• Follow BBBway on Twitter

  • Boneau/Bryan-Brown on LinkedIn
  • This Just In:

  • BBBway Tweets

  • Archives

  • Categories

  • wordpress stats

STREAMERS DIIRECTOR IN PLAYBILL MAGAZINE

Streamers is playing a limited engagement at Roundabout’s Laura Pels Theatre through January 11, 2009.

 

PLAYBILL MAGAZINE

November 2008

 

Scott Ellis Is an Actor’s Director

By Ellis Nassour

Though he got his start as an actor, Scott Ellis (Streamers) knew early on that what he really wanted to do was direct.

In addition to navigating original material as the director of Curtains, The Little Dog Laughed and John Kander and Fred Ebb’s Steel Pier, Scott Ellis has also stepped into the wake of heady predecessors for the first New York revivals of classic plays and musicals: The Boys from Syracuse, originally directed by George Abbott; 1776, Peter Hunt; Company (1995), Harold Prince; Picnic, Joshua Logan; and She Loves Me, Prince again. And for the 2004 stage adaptation of Reginald Rose’s Twelve Angry Men, he stepped into the shoes of Sidney Lumet, who directed the film.

No stranger to challenges since literally skating his way to directing from the other side of the stage lights, Ellis is doing it again with the revival of David Rabe’s Streamers, now at the Laura Pels Theatre and presented by Roundabout Theatre Company (where Ellis is the associate artistic director). The show was directed by Mike Nichols more than 30 years ago and won the Drama Desk Award for Outstanding Play.

“The challenge of a revival is how to bring something fresh,” says Ellis. “The reward is the opportunity to add different flourishes. You’re dealing with different actors, designers and a different time.”

Ellis originally studied acting. “And I loved it. However, I had control issues. As an actor, you don’t have control over what you do, whom you work with. I needed that.”

Kander and Ebb gave him the chance. He befriended them while skating in various roles opposite Chita Rivera and Liza Minnelli in The Rink, the team’s 1984 musical with book by Terrence McNally. “I approached John and Fred about directing a revival of Flora, the Red Menace, their first collaboration. They trusted me. It was successful and that opened the doors. My acting experience has been a benefit. What I learned from directors is how to listen to and talk with actors. I know how they think and what they need.”

Streamers, Rabe’s term for soldiers falling through the air when their parachutes don’t open, is the blistering story of four soldiers in 1965, fresh from boot camp and waiting to be deployed to Vietnam. As they struggle with the senselessness of war, tensions rise over race, sexuality and class, culminating in an explosive act that changes them forever.

Ellis became a Rabe fan seven years ago, directing the playwright’s The Dog Problem for Atlantic Theater Company. “I wanted to work with David again and felt that Streamers was perfect for now.” He notes it’s a period piece, “but the basic truth of guys going off to war and not knowing the outcome hasn’t changed. There are things that are different now, but much is the same – especially that emotional free fall of going into battle.”

Rabe served in Vietnam. “He knows his subject,” says Ellis. “That’s why the writing’s sharp and the characters jump off the page.”

But it’s what Rabe doesn’t say that makes Streamers a classic. “Once the fuse is lit and the violence is out of the bottle, there’s no pushing it back in. The undercurrent that leads to that point needs no dialogue.”

To read the full story, click here:

http://www.playbill.com/features/article/123509.html 

STREAMERS PLAYWRIGHT DAVID RABE IN NEW YORKER

NEW YORKER MAGAZINE 

Issue: November 24, 2008

 

Life and Letters

Land of Lost Souls

David Rabe’s America.

by John Lahr 

 

To read the complete story please click here

http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/books/2008/11/24/081124crbo_books_lahr?currentPage=all  

 

 

