Recommended by Daniel Prillaman

Throughout time, much hath been observed on the perceived invincibility felt by many youths. When you’re young, the world’s your oyster, and nothing can kill you. Except everything that actually can. And bullets can kill you. Which really probably explains Shawn’s hesitance. They’re not kids anymore. Right? They’re adults. Right? Your mid-20s is the new mid-40s. Kane’s trademark dread and tension are here in spades, as a really bad (or good?) idea comes to practical fruition. The things we do for our jobs aren’t that bad. Right?

A touching and genuinely tender tale of loss, grief, and remembrance. Love doesn’t stop for death, so by what rights should it stop for how our lives evolve? Our momentary failures? Our victories? The transition from situational comedy into the topics of gravitas is wonderfully smooth, adding so many layers to what could so easily be a much less felt scene. A beautiful, impactful two-hander on every level, and a reminder for all of us.

Absurdism is remarkably difficult to do well in shorter pieces. Despite the nonsense and dislogic of the world, every line has to be perfect, every moment and beat has to evoke timelessness. Jigour’s worldbuilding is staggering. Margaret’s ability to prioritize her own tasks over the “children” strikes far too many parallels with contemporary society, but that’s not necessarily the metaphor at hand. It could be a lot of things. That’s the beauty of the genre. It’s evocative of so much, and the unsaid speaks multitudes. This is a gobsmacking short play.

When Alyssa encounters Mike at a high school reunion, it becomes quickly apparent that Hartley-Kong’s short play is about two kinds of people. Some people you remember. Other folks, whether through the natural way memories fade over time or unfortunate accident, you forget. As Alyssa explains her own and Mike’s history, the story transforms into a heartfelt meditation on connection, and how moments that might not seem like anything can actually mean everything. Life-affirming and quietly joyful, and full of sensory dialogue, this would leave a lasting impact at any play festival.

A touching and genuinely tender tale of loss, grief, and remembrance. Love doesn’t stop for death, so by what rights should it stop for how our lives evolve? Our momentary failures? Our victories? The transition from situational comedy into the topics of gravitas is wonderfully smooth, adding so many layers to what could so easily be a much less felt scene. A beautiful, impactful two-hander on every level, and a reminder for all of us.

We’ve all done it. Whether we’re Mary and John, desperately improvising in attempt to deter awkward silence and save continuity, or whether we’re Tom…well, if we’re Tom, hopefully we’ve never botched it as badly. A hilarious short which finds delight in the game and plays it perfectly. Sexy pepperoni, indeed.

My ADHD sometimes means I read short chunks of plays in public spaces. The thrift store, the gym, the car. There's a sequence in "The Hanging Girl" that is so visually striking and creepy that it stopped me cold in full artificial lighting, surrounded by people. That's fucking powerful. When you talk about the potential of onstage horror, Merilo's epic is a perfect example to point to. Deftly interwoven and theatrically bold, filled with opportunities for choreo and skillful design, this is a stellar tale of the strings that not only bind us together, but those that reverberate throughout history.

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.

In a scene that will seep right through your skin and stay there long after you walk away from it, Girard tackles connection, longing, aging, and so much more. A little creepy, a little romantic, we hit a lot before the final lines, and the ride is very much worth it. The less spoiled, here, the better. So step in, because the train's leaving the platform.

Look, Satan has feelings too (actually, perhaps too many feelings, that's why we're in this mess in the first place), and it's up to Clarence to cheer up the Dark Lord. Mabey's play is, at once, a delightful holiday spoof and fun story in its own right, and would "kill" in any festival setting, holiday or no. You can't go wrong here.