Recommended by Daniel Prillaman

Quite possibly of the wildest reveals I've ever read. I don't know what I expected, but it was not where Keel so deftly led me. To spoil any of the fine details would be ruining the magic, but rest assured this is a grand short play. Succinct in its brilliance, and deeply moving.

My third grade art teacher always called me Robert, mistaking me for someone else, which is not necessarily unlike what might be happening in some way for Nick. Williams’ play is a moving and deeply thoughtful exploration of grief and identity, legacy and intention, and so much more. The title is apt, as the themes interweave and blend with one another throughout the gorgeous dialogue and deftly paced revelations. What is art, really? Who are we? And why do we make commitments to either? The answer is beautifully simple.

We don't get to choose our kinks, but we do get to choose how we introduce them to our partners. And then fetishes become like any other facet of the relationship...are they something we'll lie about or force in order to stay in it? Donnelly uses a frank, sex-positive conversation between two women to explore the nuances of healthy communication (and more). We need more scenes like this in our theatrical canon, and any festival willing to "test their boundaries" will have a surefire audience hit.

Like water evaporating from the ground in the Alabama heat, this play rises steadily from the pages straight into your mind. McBurnette-Andronicos' worldbuilding is so strong and atmospheric that I had to literally check, then remind myself several times, that the characters depicted were not, in fact, real people. They feel SO real and full of history. An incredible descent into humanity's obsession with spectacle, violence, religion, sex, and everything in-between, I'm astonished by this play, and you will be too.

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.