Monday, October 03, 2005

August Wilson has died.

August Wilson, the greatest American playwright possibly to ever live, and certainly to have lived until yesterday, died of cancer.

His great life's work, a series of plays taking place in each decade of the twentieth century in different Pittsburgh neighborhoods, was complete.

I wrote this in the comments on John's blog, where he posted an obituary:

It is horrible to no longer be able to say he is the greatest living playwright. I still maintain he is the greatest American playwright.

His plays all premiered (previewed? Am I fucking up my theatre vocab?) at the Pittsburgh Public Theatre, and I got to see one of them (Will says it was Seven Guitars). The next one, King Hedley II, we missed, and I never quite got over that. And not just because we would have gotten to meet Tony Todd.