Recommended by Robert Weibezahl

This is a darkly hilarious satire of school science fairs, parental competition, and the beleaguered school principal trying to navigate it all. Busser keeps ramping up the ghoulish jokes with precision, until we find ourselves laughing at the most appalling things—and hoping for more. Judging from the online comments during a sharp virtual production that was part of the Two-Hander Slam, this one will slay a live audience.

Set in the Roaring Twenties and inspired by the iconic Edward Hopper painting, this charming short play, with an all-female cast, captures an era when ideas about morality and money were fast changing. The sisters at the heart of the play struggle to keep up with those changes even as they cling to more 'old fashioned' notions and dreams about love and marriage. Miller hides a lot of sub-text beneath the snappy dialogue—about secrets, sibling and family relationships, and the need to spread one’s wings while not abandoning the safe and familiar.

Scar as fact. Scar as metaphor. This compelling monologue captures how the hazards and pain of childhood injustice can remain with us forever. Even as the inevitable scenario unfolds, we wish there could be another outcome. Bicknell’s character, a scar above the eye of a now older woman, tells it all with measured resignation, even as the anger seethes beneath the surface. A monologue that reads beautifully on the page and surely would soar on stage.

This delightful, unconventional brief encounter on an out-of-service train platform says so much about human connection and human kindness, as well as about generations, age and obsolescence, and the value we sometimes fail to place on the things that should matter most. We should all strive to be more like Bert, a gentle soul and one of nature’s true gentleman. This short play is heartwarming in all the right ways. Lovely in every way.

Scars are signs of healing, but they are also lingering reminders of pain. And, as O'Neill-Butler dares to explore in this brutally honest monologue, it is the scars we can’t see that can be the most painful to endure. The loss of a loved one, not through death or divorce, but through the cruel ravages of illness, leave perhaps the deepest and most enduring scar of all—a scar on the heart. This is the work of a brave writer, and would be an equally brave undertaking for a daring older actress to take on. Unforgettable.

Yikes! Nothing like a talking left ankle to make you shut up and listen! Williams’s darkly surreal comic monologue reminds us of our own mortality—that our body invariably will betray us, often when we least expect it, and even the miracle of modern medicine cannot erase that looming reality. Three screws may mend a bone, but a lingering scar will stick around to remind us who's in charge whenever it feels like it (especially when the weather changes). Humor and gratitude are our only defense. A fun and unexpected piece.

In a mere five minutes or so, Levine captures so much: the indelible relationship between siblings, how memories are shared and shaped, the blended joy and sadness that can entwine those memories, and even the mystery our parents remain. Poignant.

Williams, admired for his realism, ventures into a slightly more conceptual realm with this heartfelt, autobiographical one-act. Tracing a long-term love relationship, with all of its attendant pleasures and pains, the play taps its two characters’ memories to assemble a truth. Of course, memory can never be relied upon for the truth, but as Tim O’Brien has written, sometimes “story truth” is truer than “happening truth.” Williams plays with these ideas, often injecting wit where rancor could have been just as legitimate a choice. The result is a thought-provoking piece of meta-theater that draws the audience in.

The title of this dark (and at times darkly funny) two-hander could not be more ironic--it's impossible not to squirm in your seat while witnessing this therapy session, wondering what new discomfort awaits. Plumridge writes brilliantly pared-down dialogue that is as real as it is revealing. There is so much (intentionally) left unsaid and left to explore for actors and audiences alike.

All playwrights “live” with their characters, and who among us hasn’t had characters usurp the play and take the story in new, unexpected directions? Plumridge taps that universal dilemma to great comic effect in this sharp and funny short play. The dialogue zings and the characters are hilarious. FORGOTTEN would be a great ice breaker performed at any playwriting conferences.