On the wall of David Rabe’s television room, at his home in Connecticut, is a photograph of him as a football player at Loras Academy, the Catholic high school in Dubuque, Iowa, where he was a hard-driving running back and linebacker; in the image, he is being tackled, pushed into the dirt by three opponents. Rabe, now a large, white-haired sixty-eight-year-old with an athlete’s body and a writer’s stoop, writes the way he used to run: at full tilt, instinctively feeling for an opening, then plunging forward into the unknown. “I get a sentence, an idea, an image, and I start,” he said. “I don’t know anything beyond it. I follow it.” Rabe’s theatrical universe is at once vivid and mysterious, a pageant and a puzzle, where his bemused characters glimpse only the barest outline of what one of them calls “the unrelenting havoc” in which they flounder. “Often my characters don’t know what the issues of the play are,” Rabe told Bomb magazine in 2005. “They think they’re doing one thing but something else is actually orchestrating their lives.” Even Rabe can take some time to fathom what’s going on between his characters. Of his four plays set during the Vietnam War, “Streamers” (currently in revival, in a Roundabout Theatre Company production) was begun first-soon after he was discharged, in 1967, from the Army’s 68th Medical Group-and was finished last, in 1975. “My way seems to be to work, move on, and then go back,” he said in the Bomb interview. ” ‘Streamers’ . . . came out in three periods of writing consisting of four or five hours at each sitting, but these sittings were spread out over seven years.”  

 

In his writing, Rabe-who has produced a wide-ranging body of distinguished drama (four of his twelve plays have been nominated for Tony Awards, and “Sticks and Bones” won one, in 1972), four finely wrought film adaptations (“Casualties of War,” “Streamers,” “Hurlyburly,” “I’m Dancing as Fast as I Can”), and three works of fiction-plays a primal game; his goal, he has said, is to show how “the past hangs on to you and shows up in spooky ways.” He is obsessed with the things that haunt us. “People carry those things like physical realities almost,” he told me. “They have a definite weight to them.” Rabe’s daringly stylized dramas hover in the realms between the natural and the metaphorical: angels mediate for the dead; a blinded Vietnam vet comes home to his TV-sitcom parents, Ozzie and Harriet; a gangland caper is played out in “an apartment in the underworld.” Rabe’s work is a challenge to what he calls the “clockwork universe, clockwork play,” in which “certain motions delivered certain consequences in a predictable proportionate way.” “What I was after is more like nuclear fission in which the explosion of something minuscule unlooses catastrophic, ungovernable devastation,” he wrote in a 1992 afterword to some of his plays.  

 

Rabe’s explorations of the psyche mine rasa, a concept found in Sanskrit literature, which he defines as “the life thing”-the startling, underground anarchy of the unknown. Soldiers and psychopaths, gods and gangsters, icons and executives parade through his dramas-all, in their unique, vernacular way, eloquent in their unknowing. “Whatsa matter with me?” says Chrissy, a go-go girl in “In the Boom Boom Room” (1972), whose search for her authentic self strands her at a strip club, a masked, topless receptacle for other people’s projections. “What’d I do that for?” Phil, a psychopathic ex-con turned actor, asks another palooka, in “Those the River Keeps,” the 1991 prequel to “Hurlyburly.” Just out of prison, Phil has punched and killed a dog that urinated on his hand while he was sleeping. After he hits it, the dog “gets this look . . . like he has been asked a question the likes of which he has never heard of it before and he ain’t got a chance in hell of gettin’ it right,” Phil says. In the face of life’s blows, Rabe’s characters register a similar traumatized incredulity. His America is a dim and brutalizing landscape of the lost, not so much a “moronic inferno” as “an epic fucking fog,” to quote Eddie, the master of “Hurlyburly” ‘s toxic ceremonies. 

 

