would happen, so we operated on some assumptions going in but also had to be ready to respond spontaneously.

W&H: How did you get your film funded? Share some insights into how you got the film made.

CY: This is the first time I have helmed a feature length documentary, so I knew I’d have to raise the funds independently. We initiated production through a successful Kickstarter campaign, and raised money through donations, grants, and investors as we went along.

Also, I did a lot of shooting and editing myself and did a lot of field work with associate producer Zahava Hirsch shooting sound and getting as much footage as we could together, which saved a lot of money.

I am grateful to everyone who took this journey with me and was involved in making and completing this film.

W&H: What inspired you to become a filmmaker?

CY: At some point when I was growing up, I noticed I never saw people who were Asian on TV or in movies and I loved TV and movies! During the rare occurrence when Asians were on TV, their portrayals were distorted and felt foreign to me and the world I inhabited as an Asian American. At the same time, I was always involved in the arts growing up. I was a competitive piano player, painted, and had done a bit of theater.

I had always wanted to try acting and thought I had a good chance of being cast in the upcoming local theater production of “The King & I” as one of the King’s children because they were supposed to be Asian. Beyond the fact that most of the kids cast were white, I remember getting angry about the fact that as an Asian, my world of potential seemed so limited. It was incidents such as that that eventually drove me to become a storyteller.

W&H: What’s the best and worst advice you’ve received?

CY: My Dad always told me, “Fall down seven times, get up eight times.” I will remind myself of this when things aren’t going my way.

The worst advice is being told to give up when faced with adversity or not to pursue something I care about.

W&H: What advice do you have for other women directors? 

CY: If you have a film you want to direct, go out and make it. Don’t ask for permission and educate yourself as best as you can on finances and legalities. But I would tell that to any director, female or male.

The only thing I would add specifically for a female director is that your journey will most likely be more difficult than that of our male counterparts, so collaborate with people who will have your back through the tough times. For this film, I put together an all-female producing team and it was an incredibly collaborative environment. 

W&H: Name your favorite woman-directed film and why.

CY: I really enjoyed “Nomadland” by Chloé Zhao for its humanity and scope, and it meant a lot to me when she won the Oscar for Best Director.

W&H: What, if any, responsibilities do you think storytellers have to confront the tumult in the world, from the pandemic to the loss of abortion rights and systemic violence?

CY: I feel a responsibility to focus on stories of underrepresented voices. But I don’t view it as a burden in any way; it brings me joy and purpose to be able to tell and share stories that may remain unknown or hidden if my camera wasn’t there.

The ultimate hope is that “26.2 to Life” can bring awareness and spark dialogue about rehabilitation and reimagining our prison system.

W&H: The film industry has a long history of underrepresenting people of color onscreen and behind the scenes and reinforcing — and creating — negative stereotypes. What actions do you think need to be taken to make Hollywood and/or the doc world more inclusive?

CY: My answer to the industry’s history of underrepresentation has simply been to carve out my own path. The best thing I can do to improve this situation is to be my own person and follow through on my vision. For this film, we put a lot of thought into casting and making sure that there was diverse representation of subjects and storylines. My core producing team was also all female. So it’s very possible that projects can be made to reflect more diversity in the workplace and highlight non-traditional perspectives, but it has to be a priority of the team and filmmaker to do this.