Trailers + More

Watch a trailer or a video interview, read essays by our writers and artistic staff, peruse interviews with our writers—it's all here, and it's all exclusive to Playwrights Horizons.


Bootycandy Trailer

It's "big, bold, searing, and sensationally funny" (NY Times)—it's Bootycandy. Robert O'Hara has written/directed a fearless show that's taken New York by storm.


Behind the Booty

If you think the Bootycandy cast is outrageous on stage, wait until you see what goes on BEHIND the booty.


Bootycandy Symposium

Bootycandy Symposium, where the writer asks the questions. Moderated by Robert O'Hara, featuring Carmen Neely, Billy Porter, and Yoruba Richen. Fast forward to 8:40 for the beginning of the panel.

Watch live streaming video from newplay at


Scene from Bootycandy

What does "bootycandy" really mean? Find out in this excerpt of the opening scene to Robert O'Hara's "sassy and saucy" (NY Post) hit show.


Backstory: Life is a Banquet

As she prepared to receive her first sacraments in 1927, Dorothy Day must have seemed an unlikely Catholic. She was thirty years old, unmarried, a new mother, living in a cottage on Staten Island she’d bought with her own money three years earlier when Hollywood bought the film rights for a novel she’d published. Called The Eleventh Virgin, the thinly veiled autobiography chronicled a youthful love affair and an early pregnancy that ended, when Day was twenty-one, with an abortion. (She would later refer to it only as “a very bad book.”) She’d spent her twenties making a living as a journalist, writing for radical Socialist papers including the New York Call, The Masses, and The Liberator.

Playwrights' Perspective

Heidi Schreck on Grand Concourse

When I was in middle school, a family friend—I’ll call him Mr. Hornby—asked my parents if he could borrow a thousand dollars. Mr. Hornby had divorced his wife and lost his job and he needed the money to get his car fixed. A thousand bucks was a lot to us—this was the 1980s and my parents were public school teachers saving to send two kids to college—but they scraped it together and gave it to Mr. Hornby, who was genuinely grateful. Then Mr. Hornby got in his Buick, which was not actually broken, and drove eleven hundred miles from our little town in Washington state to Las Vegas, where he lost the money at a blackjack table.

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