For Rabe, the drama between the surface and the subterranean began in Dubuque, in a blue-collar district near the Mississippi River. In the cramped quarters that he shared with his parents and, later, his younger sister, Marsha, there was, according to Marsha, “a tremendous lack of emotional, physical, psychological privacy.” She added, “We had to have a lot of inner life, ’cause there wasn’t much room for outer life.” Rabe’s father, William, slept on a pull-out sofa in the living room; his other accommodation to necessity was to give up a poorly paid job at Loras Academy, where he taught history and coached freshman football, for more lucrative work at the local slaughterhouse, a decision that “knocked him for an awful loop,” Marsha said. William had been educated at the University of Illinois. “He’d walked out of college and into the Depression, and had had a rough time ever since,” Rabe said. At one point, William had played farm-team baseball in Texas; he had also written a couple of unpublished novels. The combination of financial frustration and deferred dreams gave the household an unsettling undercurrent of disappointment. In these strained circumstances, speech and emotion had to be repressed. “The lid was on,” Marsha said. Rabe grew up with a certain wariness, which passed as shyness. He became a keen listener and observer, taking up residence in his imagination. When he was a teen-ager, he directed several 8-mm. action movies. “Beatings, fist-fights, prison breaks,” Rabe said. “We had no money, so I was really frugal about how much I shot.” 

 

James Dean-and Dean’s death, in 1955, when Rabe was fifteen-had a seismic effect on him. “It was as much his sensitivity as his rebelliousness,” Rabe said. “It was the idea that you could take that and turn it into something-art. I didn’t know what I was gonna do with it.” Rabe became obsessed. He bought a tape recorder and, after each Dean movie, he’d recite the large sections of dialogue he remembered into it. “We would listen to the dialogue and rehearse the scenes,” Marsha recalled. “I got to be Natalie Wood, Carroll Baker.” Of these experiments, Rabe said, “It was, like, ‘Can I act? Can I do this?’ ” He was tall, good-looking, and, he said, “emotionally truthful and willing to tap into it.” Once the idea of becoming an actor had claimed him, he pursued it with fervor, scrutinizing Dean’s trajectory from the Actors Studio, to the Method, and, finally, to Stanislavski’s “An Actor Prepares.” “It was like a psychosis,” he said of the demands he put on himself. “I thought I was high-level Method acting. I studied, studied, studied.”  

 

 In his undergraduate years at Loras College, Rabe submerged himself in creative writing and in theatre and became a proficient actor. “In the right thing, I was pretty good,” he said. To his pragmatic parents, the idea of acting was “appalling, too flamboyant, too outgoing,” but Rabe followed his desires. He enrolled in graduate studies in theatre at Villanova University, in Pennsylvania, and began to write plays in earnest. But, after two years, feeling “suffocated and needing to knock around”-“I felt I didn’t know enough about anything to write,” he said-Rabe dropped out and supported himself with a variety of odd jobs, including parking valet and bellhop. Then, in 1965, at the age of twenty-five, he was drafted.  

 

 Rabe was stationed in Vietnam in February, 1966, in the early days of American involvement in the war. His tour was spent doing clerical work and guard duty and building hospitals in an area that became the military hub Long Binh. His company was not under daily threat; he was not exposed, he said, “to the horrors of risk.” In fact, things were so safe that Rabe felt “secondhand guilt about not being in a combat unit.” His big discovery in Vietnam was not the enemy but the emotional anarchy. He has referred to Vietnam as a “carnival.” “Barriers were down; restrictions were down; behavior outside the norms,” he said. “There was this giddy thing. You could go around one corner and see something horrible, around another and see something thrilling. It was a little like the Wild West.” He added, “Had I been there in Tet, it would have been a different story.”  

 

 Rabe returned from duty in January, 1967, so changed by what he had witnessed that he decided he never wanted to act again. “The range of human response was so much more vast and varied than I had imagined,” he said, adding, “My writing was liberated once I abandoned acting.” While he sorted out his thoughts and the appropriate way to express them, he finished his master’s degree, married, and put in two years as a journalist at the New Haven Register. During this period, he became “very, very angry” about Vietnam. “I started to feel that nobody over here had anything at stake,” he said. “There was just nothing in jeopardy. Everything was so abundant.” He added, “Suddenly I had a subject.”  

