Optional Supplemental/Background Information

The following information gives some contextual information about the play including details about the playwright and the history of the story and the original production. It is intended for you to use as much or as little as interests you and is in no way required for you to be familiar with it in regards to our discussions.

SCOTT’S TAKE

I had the fortune of seeing the original production of THE CRIPPLE OF INISHMAAN when its author, Martin McDonagh, was still somewhat of an enigma. His first play, THE BEAUTY QUEEN OF LEENANE, had opened at the small 99-seat upstairs space at the Royal Court in March of 1996, before transfering to the larger space downstairs that December. It was receiving great acclaim for its 24-year-old author and there were echoes of more to come when the two other plays in his Leenane Trilogy were announced to open in the summer of 1997.

Before that, however, CRIPPLE, the first play in a second planned trilogy, The Aran Islands Trilogy, opened in the small Cottesloe Theatre at the National in January of 1997 before bumping up to the Lyttelton that April. (THE LIEUTENANT OF INISHMORE, the second play in the newer trilogy, was produced by ART in 2011. The third play, THE BANSHEES OF INISHEER, has never been published or produced as McDonagh claimed “it’s not any good”. That being said, the writer and director of THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI, is in a sense completing his trilogy and is currently writing and directing BANSHEES as his next film.)

So I saw CRIPPLE before McDonagh’s name was etched in the mythical pantheon of great playwrights when his LEENANE TRILOGY smashed into the West End as a certified hit and earned McDonagh the accolade of being the only playwright aside from Shakespeare to have four plays running in the West End simultaneously. His stature only grew when it was rumored that he had written all four of these plays in a single year.

I eventually went on to direct all three of his Leenane plays (THE BEAUTY QUEEN OF LEENANE, A SKULL IN CONNEMARA, and THE LONESOME WEST) while I was running Third Rail and I suspect they will remain a high-water mark for me personally and professionally. But for me it all started with CRIPPLE.

While I love the characters in his Irish plays and the dark, sometimes shocking, sometimes stirring narratives, what I love most about these plays is the musicality of their language. It’s hard for me not to read the plays outloud as the rhythm of and repetitions in the language create a score that reveals all you need to know: location, class, character, stakes, and relationships. I would direct any of his plays in a heartbeat. I have not had the chance to direct CRIPPLE (PCS produced it at the PCPA in 2000) as its cast was always just a bit larger than we could afford. However, it remains on my directing bucket list.

McDonagh has had a somewhat tense relationship with the theatre and critics. Early in his success he made stated that he didn’t really like theatre and would rather make movies. After his first six plays were produced (all supposedly written before any of them had been produced), he said that he was done writing for the theatre. These statements we made while he was still in his 20’s and he has since matured and, luckily for us, gone back on his declaration that he would no longer write for the theatre. While he has had a successful career in writing and directing his own films, he continues to return to the theatre every four or five years with a new play. HANGMEN one the Olivier Award for Best New Play in 2016 and was presented locally by NT Live. His most recent play, A VERY, VERY, VERY DARK MATTER, divided critics in 2018 about as much as they could be divided; some calling it gratuitously offensive and other calling it a dangerous, twisted work of genius. (If there’s a Play Date Vol 3., we may dip our toes in these waters.)

PLAYWRIGHT: MARTIN McDONAGH

“I suppose I walk that line between comedy and cruelty because I think one illuminates the other. We’re all cruel, aren’t we? We are all extreme in one way or another at times and that’s what drama, since the Greeks, has dealt with.”

— Martin McDonagh

Martin McDonagh is a British-Irish screenwriter, director, and one of the most acclaimed playwrights of our time whose body of work spans over three decades.  As a playwright he is celebrated for his absurdist black humor and incendiary spirit that challenges the modern theatre aesthetic. His sensational writing has won him numerous notable awards including three Laurence Olivier Awards, and one Drama Desk Award amongst several Tony nominations.  

