Recommended by Daniel Prillaman

The eternal question. Society has committed terrible deeds, but only if there are no librarians in the world will hope be truly lost. Allen's scene is filled with the perfect level of silliness, resulting in a fun foursome letting loose about all their relationship woes and situations. You can't go wrong here.

When we speak of theatre holding up a mirror to reality, it’s this. There’s only one real difference in play. I’m actually still a bit flabbergasted by this piece because it’s just so goddamn brilliant. The central metaphor is not only so simple and succinct, but malleable to any marginalized members of our society considered “atypical.” This is absurdity at its finest and most biting, and I will spoil nothing further, save that the only folks who might have more fun than the actors are the designers.

Spellbinding. Jamerson slowly bends time and space before weaving them both and more back into and onto themselves in a mythic and disorienting exploration of identity, human interaction, and climate change. Our world demands we “define” ourselves, and finding those words is difficult enough, but add on top of that our self-induced apocalypse? The pacing mimics our confusion and paralysis. There is so much potential for visually and audibly arresting stagecraft in this script, I can barely imagine what it would be like to experience live. I hope to one day do so. Absolutely tremendous.

The setting here makes a lot more sense once you reach the end (I certainly almost feel bad for my characters now). But beyond the physical setting of Plumridge's delightful tip of the hat to many fellow NPXers, this a shining example of the "meta" we've inadvertently created together. Playwrights are tricksy hobbitses, taking inspiration and lines from one another with love, and that's when you wind up with sandwiches, or Steve Martin thinking that we eat cats (no comment). The camaraderie is joyous, humbling, and constantly galvanizing. Excuse me now, I suppose I must go speak with some goblins.

Urrutia's sharp dialogue is as pitch-perfect as ever. It leads us, like Claire, into a most unexpected (but well-meant? innocent? WHY?) request. I suppose stranger things have happened at Claire's, but should they? Or is that the spirit of it all in the end? Kind of romantic, but still illegal.

Also! Ow.

I feel different now.

As opposed to plays, books usually allow fuller access to characters’ internal thoughts and feelings in real-time. How fitting that Martin’s grand (and successful) experimental play is set in a library. It is a beautiful scene with “technically” almost no words, and yet we feel so in tune with Paul and Con from the very moments they enter. Plays like this remind me why I love theatre. This would be fantastic to see live.

Reading this, I had several memories and visceral images of my high school auditorium enter my brain, both fond and uncomfortable. This is a wacky, irreverent, and delightful handful of silliness for any producing team, with many opportunities to use the space in a way it's not typically used. There's a lot of different comedy on top of itself, here, from wordplay to physical to use of silence, which means there's a lot of fun to be had.

While the homages are powerfully triggering (in the best way), you need not be familiar with Shonen or even anime and manga to enjoy Heyman's musical. The ensemble cast is infectious and so much fun, and guide us not only through the show's competition, but the myriad of reasons writers develop their drive to create and tell their stories, no matter the form. It's also a beautiful exploration of the collaboration of writing and nature of competing, for all the good and bad they both entail. I can't wait to see how this piece grows and to experience it live.

Refreshing and satisfying, Kantor brings her brilliance to a myth riff date night between Persephone and Hades. The personification of Hunger is delightful fun as a reader, so I can only imagine the joy an actor and audience would find in it. Alongside the comedy is biting commentary on all that women of any age must constantly balance in order to be deemed “inoffensive.” Dread Queen of the Underworld? [Insert Lucille Bluth “Good for her” GIF here].

A tour de force of a ten minute play. Mabey tenderfully and masterfully weaves what might have been said with what we know was said during the last conversation between Lau Mazirel and Willem Arondeus. If you have no idea who these people were…well, you will. This is a powerful scene of truth, sacrifice, and identity standing against the arms of unspeakable evil. I, for one, now know. And I generously thank Mabey for crafting (and sharing) these words.