 

Rabe’s first professionally produced play, “The Basic Training of Pavlo Hummel,” addressed his own basic training; the clueless, bereft, almost slapstick Hummel-a liar, a thief, and an attempted suicide-looks for himself in the military and finds only abuse, barbarity, and, eventually, death at the hands of a cohort. Hummel has no way to understand his own inchoate feelings. “Real insight never comes,” Rabe wrote of this character. “Toughness and cynicism replace open eagerness, but he will learn only that he is lost; not how, why, or even where. His talent is for leaping into the fire.” What radiance Hummel does register is seen through closed eyes. “You black on the inside,” Ardell, a black guardian angel visible only to Hummel, says. “In there where you live, you that awful hurtin’ black so you can’t see yourself no way. Not up or down or in or out.” Joseph Papp, the founder of the Public Theatre, discovered the script of “Pavlo Hummel” in a pile on his desk in 1971. Before it opened, later that year, Papp told Rabe that he’d produce anything he wrote; he mounted five more of Rabe’s plays in the course of the next decade, calling his work “the most important thing I did at the Public.” In an e-mail, Rabe wrote, “I have come to believe that without him none of those first plays would have been done. After all, they’d been turned down everywhere, and, without them, probably nothing else would have found its way to the light of day.”  

 

 In Rabe’s second play, “Sticks and Bones,” which delivers a mordant contrast between actual and psychological blindness, David, a blinded vet, tries to open his blinkered family to “a poetic sense of themselves,” as Rabe calls it. “I have so much to tell you, to show you,” David tells his parents, who don’t want to see it. “If I have to lie to live, I will,” Ozzie says. David speaks from the soul, where words are evocative, metaphoric, full of feeling and thought; Ozzie and Harriet and their other son, Rick, speak from the defended heart, where language is sterile, uninflected, and doctrinaire. David is deranged, tormented by the apparition of his lost Vietnamese love, Zung. With linguistic pieties and domestic punctilio, Ozzie and Harriet try to spackle over his despair. Rabe writes, in an introduction to the play, “David says of the girl he loved, ‘She was a girl to weigh no more than dust.’ Ozzie says, ‘You pronged a yellow fucking whore.’ The simple, real event is hidden by each character in the language he uses.” As the play reaches its visionary conclusion, Zung materializes before the family. “Touch her, embrace her,” David says. Ozzie strangles her. Ozzie, Harriet, and Rick then help David slit his wrists. Harriet bustles in with pans to catch the blood and towels to cover his lap. “You’ll look so grand,” she tells him. “No more funny talk.” The curtain falls to the upbeat sound of Rick’s guitar, which has, according to the stage directions, “a drive of happiness that is contagious”:

HARRIET: He’s happier.
OZZIE: We’re all happier.
RICK: Too bad he’s gonna die.
OZZIE: No, no; he’s not gonna die, Rick. He’s only gonna nearly die. Only nearly.
RICK: Ohhhhhhhhhhh.
HARRIET: Mmmmmmmmmmmm. 

With its allegorical collision between trauma and retreat, “Sticks and Bones” marked better than any other play of its era the bitter spiritual divide between American generations.

To Rabe, Vietnam was a kind of X-ray of the American collective unconscious, “an obscene illumination against whose eloquence we closed our eyes.” “Streamers,” the last and best of his Vietnam plays, was the first to truly capture the lethal drift of the culture around him, the unacknowledged desperation, savagery, and selfishness that, in time, turned American streets into a slaughterhouse. Rabe’s soldiers, unmoored by an absurd sense of death, shared with American society what he calls “a dizzying impression of being sent on a compassless march.”  

 

 When the curtain rises on the Virginia-barracks setting of “Streamers” (at the Laura Pels, under the muscular direction of Scott Ellis), it rises on fear. A recruit is pacing, saying, “I just can’t stand it.” His wrist has been bandaged after a suicide attempt. “We’ve got to make up a story,” Richie (Hale Appleman), a gay soldier, says. He’s talking about the recruit, but Rabe is talking about the military itself, and the fiction that it imposes order on chaos. Within the hubbub of his story line, Rabe captures the particularly toxic chemistry of boredom and dread. At the well-scrubbed and meticulous barracks (even the mop hangs from a clip at a right angle to the floor), the recruits work to keep their spirits and their space “looking good,” while awaiting their assignment. In the mounting anxiety over where they’ll be sent-it’s 1965, and the men are being dispatched to Vietnam, or “Disneyland,” as they call it-the barracks are a kind of safe house, the bonds of friendship the only fortification that the soldiers can build between themselves and terror. Two drunk sergeants, Cokes and Rooney (Larry Clarke and John Sharian), stagger into the barracks and tell of a daredevil paratrooper who released his parachute from his backpack, intending to grab the lines with his hands (a “streamer” is a parachute that fails to open). They pantomime his fall to earth. “He went right by me,” Cokes says. “We met eyes, sort of. He was lookin’ real puzzled.” Then, to the tune of “Beautiful Dreamer,” they mock his hapless descent and his death itself. The bravado of the men brilliantly serves to magnify the panic that it is meant to mask. Everybody onstage here is in free fall.  