Bursting onto the theatre scene in the early 90s McDonagh, in a very short period of time, established himself as one of the most provocative playwrights of our time. In 1996, McDonagh won both the Evening Standard Theatre Award for most promising playwright for his first work ever produced The Beauty Queen of Leenane and the Critics’ Circle Theatre Award for most promising playwright. Separated into two trilogies, McDonagh's first six plays, all of which are fueled by their mockery of conventional depictions of Irish life, are located in and around County Galway, where he spent his holidays as a child. The first, The Leenane Trilogy, is set in a small village on the west coast of Ireland, and consists of The Beauty Queen of Leenane, A Skull in Connemara, and The Lonesome West . His second The Aran Islands Trilogy is set off the coast of County Galway, and consists of The Cripple of Inishmaan, The Lieutenant of Inishmore and The Banshees of Inisheer.  

McDonagh’s plays are traditional in structure yet distinctly modern in their darkly comedic style taking on an overtly ferocious tone. He constructs worlds populated by misfits, with his main characters setting the mood and melody for each piece. Sculpted out of the distorted values shaped by their small-town existence these characters typically portray those on the fringes of society, most of them embracing absurdly violent natures or criminal tendencies.  These damaged beings create an amoral insubordinate environment, not the standard “slice of life” painted by many other writers, highlighting the mangled humor of loneliness and isolation.

With plots centered around individuals driven by emotional turmoil his use of vernacular and dialogue with sharp witty humor, which epitomizes his specific brand of black comedy, aids in thrusting the action of his storylines forward. A master of tension, McDonagh weaves a volatile world for his characters by pitting the most vulnerable of familial relationships against one another through his special brand of idiom.  Written with biting tongues his characters spew insults, obscenities, and verbal assaults which provide his plays their distinct cadence and darkly comedic edge while simultaneously heightening their potential to erupt in violence.

His ability to seamlessly blend tragedy with comedy through meticulously-plotted scripts has propelled his career.  Building upon his successes from his Irish trilogies his first non-Irish play, The Pillowman, premiered on Broadway in 2005 earning multiple Tony and Drama Desk Award nominations.  A Behanding in Spokane is McDonagh's first play set in the United States, premiering on Broadway in March 2010. Lead actor Christopher Walken was nominated for a Tony Award for Best Actor in a Play for his performance as a killer looking for the hand he lost in his youth. The Hangmen, his latest work, hit London’s West End to critical acclaim in 2015 and won the Laurence Olivier Award for Best New Play. His next project will debut at the Bridge Theatre in London in October and has a title reminiscent of his entire lexicon: A Very Very Very Dark Matter.

With his Tarantino style of writing he has easily bridged the gap between Broadway and Hollywood.   Much like his plays McDonagh’s films center around these dangerously flawed characters that live on the extremes of emotions and society.  His film Seven Psychopaths gained him much critical and commercial acclaim and his 2005 live action short Six Shooter earned him his first Academy Award.  He has been nominated for three other Academy Awards including Best Screenplay for his films In Bruges and Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, this year’s Golden Globe winner for Best Film and Best Original Screenplay.

(from the San Jose Stage Company - 2017)

MEDIA: MARTIN McDONAGH

• New York Times Magazine Interview from 1998: “Most Promising (and Grating) Playwright”.

  The Green Man and French Horn pub, wrapped in dark wood and saturated with yeasty vapors, is just down St. Martin's Lane and across the street from the Royal Court Theater's temporary home in the heart of the West End. A crush of passageways and marquees in the few surrounding blocks marks the center of London's theater world. Martin McDonagh, sitting at a side counter in the Victorian gloom with the sheen on his two-tone leather shoes catching what little light bounces off the leaded glass, calls out, ''Bitter and twisted.''

  The tart mixture of ale and fruit juice is an apt choice for the 27-year-old, who happens to be the most celebrated young playwright in Britain. ''I really haven't seen much theater, generally,'' McDonagh says. ''I guess I try to bring as many cinematic elements into theater as possible, because I like films better than theater.'' Ask him who his heroes are and he names Orson Welles and Billy Wilder, not John Osborne and Harold Pinter. ''I was reduced to going into theater,'' is how he puts it. ''Now it's a leg up to get into films.''

  Not exactly the sort of sentiment the mandarins of the theater like to hear, but McDonagh, a prodigiously talented writer, has had a burst of success sufficient to spin the heads of a dozen young playwrights with less steely confidence in their own abilities and destiny. The Daily Telegraph declared McDonagh ''perhaps the most promising playwright to have emerged in Britain over the past 10 years.'' No less a personage than Sir Richard Eyre, who recently retired as artistic director of the National Theater, said that he ''has sprung from the womb a fully fledged playwright.''

