Recommended by Daniel Prillaman

  • White Cotton, Black Light
    22 Dec. 2023
    An old, racist white guy once said that the greatest fear is the fear of the unknown. Ignoring the ironic and inherent xenophobia in that, Eli otherwise faces a similar struggle. Not a cosmic horror so vast and unknowable, but the microscopic germs and invisible, but nevertheless PRESENT, stains on the hotel bed. But there's also something underneath the "sheets" here, the fear, excitement, horniness, and undeniably human experience of being vulnerable for the first time with a potential partner. It's a complex, layered moment, and is depicted so tenderly and deftly.
  • The Grift of the Magi
    20 Dec. 2023
    The three Wise Men, while perhaps a bit new to contemporary parlance, aren't idiots. They know bullshit when they smell it, and it smells like myrrh. A very merry (and well-deserved) poke at predatory festivals and that particular anguish that only playwrights truly know. What the Dramatist's Guild equivalent in the Biblical Age?
  • Elves on Strike
    18 Dec. 2023
    My condolences to Matthew Weaver. You never expect to have your play overrun by protesting elves. However, the message here is one I would willingly sacrifice my own work to. 100% of the time.

    FUCK Elf on the Shelf.

    Polar solidarity. I'm with them.
  • That Wasn't Mistletoe (from HOW MY PRINCE CHARMING TURNED OUT TO BE A FROG)
    18 Dec. 2023
    An absolutely lovely and charming play about tradition, culture, languages, the fun of linguistics, the sheer unholy wrath of nature (only sort of joking about the last part). Syran doesn't provide an explicit setting for this couple (so having recently visited Québec, I'm pretending it's there), but it makes the themes of meshing traditions to create new ones all the more potent. A delightful scene in every way.
  • An Angel Comes to Brooklyn
    17 Dec. 2023
    Whether you approach tarot from a place of skepticism or ardent belief, there's one constant it provides to both kinds of folk, a time to reflect. Sometimes that reflection is more welcome, and sometimes we're like Brooklyn, desperately wanting to not acknowledge something fundamentally life-changing but that we've known was coming for a long time. The cards aren't the only thing getting turned upside down here. A beautiful and surprising two-hander perfect for the end of the year.
  • Antigone, presented by the girls of St. Catherine's
    16 Dec. 2023
    A staggering powerhouse of a script. Just absolutely incredible and impeccably executed across the board, from its layered, delicious parallels with its source material, to the pitch-perfect pacing, to the ethical questions it leaves in its wake. As theatre practices and abuse of its artists by those in power comes further into question, this play is a reckoning in so many ways, from class to gender to religion and more, and it is always the youngest of us who suffer the most. We should be doing this play everywhere. Highly recommend.
  • The Pity Mourner (Ten Minute)
    16 Dec. 2023
    Sweet and melancholy rarely go together, but Donnelly's play combines the two in such a deft way that I'm almost in disbelief. Archie's question could so easily be another case of improper time, improper place, but instead reveals itself as two people taking a chance and embracing "yes" in the face of mortality. A most thoughtful and tender piece.
  • Hey Babe
    15 Dec. 2023
    If you have aversions to the word “babe,” you won’t come out of Heyman’s short horror with better feelings. Moreover, if you don’t, you’ll certainly come out with some. Marcus’ trigger phrase is a chilling repetition that slowly builds unease in the audience, then tension, then absolute terror. Putting ourselves into Pete’s shoes is evocative of a paralyzing venom, as we can only watch with wide eyes as the snake coils around us. Good boy, indeed. And while firmly in the land of horror, a sobering reminder that abusive, controlling partners are insidious. Terrific.
  • The Most Precious Thing
    15 Dec. 2023
    This play is, in fact, the most precious thing. I don't mean for that to come across disingenuous or gauche. It's truly rare when a play (even a full-length) so succinctly lends total gravitas and clarity to a struggling character's journey. A grand meditation on what makes life worth living, the connections between us, and how the smallest things or gestures can mean everything depending on the intention behind them. Absolutely brilliant.
  • Leave a Light On
    3 Dec. 2023
    The illness in "Leave a Light On" is perhaps even more terrifying than our recent pandemic. Swain takes the uncertainty of COVID and combines it with the memory stealing power of Alzheimer's, depicting a wrenching world in which we are in danger of losing everything except our physical lives. It's a powerful, commanding testament to the meaning and depth hidden in the little moments that make humanity...well, human. Things that we allow too often to go unthought of or unconsidered. What are we without these memories? And what does it mean to lose them? Excellent one-act.

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