 

 Caprice arrives in the hulking shape of Carlyle (Ato Essandoh), a transgressive black soldier full of rage and riffs, who comes wanting to befriend Roger (J. D. Williams), another black recruit. “Do you know they still got me in that goddamn P Company?” Carlyle says. “That goddamn transient company. It like they think I ain’t got no notion what a home is. No nose for no home-like I ain’t never had no home. I had a home. IT LIKE THEY THINK THERE AIN’T NO PLACE FOR ME IN THIS MOTHER ARMY BUT KP.” Eaten up by envy, at once funny and fulminating, Carlyle is one of Rabe’s most thrilling inventions. Rabe, who writes black characters better than any of his white peers, made his first black friends in the Army. He lets Carlyle express the “looser, noisier, easier” black sense of self he was drawn to. “That the black man’s problem altogether,” Carlyle tells a white boy in the barracks. “You ever consider that? Too much feelin’. He too close to everything. He is, man; too close to his blood, to his body. It ain’t that he don’t have no good mind, but he BELIEVE in his body.” 

 

 As Essandoh superbly plays him, Carlyle is all danger and desperation. At one point, making machine-gun sounds, he slithers drunkenly into the barracks, bringing with him all the primal fears that the homey little cadre room is pitched against. “Practicin’ my duties, my new abilities,” he says, adding, “Oh, sure, you guys don’t care. I know it. You got it made. . . . You got a little home here, got friends, people to talk to. I got nothin’. You got jobs, they probably ain’t ever gonna ship you out, you got so important jobs. I got no job. They don’t even wanna give me a job. I know it. They are gonna kill me. They are gonna send me over there to get me killed, goddamnit.”  

 

 Rabe is expert at building the awful pressure of impending woe. The competent cast of this production hits the notes but not always the music of his writing. Nonetheless, his vision is vivid and devastating. When violence comes to “Streamers,” it comes quietly at first. Richie suggests that his two bunkmates leave for a while so that he and Carlyle can have sex. One of them, Billy (Brad Fleischer), is outraged, and throws a shoe at Carlyle. That shoe becomes for Carlyle a symbol of everything the white world has thrown at him. He turns on Billy with a switchblade, cutting his hand. In a fury, Billy denounces Richie as a “gay little piece of a shit cake” and Carlyle as “Sambo.” He seems to move past Carlyle, only to fall back and collapse from a mortal wound. “Fuck it, fuck it, I stuck him. I turned it,” Carlyle says, his eyes bulging in panic. “This mother army break my heart. I can’t be out there where it pretty, don’t wanna live!” Rooney accidentally walks into the mayhem. Breaking his beer bottle to defend himself against Carlyle, he cuts his hand. Carlyle bolts out the door. The moment is terrible and hilarious. Rooney bawls, “I hurt myself. I cut myself.” Then, as proof that, as Rabe has said, “violence, once it is let loose, has its own mind,” Carlyle races back into the room in full psychotic mania and stabs Rooney to death. Even as he is arrested and hauled off, his mad voice proclaims his loneliness. “This is my place, not your place,” he shouts from offstage.  

