In Three More Plays, critically-acclaimed playwright/author/poet Peter Carlaftes offers a trio of brilliant and intense modern plays that inspire on both page and stage. In “Anti,” Carlaftes explores a frightening future—in which government surveillance and data mining is the norm—through the eyes of a theater director on the verge of giving up hope. The chilling psycho-sexual drama “Closure” examines the relationship between a woman whose sister was abused a child, and the rapist-murderer that stalks her outside her therapist’s office. In the tender and humorous “Inside Straight,” characters must confront their lovers’ sudden shift in sexual orientation as a gay man and a lesbian woman discover they are attracted to each other. The San Francisco Bay Guardian praised the “Inside Straight is a comedy of eros! . . . A restive heart knows no logic or permanence.” All three plays share a passion for beautifully drawn, full characters and powerful moments that force them to expose the true identity they work so hard to hide. As the SF Weekly raved, “As with Strindberg, Beckett or even Sartre, Carlaftes’ message seems to be something we intuit, like music.”
I've read thousands of plays over the years and directed many as well. This book contains the kind of plays I like: Intelligent, moody, and totally unique. In particular, the first play, ANTI, which reminds me of Harold Pinter, is set in a future where every one is monitored 24/7. It's no wonder that the characters speak in a kind of cryptic language as they try to manipulate each other into potentially fatal mistakes. Play #2, Closure, scares me just to read its psychoscexual themes of child abuse, murder and death wishes. And I especially loved the third play, Inside Straight, which deals with the nature of fluid sexual identity in a very funny way. All and all a great read, perhaps not for everyone, but definitely for people familiar with the work of Beckett, Pinter, Satre and a love of theater.
Wish I could give this NO stars; even at less than $2 on Amazon, this was a ripoff. The first play is complete gibberish; the following two are somewhat better, but amateurish and have nothing to say. Doubt any of these ever saw more than their initial self-produced productions