  McDonagh says he has come this far by trusting his own sense of what's right, and he's not stopping now. ''You can tell when something you've written is good, can't you?'' he says. ''I think I can. I would never take anybody else's word for it.''

  He is not really as arrogant as his comments sometimes seem -- or, rather, he is, but his arrogance is presented in such a guileless way, mixed with intimations of deep-rooted social unease, that it is actually likable, in a working-class-hero Leonardo-DiCaprio-on-the-Titanic sort of way. Indeed, there is something of the working-class dandy about McDonagh, with his silvery hair and dark goatee, his piercing blue eyes atop a shy smile that reveals a David Letterman gap between the front teeth.

  When he is not writing plays, or working in the rehearsal studio, or just sitting at home watching television -- which is what he would almost always rather be doing -- McDonagh likes to wander around and listen to people. He did it on a trip to Los Angeles several years ago, aimlessly riding the city's bus system. He did it on a trip to New York, taking the subway as far out as it would go, to Coney Island. And he does it again at the Green Man and French Horn, as a young couple bicker about the purchase of a computer. ''If you've got time to waste,'' he says, kicking back a couple swallows of his fizzy drink, ''you might as well waste it listening to people.'' Sometimes he can even get a play out of it, like ''Dead Day at Coney,'' as yet unproduced.

  Last season, when McDonagh had an astonishing four plays in production in London at the same time, one of his favorite hangouts was this pub, where he often went before and after performances to drink with the actors or trade theater talk with those who gravitate to this and other West End pubs. Three of his plays were across the road at the Royal Court and the fourth was across the river at the Royal National Theater. Next week, ''The Beauty Queen of Leenane'' opens in New York and ''The Cripple of Inishmaan'' will follow in March, prompting some to call McDonagh's eagerly anticipated American debut the biggest since David Hare's. He has a movie deal in the works (a thriller called ''First Day Out of Folsom'') and is hoping to direct his own short film this summer before unleashing another batch of plays.

  Five years ago, McDonagh was a clerk in the civil service, stealing stationery to write his stories and plays on. Three years ago, without an agent, without any contacts, he peppered production companies with unsolicited copies of his plays until one of them landed on the desk of a small regional theater in western Ireland. After that, with remarkable speed, came recognition, celebrity and even a kind of West End infamy.

  The success has been so fast and so extreme that a backlash has already started. ''The problem with the plays of Martin McDonagh,'' said The Financial Times, ''is that they are synthetic.'' Paul Taylor, writing in The Independent, neatly summed up the anti-McDonagh faction's platform: ''There's something creepy about the Martin McDonagh phenomenon. If you didn't know that he enjoys a genuine existence as an award-winning, 27-year-old dramatist who was reared and still resides in London, yet churns out plays in a half-invented rural Ireland, you'd be tempted to think that he was a clever hoax dreamt up by a committee of post-modernist pranksters.''

  Then there was the tabloid-rich incident in 1996 when McDonagh and his brother, John, showed up inebriated for the presentation of the Evening Standard awards, at which he was named most promising playwright and nearly got into a fistfight with Sean Connery. ''It's not something that I'm proud of,'' he says, ''but it happened. Yes, that's right, I squared off with a 66-year-old man.'' He was a little loud, his language was more than a shade vulgar and he did not react well when Connery asked him to behave. ''I can tell you one thing, if you ever meet him, don't say anything bad about the royal family. He may be 66, but he seemed pretty big and vigorous when he had his hands on my shoulders.''

  Garry Hynes, the artistic director of the Druid Theater Company in Galway who is as responsible as anyone for discovering the fledgling playwright, explains such high jinks this way: ''He's had an extraordinary amount of success and attention very early. I'm sure that much of what's going on is the shaking-down period where he's coming to terms with that.''

  The McDonagh plays that have been staged to date are set in rural Ireland, where his family is from, in a darkly comic and violent world of misfits, grotesques and haunted, lonely people. Their very distinctive language is at once recognizably Irish and yet hyperreal and unsentimental. McDonagh says they are the voices he hears in his head (''it's like transcribing other people talking''), variations of his Irish uncles talking during family vacations.

