What's Happening!
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ANNOUNCING SUMMERWORKS 2025
Due to overwhelming demand, we’re adding performances this year – but Summerworks shows always sell out, so lock in your seats with a pass!
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THANK YOU FOR A GREAT RUN!
Spending the last two months with Deep Blue Sound has been a joy and a balm. We are deeply proud of the work, and humbled by the talent and dedication of this company of artists.
The show played for six sold-out weeks and we added as many shows as we could – but sadly, we closed this weekend. Thank you to the over 4,000 people who came to visit our island. And thank you to all the artists, staff, funders and friends who made it possible. This was a special one.
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APPLY TO CLUBBED THUMB'S 25/26 NEW PLAY DIRECTING FELLOWSHIP
New play directors who have worked at least three years outside of an educational setting, and who plan to be in NYC September 2025 through January 2026, are welcome to apply for the fellowship by completing the form HERE – applications due April 1st!
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NOW PLAYING: DEEP BLUE SOUND
Our “devastatingly beautiful” production from Summerworks 2023 returns for a limited engagement, in residence at the Public Theater. Now playing! CLICK HERE FOR TICKETS
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WINTERWORKS 2025 HAS COME TO A CLOSE
Thank you to the hundreds of people who joined as at Playwrights Downtown for the 10th annual Winterworks. We were so proud of the work these amazing artists made — and we managed to cram everyone in to share it. Congratulations especially to Directing Fellows Iris McCloughan, NJ Agwuna and Laura Dupper – read more HERE
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NOW ACCEPTING SUBMISSIONS FOR THE 10TH BIENNIAL COMMISSION
This year we lost one of our great comic dramatists: Christopher Durang. We’ve been reflecting on how powerful and much-needed savage humor like his is in a world like ours today. So, for the 10th Biennial Commission, please consider his work, especially from the 1980’s. Applications are due March 20th, 2025. Read more and submit yours HERE
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ANNOUNCING A RETURN ENGAGEMENT OF SUMMERWORKS 2023'S DEEP BLUE SOUND
We are thrilled to announce that Deep Blue Sound – which ran to sold-out houses at Summerworks 2023 – will return for five weeks this winter. After a wildly successful run of Grief Hotel earlier this season, we are excited to return to The Public Theater with another Summerworks hit. CLICK FOR TICKETS & INFO
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THANK YOU FOR MAKING OUR GALA SUCH A SUCCESS!
Monday night’s Gala, celebrating our dear friends and collaborators dots, was beautiful, moving and very fun. Thank you to everyone who attended, performed, volunteered, donated and otherwise supported this very special night.
See photos from the event on our Instagram (and tag @clubbedthumb if you’re posting your own)!
At the event, we raised funds in honor of dots to help us better support the designers in our community – and we happily exceeded our goal. But there’s no such thing as a late donation! If you’d like to contribute to the fund, click HERE
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OUR 2024 SEASON HAS COME TO AN END
The last six months were the busiest in our history. We started with Winterworks at Houghton Hall in January, followed by six weeks of Grief Hotel at the Public in the spring, and we rounded it all out with Summerworks at the Wild Project, where we managed to cram in 47 performances over seven weeks.
Some of you saw it all, some just a piece, and some met our work for the first time. We were thrilled to share it with all of you.
Here are some photos and essays from the season, to tide you over until we have work to share again in the fall (or when we see you at our gala honoring dots!)
Lastly: We had our most successful season at the box office ever. If you were there, you know it was full to overflowing. And you might remember that your ticket was pretty affordable—maybe even free. That’s important to us.
But what that means is, even when we sell out all the time, tickets only cover a fraction (about 1/7th) of what it all costs, especially considering we pay people better every year (That’s important to us too!)
Throughout the year, we support hundreds of artists, mostly early in their careers, whether in our writers or directors groups, readings, workshops, commissions, retreats, or in production. So, if you can, make a donation today and be a part of our effort to pay artists, to make beautiful, affordable work, and to do it even better next year!
