In Just the Worst Time, filmmaker Nihal Singhsachathet offers a sharp and surreal twist on the classic Faustian bargain, where even the Devil can’t close a deal. This witty yet unsettling short uses folklore, political allegory, and urban mythos to explore power, failure, and the soul of the modern world. We spoke with Singhsachathet about mythmaking, American politics, and what happens when Hell starts to look a lot like home.
Patrick Roy, UniversalCinema Magazine (UM): The Devil failing to close a single deal is such a fresh twist on the classic Faustian tale. What inspired this inversion of the myth, and how did it become a political parable?
Nihal Singhsachathet (NS): The twist just came sort of organically. It was the first idea I had for the film. Just felt like a funny subversion of expectations that sprung out from the thought “We all know the devil is always hard at work, but what if he was bad at his job?” — I think William Diertele’s The Devil and Daniel Webster was lodged somewhere in my subconscious when we started this out. Walter Huston’s Devil in that movie was so smooth and graceful; the thought of stripping that away made me laugh. As for the political element, it’s hard not to get political these days with everything going on in the world. Was thinking of scaling the concept of souls. A soul essentially is something theoretical, that we know not much about. The soul of a person into the soul of a nation into the whole world as a soul.
(UM): You describe the film as a “Spanish folk song” in form. Can you elaborate on how that influenced the tone, pacing, or visual style of the film?
(NS): Folk music is a very interesting form of music. A tradition of musical storytelling which is inherently political, and farcical at the same time. The structure of a folk song kind of goes around in a circle. Like an open ended question. A folk song doesn’t need to wrap things up neatly. Its strength lies within the ambiguity, to a certain extent. I found all that stuff to be helpful waypoints along the way. We were able to leave room for the audience to make their own interpretations by framing the world as this song.
(UM): The moment when the Devil finally finds success—with a man wearing a US flag pin—is pointed. What does this character symbolize in the broader critique you’re making about power and politics?
(NS): I was thinking a lot about Woodrow Wilson at the time.
(UM): You connect the film to the Divine Comedy. Which aspects of Dante’s vision guided your approach, and how are you interpreting “Hell” in a modern, urban, political sense?
(NS): To be honest, we didn’t realize we were making a loose adaptation of Inferno until months after. It was, at first, just a touchstone for Sam’s performance. I told him to think of Dante, which was an idea lifted from a line in the Leonard Cohen poem Satan in Westmount which refers to a depiction of the devil as one who often sings austere Spanish folk songs and quotes Dante. That being said the Divine Comedy was a helpful guide because of the way he describes hell’s gates. The rich visual world in the Dante poems sparks a lot for the imagination. Also his thoughts on the subject of treachery felt very apt and important here.
(UM): Humor and horror seem to coexist in this film. How did you navigate tone to keep the story allegorical but impactful?
(NS): It all comes down to timing, I think. Timing and contrast.
(UM): The setting—a city at night—feels both noir and mythic. How did you use the urban environment to support your themes of deception, desperation, and seduction?
(NS): The big city can feel like a maze. The signs and lights of shops and bars are so alluring. We just took what already existed in predominant culture and used it within context. We are being sold all the time, tempted and seduced all the time—we just aren’t always cognizant of it. The city is a place where all that comes to a boil, the trappings of modern capitalism. After seeing Coppola’s Megalopolis in Manhattan I always just think of the big city as a playground / theme park for adults.
(UM): You’ve made everything from stop motion to web series to political short films. How do you see your voice as a filmmaker evolving, and how does Just the Worst Time fit into that trajectory?
(NS): This one felt like a good medium for tackling big themes and ideas in a more digestible way. I’m just trying to pare down and get to the essential nature of things with each new work. Follow the idea where it takes me. Get rid of the paraphernalia, so to say. Shooting this all on the Sony camcorder was a way to get back in touch with the one to one love for making films. No big stakes. An effort to find again, the love and passion for cinema.
(UM): You mention that this is the first in a trilogy loosely inspired by The Divine Comedy. Can you share a glimpse of what’s to come in the next two parts?
(NS): The Purgatorio adaptation is the story of a lawyer who gets swallowed up by a park, he is forced to live off the land as he gets slowly disconnected from civilization. He tries to get help to escape, but everyone he runs into seems fine where they are. The Paradiso adaptation is about someone tormented by violent dreams. He suffers from depression and needs to get rid of his attachments and false ideals before he can truly be present and appreciate his place in the world.
(UM): How did your upbringing in Bangkok and experiences in Chicago and Brooklyn inform your perspective on American politics and foreign policy, which are central to this film’s critique?
(NS): I think living in the Midwest was a great eye-opener into the real America, which can be obscured if you live in a big city off one of the coasts. Life here in New York City can feel like a bubble for the unacquainted. I grew up in the heart of Bangkok and would commute to the expatriate suburbs for school. That felt pretty eye opening in itself. My heritage is Punjabi. My ancestors are from India. My grandmother had to cross the partition line at the age of 8. Western colonialism is just part of the history of the world. It’s something we just live with daily. I don’t think I’d be here if I didn’t love this country; but in order to love something you have to accept all aspects of it.
(UM): What do you hope audiences take away from this modern-day Devil tale—especially those who may not initially think of political critique as part of mythic storytelling?
(NS): I have friends with vastly differing political views who seemed to respond well to the content of the film. That, to me, was kind of a success. That did more than I ever thought it would. My idea was to go beyond party politics and look at things from a bigger picture view. To go away from the idea of “sides” and pointing fingers. I think the abstract nature of the mythic story allows one to portray an idea that way, because you’re essentially focusing on the story at hand not to preach some kind of agenda. The story is the main thing, sure it has a perspective but I’d hope the perspective is laid out more as a call to discourse. Something that leads to open ended questions rather than a point blank full stop. My favorite movies that tackle politics always have a spiritual / humanist slant to them. That’s what takes them from being just another form of information dissemination to maybe a piece of art. Renoir’s The Grand Illusion is one of my all time favorite movies. I think about it all the time. It’s played a big role in my life and surely has here in this film.
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