Andy Bragen’s new play, Don’t You F**king Say a Word, is a love letter to one of those funny little subcultures that exists in pockets around the city—in this case, the public tennis courts on the Lower East Side, and the eclectic community that has arisen on these battlegrounds of amateur tennis competition.

It’s Clubbed Thumb’s 20th Summerworks, the annual June play fest at the core of this downtown theater company that’s all about the “funny, strange, and provocative.” Playwright Kate E. Ryan’s Card and Gift, directed by Ken Rus Schmoll, is the middle child of this year’s three works—which is not to say there’s any Jan Brady syndrome here.

Bright Half Life begins with a timeless concept: soul mates, “an idea that may or may not exist,” according to the exuberant deliberations of Erica, as she stands in a hallway, proposing marriage outside the apartment of her ex-girlfriend Vicky.

When Laura Eason’s play premiered at Steppenwolf Theatre Company in Chicago, she was asked to contribute to the company’s blog to promote a piece that delves into the intricacies of intimacy—and self-promotion—in a cyber age.

As Americans waste away in windowless conference rooms, embezzling a few thousand here and there, living among foreclosure signs, lying to loved ones, to our government, this 29-year-old playwright has taken notice.

In Gina Gionfriddo’s new play Rapture, Blister, Burn, Catherine’s got the sexy academic career that every Ph.D. dreams about: another book out, TV appearances on Bill Maher, and an upcoming speaking engagement in Italy.

Ruth Margraff is a playwright with a singular voice, an artist whose work pushes boundaries linguistically and theatrically, challenging any expectations we might bring with us to the theater.

Playwright Marcus Gardley is no stranger to the Mississippi. I remember sitting with him on the river’s banks in the Twin Cities three years ago, when he was amazed how the gently flowing water almost couldn’t be heard.

Roger Guenveur Smith is a man who knows his history. But the writer-performer doesn’t just know it, he lets it under his skin, manipulates it, re-imagines it, and embodies it in shows that are as much about the here-and-now as they are about where we came from.

Roger Guenveur Smith is a man who knows his history. But the writer-performer doesn’t just know it, he lets it under his skin, manipulates it, re-imagines it, and embodies it in shows that are as much about the here-and-now as they are about where we came from.

Creatures from the deep, body-snatching aliens, or other supernatural forces are usually what torment the families in Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa’s plays.

Mac Wellman is one of the reasons I’m a playwright. His play A Murder of Crows was the first thing we read (after Fornes) in my undergraduate playwriting class lead by then-grad student Nilo Cruz. The fact that plays could be like this—a weird girl conjuring up the weather with words that made your mouth water—just made me want to write them.