A husband's preparing for his child's birth reaches farcical lengths, providing the opening of Scott Cantrell's 'Time of Birth' with a heartening charm, but it is soon uprooted by the pregnant wife's pragmatism - also about to reach an abnormal extent. The play hurls optimism against pessimism by embattling gender stereotypes, ad hominem attacks, and an ultimate taboo. A provocation of a play, it propels a marriage in extremis to proportions of Greek myth in order to find the edge of one's love.

The middle of this play is fucking wild. Like, the sort of scene in a movie that widens your eyes and you sit back and all you can really do is laugh at it. Not because it's funny, and not because it's bad. Simply because... it's insane. True horror movie stuff. But not 80s slasher horror. It's Aronofsky by the way of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia (which, what a combination to think of). You will not feel good reading this! You will say, "What the fuck?" but embrace it. A wild ride.