  Here is a local constable chatting with a man unearthing corpses in ''A Skull in Connemara'':

  “The only body I've ever seen was a fella in a block of flats the road to Shannon. The fattest bastard you ever seen in your life. . . .Sitting, no clothes, in his armchair. No clothes, now. Television still on. A heart attack, the doctor said. All well and good. He knows more than me. But I had meself a look in that fat man's fridge, now. A mighty fridge it was, six feet high. What was in there? A pot of jam and a lettuce. Eh? And nothing else. A pot of jam and a lettuce in the fridge of the fattest man you've ever seen in your life. ... I pointed it out in my report to them, and they just laughed at me.

  McDonagh started writing plays, he says, only when he had failed at scripts for film, television shows and radio dramas. He had been working his way through a writer's handbook and theater just happened to be the chapter after radio. ''If this hadn't worked, I'd have gone on to the next chapter,'' he says. ''I think it was painting, actually, so I'd have had to beg some brushes somewhere.''

  McDonagh says he can toss off a play in a few weeks -- four or five, depending on how much rewriting he considers necessary. He goes through a regular ritual. ''I begin by sharpening six pencils and laying them out,'' he says. ''My first draft is done in pencil, on a pad. I do three pages a day. I like the speed of a pencil. Then I type it up. That's like my second draft, and I make changes while I type. Sometimes that's it. Other times I pencil in changes on the typed pages.''

  He works in bursts, a few weeks at a time, and these are punctuated by weeks of inactivity. He rarely goes out, almost never goes to pubs. ''I haven't been out for years, not really,'' he says. ''My life is staying at home and watching TV. It really is. I sleep a lot. I sometimes just sit and look out the window. At birds, at nothing. For hours.''

  Martin McDonagh's bedroom is a small rectangular white box. There's a twin bed and a side table that holds an old electronic typewriter. A poster from ''Taxi Driver'' hangs on one wall. Crucifixes dominate the walls in many of his plays, but not here. The one over his bed is empty. ''I used to have a 'Reservoir Dogs' poster up there,'' he says, ''but I took it down. It scared the girls.''

  When McDonagh's parents semiretired (his father worked in construction; his mother was a part-time cleaning lady) to a village on Ireland's west coast six years ago, they left their two-story row house in Camberwell to John, now 31, and Martin. The brothers have lived there, across from a shuttered Texaco station, ever since.

  ''It works out O.K.,'' McDonagh says. ''We like the same TV shows.'' As he talks, the television can be heard blaring in the front room. His brother is in there, he says. ''I asked him if he wanted to come out and talk. He just doesn't want to.''

  Despite there being two writers living in the same small house -- and the younger one drawing a volley of acclaim first -- McDonagh says there is no sibling animosity. And no, the third play of his Leenane trilogy, ''The Lonesome West,'' about two violently feuding brothers, is not autobiographical. And he doesn't know what his brother thinks of his work, since he's never asked him. ''We don't read each other's stuff,'' he says. ''We're bored, I guess, can't be bothered.'' He pauses for a moment, seeming to realize that this is an implausible answer. ''Look, we both know we'll get there. We don't need to be encouraged.''

  Camberwell, sandwiched between Brixton and Peckham in the sprawling labyrinth of South London, is a banality of modern council flats and rundown, red-brick terrace homes miles from the nearest Tube stop. McDonagh has no friends in the area and really no idea who else lives there. ''They could be Irish, for all I know,'' he says. ''They could be aliens, for all I know.''

  McDonagh dropped out of school when he was 16 and spent the next five years ''basically unemployed,'' he says. His brother, an aspiring screenwriter, was the literary one. John's room was stocked with paperbacks and he talked often of breaking into films. After a while, Martin wandered in and grabbed a few books off the shelf. An idea began to take shape: perhaps he could be a writer, too. ''Here was a job where all you had was your head, a pencil and a piece of paper. That's the coolest kind of job there is.''

  It also offered him an excuse to sit around the house all day. ''It was unemployment with honor,'' he says. ''I never thought I'd get anywhere.''

  Then McDonagh turned 21, lost his unemployment benefits and took a job with the Department of Trade and Industry. He wrote a few television scripts and shipped them off. He tried writing short stories. (''That didn't work at all -- I have no prose style whatsoever.'') Everything was rejected. He hooked up with a local video director and began pounding out one-page stories for a series of shorts. They never got made. In desperation, he began grinding out radio plays. He sent off 22 of them to the BBC and other stations until, finally, he got a letter from one in Australia that wanted to produce two. They were broadcast in Sydney and that was the end of that.