 

Rabe sees war, and its sanctioned murder, as part of “the eternal human pageant”-the search for identity. “The poison was not so much that we did what we did as the way we denied that we were doing what we could see ourselves doing on television,” he has written. His Vietnam plays bear witness to the fog of war; his later plays are testimony to the postwar psychological blowback-a fog of denial, in which the characters are lost to themselves. (“I was in that fog, among the compassless,” he said.) In the early eighties, Rabe began listening to tapes about Eastern philosophy by the spiritual leader Ram Dass and puzzling over the freedom of Shakespeare. “I’d started to see that Shakespearean language was free largely because it was creating the reality surrounding the character-the reality of the character’s psyche-not so much expressing what already existed,” Rabe wrote in an e-mail. He discovered a similar verbal freedom in gangster lingo, which allowed him, he said, “to struggle with certain complexities and make those complexities fresh, though they might never make it fully into light.”  

 

 

STREAMERS REVIEWED BY AP

ASSOCIATED PRESS

November 12, 2008

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20081112/ap_en_re/theater_review_streamers_1

 

‘Streamers’ displays a tough-minded timeliness

By Michael Kuchwara

 

NEW YORK – The setting may be America of four decades ago but there is something eerily topical about the Roundabout Theatre Company’s tough-minded, thoroughly engrossing revival of David Rabe’s “Streamers.”

 

Questions about race, violence, sexuality and fighting an unpopular war in a distant country are still with us, just as they were for four young soldiers in an Army barracks somewhere in Virginia in 1965.

 

Rabe’s play, which opened Tuesday at off-Broadway’s Laura Pels Theatre, has the specter of Vietnam hanging over these raw recruits as they try to make sense of their lives and deal with a fear of the unknown, particularly that possibility of being shipped off to Southeast Asia.

 

The playwright manages to create several memorable portraits of people caught up in a world they didn’t make and don’t quite understand.

 

The four are a convenient cross-section, starting with the enigmatic Billy, played by Brad Fleischer with just the right amount of inscrutability. He’s a Midwest kid from Wisconsin, who is not as open, clear-eyed and untroubled as he initially seems.

 

Complications are there, most dramatically in Billy’s relationship with upper-crust Richie, who is defiantly gay in a way that would surely get him kicked out of the Army of yesterday – and today. Yet Richie, in a showy, scene-stealing performance by Hale Appleman, has a sure sense of himself, flaws included, something the other soldiers don’t possess.

 

Then there’s Roger, a good-natured, go-with-the-flow kind of guy, the practical friend who tries to get along. He’s played with easy affability by J.D. Williams. Not so, Carlyle, a volatile man with a fierce temper. He’s the play’s catalyst for trouble and in Ato Essandoh’s fierce, genuinely unnerving portrait, Carlyle is an explosion waiting to happen.

 

These new soldiers are contrasted with the aging veterans, two gruff participants in past wars. As played by John Sharian and Larry Clarke, they display a macho camaraderie missing in the younger men. War and the possibility of dying is never far from their thoughts. It’s articulated most compelling in an explanation of the play’s title, when a parachute fails to open and a soldier plummets – or streams – to his death.

 

Rabe is a superb craftsman. He knows how to tell a story and build tension, a sense of suspense that director Scott Ellis carefully exploits in this production. Yet the playwright is also a lover of language, unafraid to give his characters lengthy speeches that veer into the poetic.

 

The most notable occurs at the end of the play when one of the old timers, beautifully played by Clarke, remembers how he once killed a particular enemy soldier. There is a sad, haunting quality to his memory, an almost wistful sense of regret that injects “Streamers,” and this fine production, with an even greater sense of theatricality.

 

STREAMERS OPENS TOMORROW

ROUNDABOUT THEATRE COMPANY’s

Off-Broadway production of

STREAMERS

 

OPENS TOMORROW TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 11th

 

WITH

Hale Appleman, Axel Avin Jr., E.J. Cantu, Larry Clarke,

Ato Essandoh, Brad Fleischer, Charlie Hewson,

Jason McDowell-Green, Cobey Mandarino,

John Sharian, JD Williams

 

Written by David Rabe

Directed by Scott Ellis

 

Off-Broadway at the Laura Pels Theatre at the Harold and Miriam Steinberg Center for Theatre

 

Roundabout Theatre Company‘s Off-Broadway production of Streamers opens tomorrow, Tuesday, November 11th at the Laura Pels Theatre at the Harold and Miriam Steinberg Center for Theatre (111 West 46th Street). 

