Recommended by Robert Weibezahl

This sharp ten-minute satire says so much about the way we live now because, despite its slightly absurd setup, it is so disturbingly plausible. Laugh till you cry and then pour yourself a stiff one. Bravo, Maximillian Gill. Shelve this one under classics.

We are all made up of our past, our present, and our future. Martin eloquently explores the “three ages of man” with depth and insight as different incarnations of the same man converse, argue, and weight the choices and mistakes he has made. Against the backdrop of a journey through a barren landscape, 153 is both unencumbered and universal in its message, even as Martin finds telling details to delineate the specifics of this particular life. A recent online production by Winding Road Theatre Ensemble incorporated stark visuals and memorable music to underscore Martin’s thought-provoking vision.

Even grief has comic possibilities. Luke disguises his heartache and resentment with sharp rejoinders (and a bit of gardening), but he is thrown for a loop when guileless young Jared turns up with an unexpected connection to the past. Williams mines this clever set-up for all it is worth, subtly revealing the source of Luke’s sadness and Jared’s own dignified reasons for needing to sell his soul. The ending is beautifully orchestrated: surprising, endearing, and with a glimmer of hope.

This masterfully crafted short play beautifully captures the reality of dementia from both sides—the person sinking into memory loss and the still cognizant loved one, both losing their cherished connections to the past. The dialogue between an aging father and the son he no longer recognizes is poignant and wryly ironic, revealing how there is always more to learn about ourselves and the ones we love and think we know. The final line is perfect—two simple words, larded with so much meaning. LeBlanc has written something special here.

Noah and Andy have wandered into this hilarious short play straight from a Tarantino or Coen Brothers movie. A dead-on portrayal of male posturing and stupidity...beautifully done in by a mouse. The character dynamics are perfect. One suspects Frandsen has known these guys, or ones quite like them. A gem.

Joni Mitchell wrote, “Laughing and crying, you know, it’s the same release,” and Mabey proves that truth so beautifully in this emotionally bountiful short play. The relationships brim with love, despite the deep-seated scars, and the hopefulness at the end is so palpable it defies you outright not to smile. Mabey is such a generous writer, giving so much to both his characters and his audience. BIRDSEED is definitely a gift.

Like Pinter, Mabey lets the silences speak. This brutally honest short play is a cunning dance of deception—pitting adversary against adversary, but also choreographed with self-deception. The characters learn their own repressed truths in real time, at the very moment the audience learns them. Elusive and thought-provoking work.

Miller’s Alice speaks for anyone who, having reached a certain age, after faithfully going to work every day and giving her all to “the Man,” suddenly asks, “Is that all there is?” The oh-too-familiar pain is (darkly) comic, the dark comedy all too painful—and all in the best way for good dramatic writing.

Another sharp slice of domestic truth from Williams, who has mastered the art of getting right to the heart of the matter when exploring the things that simultaneously pull family’s apart and bind them together. A novel’s worth of back story and emotion packed into an honest and resonant episode.

For anyone who foolishly believes that age is just a number, Lamedman’s Sylvie has a few choice words. Quite a few, actually, and they are funny, angry, pointed and painfully accurate words. This sharp two-hander provides great roles for female actors of a certain age, who surely will relish the chance to savor and spew this dead-on dialogue.