  He turned to the next chapter of the handbook and began trying to write stage plays, but his ''influences showed too clearly'' and his first efforts came off as bad David Mamet impersonations. He has since discarded them.

  Eventually he got the idea of setting something in rural Ireland and he began to write about a young woman in a tug of war for her freedom with her old, manipulative mother. ''It all just started coming out, as soon as I began hearing my uncles' voices saying the words,'' he says. He doesn't know why. ''The Beauty Queen of Leenane'' was quickly followed by two more plays set around Connemara, ''A Skull in Connemara'' and ''The Lonesome West.''

  He's not sure where the darkly comic, almost slapsticky tone of the plays comes from, except that ''they're the kind of plays I'd like to see, if I went to plays.'' He has a malicious streak, and often dreams up ways to startle the audience. ''I am interested in the whole kind of danger aspect to it,'' he says. ''There are times when people in the audiences are hit with bits of stuff flying off the stage, mostly skulls. There's one point where a stove suddenly explodes. I love to be in the theater and watch that. The people in the audience jump out of their skins. I don't know why I love it. I think it's a power thing, really.''

  When Garry Hynes returned to the Druid Theater in Galway in 1994 after several years running the Abbey Theater in Dublin, she found ''Beauty Queen'' and ''Skull in Connemara'' in the stack of submissions. McDonagh's plays had already been turned down by a number of theaters, but they seemed perfect for the Druid, which had a history of producing new writers working in an Irish patois. ''Nothing was really known about him other than an address in South London,'' Hynes says, but eventually the Druid decided to go with the world premiere of ''Beauty Queen'' to inaugurate a new 400-seat municipal theater in Galway. ''It was a huge success,'' Hynes says, ''beyond our wildest dreams.''

  ''Beauty Queen'' was later performed at the Royal Court in the West End. By then, McDonagh had acquired an agent, snagged a writing grant from the Royal National Theater in London and was at work on another trilogy of plays, each set on one of the three Aran Islands off the west coast of Ireland. The first of these, ''The Cripple of Inishmaan,'' is about a lovesick young man who dreams of landing a part in Robert Flaherty's 1934 documentary, ''Man of Aran,'' so he can impress a local girl. ''Cripple'' was mounted at the National Theater in late 1996 around the same time the Druid was putting on the entire Leenane trilogy, first in Galway and then at the Royal Court.

  Now McDonagh is looking forward to his trip to New York, where ''Beauty Queen of Leenane'' will be staged by the Atlantic Theater Company in February, in the original Druid production with Hynes directing an Irish cast. ''Cripple'' will go on at the Public in March in an entirely new production, with Jerry Zaks directing a largely American cast. ''The play is so astounding,'' Zaks says. ''I knew that I wanted to do it. The characters are so well drawn, so well thought-out. These are people who don't appear to need much therapy. They say what they feel.''

  McDonagh is just about finished with the final two plays of his Aran trilogy. He considers the second one, ''The Lieutenant of Inishmore,'' the best he has written, but he is having a little trouble getting it produced in London. He thinks this is partly because it ''looks at the Northern Ireland situation in an entirely new way'' and partly because bad things happen to animals. ''I've figured out a way where it will appear that a cat is being blown up,'' he says. ''It isn't, really, but the audience will believe that it is. I think it makes some people uncomfortable.'' He has decided, though, that he will not let any of his other plays be performed in England until ''Lieutenant'' is staged.

  And he's saving his money. That's one of the reasons he still lives at home. Somewhere down the road he intends to make his own movie and to have enough money (''I'm guessing about a half-million pounds'') to be its co-producer. He thinks it will be an Irish spaghetti western. ''Any country that has a history of crazy guys with guns has a leg up when it comes to doing films.''

  Meanwhile, Zaks and the Public are hoping that ''Cripple'' will be well-enough received to justify a transfer to a Broadway house. And Hynes is hoping that ''Beauty Queen'' will whet American appetites for more McDonagh and allow the Druid Theater Company to stage the entire Leenane trilogy in New York.