 

Streamers is written by David Rabe, directed by Scott Ellis and features Hale Appleman, Axel Avin Jr., E.J. Cantu, Larry Clarke, Ato Essandoh, Brad Fleischer, Charlie Hewson, Jason McDowell-Green, Cobey Mandarino, John Sharian and JD Williams.

 

Streamers is playing a limited engagement through January 11th, 2009.

 

The design team includes Neil Patel (Sets), Tom Broecker (Costumes), Jeff Croiter (Lights) and John Gromada (Sound).

 

In this powerful American masterpiece, four young soldiers fresh from boot camp wait anxiously in 1965 Virginia, watching the Vietnam conflict escalate. As they struggle to make sense of their new life in the army, tensions rise over race, sexuality, and class, culminating in an explosive act that changes them forever. Streamers is an unflinching exploration of the turmoil and confusion facing young men threatened by forces beyond their control.

 

TICKET INFORMATION:

Tickets are available by calling Roundabout Ticket Services at (212)719-1300, online at www.roundabouttheatre.org or at the Laura Pels Theatre at the Harold and Miriam Steinberg Center for Theatre box office (111 West 46 Street).   Tickets range from $63.75-73.75.

 

PERFORMANCE SCHEDULE:

Streamers plays Tuesday through Saturday evening at 7:30 p.m. with Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday matinees at 2:00 p.m. 

 

www.roundabouttheatre.org

 

# # # 

ROUNDABOUT’S STREAMERS BEGINS PREVIEWS TOMORROW

Previews begin tomorrow, Friday October 17th!

 

ROUNDABOUT THEATRE COMPANY 

presents 

 

Streamers

By David Rabe

Directed by Scott Ellis

 

WITH

Hale Appleman, Axel Avin Jr., EJ Cantu, Larry Clarke, Ato Essandoh, Brad Fleischer, Charlie Hewson,  

 Jason McDowell-Green, Cobey Mandarino, John Sharian, J.D. Williams

 

Previews begin Friday, October 17th, 2008

The official opening is Tuesday, November 11th, 2008

 

Off-Broadway at the Laura Pels Theatre at the Harold and Miriam Steinberg Center for Theatre

 

Roundabout Theatre Company’s (Todd Haimes, Artistic Director) Off-Broadway production of Streamers will begin previews tomorrow Friday, October 17th at 7:30 PM. Streamers is written by David Rabe, directed by Scott Ellis and features Hale Appleman, Axel Avin Jr., EJ Cantu, Larry Clarke, Ato Essandoh, Brad Fleischer, Charlie Hewson, Jason McDowell-Green, Cobey Mandarino, John Sharian and J.D. Williams.

 

Streamers will open officially on Tuesday, November 11th, 2008 at the Laura Pels Theatre at the Harold and Miriam Steinberg Center for Theatre (111 West 46th Street).  This is a limited engagement through January 11th, 2009.

 

The design team includes Neil Patel (Sets), Tom Broecker (Costumes), Jeff Croiter (Lights) and John Gromada (Sound).

 

In this powerful American masterpiece, four young soldiers fresh from boot camp wait anxiously in 1965 Virginia, watching the Vietnam conflict escalate. As they struggle to make sense of their new life in the army, tensions rise over race, sexuality, and class, culminating in an explosive act that changes them forever. Streamers is an unflinching exploration of the turmoil and confusion facing young men threatened by forces beyond their control.

 

TICKET INFORMATION:

Tickets are available by calling Roundabout Ticket Services at (212)719-1300, online at www.roundabouttheatre.org or at the Laura Pels Theatre at the Harold and Miriam Steinberg Center for Theatre box office (111 West 46 Street).   Tickets range from $63.75-73.75.

 

PERFORMANCE SCHEDULE:

Streamers will play Tuesday through Saturday evening at 7:30 p.m. with Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday matinees at 2:00 p.m. 

 

 www.roundabouttheatre.org

###