This play plunges us into the mind of a monster with no means of escape, forced to see the world through his eyes. It also pulls of the pretty incredible trick of not being his story, despite being locked into his point of view. Reading doesn't really do it full justice, and I hope to someday be able to see it in its horrible, mesmeric glory.

A deep dive into rage, righteous and petty. The story of Boy and Wendy is all too common in today's society, yet it's one that repeats itself again and again. Mohlman condenses this fury into an immensely theatrical script, providing opportunities for unforgettable imagery and staged movement. The whole production team has a playground here, or perhaps more appropriate to say, a pool. I can only imagine what it would be like to hear the Mermaids in real time. A commanding wall of sound, deftly paced like a poem. This is expertly crafted.

A play that uses its ensemble as a powerful hurricane. The women in the chorus (as few as 6 and as many as 49!) gather speed for overwhelming moments that bring the calmer sections into sharp focus. This play lives confidently in the "anger" stage of grief, giving voice to the victims of gun violence and letting them take their revenge on toxic masculinity.