  As for McDonagh, he's getting out of Camberwell a lot more. He went to the Maldives last year, then spent three weeks in Thailand with his Irish girlfriend. He's also discovered that the world of the theater isn't such a bad place to be. ''I like being in rehearsal rooms,'' he says. ''I like actors. You know, an actor's life is not 9 to 5. They just hang around like me and drink and talk.''

  He has also found that success has given him a bit of drive, something almost approaching ambition. ''Before, my ambition was never to work,'' he says. ''But I find that I enjoy telling interesting stories. It's fun. I love to surprise myself and make myself laugh. And you know, you have to attempt to leave something decent behind you. We've all only got a small amount of time to leave something decent behind us.''

INISHMAAN

GLOSSARY

• Inishmaan - The middle of three islands that make up the Aran Islands off the western coast of Ireland near Galway. As of 2016, the island had a populatino of 183. John Milton Synge spent five summers here and used it as inspiration for his plays The Playboy of the Western World and Riders to the Sea. The Aran Islands are about an hour due south of the village of Leenane.

• Gasur - Small boy.

• Hedgebank - Hedgerow. A line of closely spaced shrubs (sometimes combined with rocks) to form a barrier or to mark the boundary of an area. Often they serve as windbreaks to improve conditions for the adjacent crops. You can see examples in the bottom image above.

• Lettermore - Island town about 8 miles north of Inishmaan.

• Ladeen - Small boy.

• Nowing - Knowing.

• Eej - Shortened version of eejit (Irish slang for idiot).

• Winkle - Periwinkle. Small edible sea snail.

• Robert Flaherty - American filmaker who directed NANOOK OF THE NORTH, the first commercially successful docummentary film.

• Shite - Shit.

• Slippy - Slippery.

• Mintios - Fictional candy.

• Yalla-mallows - Fictional candy.

• Gob - Mouth.

• Chocky-top Drops - Fictional candy.

• Rosmuck - Island village about 2 miles north of Lettermore.

• Fripple-frapples - Fictional candy.

• Be - By.

• Babby - Baby.

• Praitie - Potato.

• Biteen - Bit.

• Jeebies - Heebie-jeebies. Extreme nervousness caused by fear. The willies. The jitters.

• Good-oh - Pleasure. Agreement. Approval.

• Curragh - Traditional wooden Irish boat.

• Tripeen - Small trip.

• Poteen - Irish moonshine made from potatoes.

• Antrim - Largish town in Northern Ireland.

• Polis - Police.

• Bandy - Toss from side to side carelessly.

• Kevin Barry - Irish Republican Army soldier who was executed by the British Government for attacks that killed three British soldiers in 1920. It was reported that he was tortured at the hands of the British.

• Roly-poly - British pudding similar to a Swiss roll.

• Skitter - Excrement.

• Bent - Drunk. Abnormal.

• MAN OF ARAN - Flaherty’s “fictional documentary” about life on the Aran Islands filmed in 1934.

• Bob - A shilling. There were approximately 20 shillings in a pound.

• Michael Collins - leader of the Irish struggle for independence.

• Mingy - Miserly and stingy.

• Banshee - Female spirit whose screaming is believed to be an omen of death.

• THE CROPPY BOY - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=llxj3rM77Q4. A “croppy” was the nickname given to Irish rebels.

• Besecting - Neologism by McDonagh.

• Donkey jacket - Medium length wool work coat.

• BIGGLES GOES TO BORNEO - Biggles was the main character in a series of children’s adventure books by W. E. Johns. He wrote almost 100 Biggles books between 1932-1968.

• Begorah - “By God.”

• Shillelagh - Wooden walking stick/cudgel.

• Doolally - Temprarily deranged or feebleminded.

• Cod - Trick or kid.

Interview with Charlie Rose from 1998. (Charlie Rose drives me carzy for so many reasons. However, he was one of the few broadcasters who actually interviewed playwrights and directors. So, I guess, as a beggar I can’t be a chooser.)

Robert Flaherty’s MAN OF ARAN.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

THEATRE

• 1996 - The Beauty Queen of Leenane

• 1996 - The Cripple of Inishmaan

• 1997 - A Skull in Connemara

• 1997 - The Lonesome Westt

• 2001 - The Lieutenant of Inishmore

• 2003 - The Pillowman

• 2010 - A Behanding in Spokane

• 2015 - Hangmen

• 2018 - A Very Very Very Dark Matter