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GRIEF HOTEL'S MAGNIFICENT ENCORE RUN AT THE PUBLIC THEATER
We were thrilled to bring Summerworks 2023’s Obie-winning hit production Grief Hotel back for a six-week run at The Public Theater, in partnership with our friends New Georges. It was very special to dig back into the play and production with the exceptional group of artists who made it, and such a joy to share it with so many more people. We had a tremendous run – sold out, extended and beloved by critics and audiences – thank you to all who attended and to all who made it possible. CLICK HERE TO READ ESSAYS AND MORE ABOUT THE SHOW
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OUR NEW ANTHOLOGY - ON SALE NOW
We’ve been eager to put out a second anthology since Funny, Strange, Provocative was published in 2007, and the last year finally provided us with the time to take on this long-awaited project. We are thrilled to announce that Unusual Stories, Unusually Told, published by Bloomsbury/Methuen, is now available!
In it you’ll find seven Clubbed Thumb plays that span 18 years of our history, as well as essays and interviews about the work, and the often atypical processes that led to their productions.
Read more about the book and get your discounted copy (and our first anthology) HERE
Grief Hotel (a theory of relativity)
by Sarah Lunnie
There was a moment in Tara Ahmadinejad’s production of Liza Birkenmeier’s Grief Hotel at Clubbed Thumb last summer that stopped my heart. In the middle of a scene I can only describe as genuinely sexy — this is rare, onstage, I think — Bruce McKenzie’s aging country-music star Asher Lowden, engaging in a touchless but improbably erotic exchange with Ana Nogueira’s Winn, suddenly made a shape with his body I’ve never seen onstage before. Then he disappeared backwards up the aisle of the theater. It was like watching a piece of cereal get sucked up by a vacuum cleaner.
I won’t say more about it, because a magic trick is so much better than a summary of one, and if you’re reading this not yet having seen it, why deprive you of your own discovery? I don’t mean “magic trick” in the literal sense, I mean this moment was a quiet marvel in a play full of them. Liza and Tara and this company have distilled, with great lightness, something so solid and so true about the experience of being alive on the planet — the repetition of loss — that I’m still carrying it around with me all these months later like a small polished stone.
It’s a comedy, sort of, in case I’m giving you the wrong impression! — you’ll laugh a lot, or I did — but you’ll have to trust me on that, because I’m just going to keep talking about death now. A woman you’ll meet called Aunt Bobbi has conceptualized the titular hotel and will spend the play pitching it to you: “You can go there if your sibling gets deathly sick, or if you find out that the person you love doesn’t love you back, or if you commit manslaughter, et cet-ra.” She’s got a throwaway line about “life-changing consequences for ordinary behaviors,” and damn if that wasn’t a throwing star right to my chest. What Bobbi understands, and what the play evokes so disarmingly, has something to do with the relationship between grief and agency, stolen or forsaken or misapplied or, most often, simply irrelevant. Sure, we all make mistakes, but sometimes you go to sleep and wake up again and the ground beneath your feet has rearranged itself. You’ve lost something essential, for no reason, and you can’t ever get it back. Agency, and time. Here’s another one from Bobbi, blazingly precise: “Even if you have some long story, loss is fast, and grief is slow.” Who among us hasn’t wished for “a more controlled experience of time”?
I was going to say something about karaoke to lighten the mood, but now I’m doing it again, depriving you of the pure pleasure I experienced watching these characters wrap their arms around each other and scream into the night. Spoiler alert: transcendence in surrender, in abandon. Just come, that’s all I really want to say, get thee to the Shiva. The universe of Grief Hotel is one you might recognize. Time is passing, you are aging, your new shower curtain is somehow already moldering, the food your partner (/be honest, you) left in the fridge is growing feet. People, including your partner (/be honest, you), behave badly and the physics of everything is unforgiving. Nothing you do matters at all, then you shut the door and someone dies. But you are here now, you’re alive, the sun rose this morning, you live in a world in which dogs also exist. You might yet be forgiven, though surely you don’t deserve it. You are not alone.
—Sarah Lunnie