Recommended by Philip Middleton Williams

The beauty of mythology is the way it makes the realities of life -- the seasons, the creation, life and death -- understandable and meaningful. The point of view in this telling of the tale of Persephone is from hers, but it also gives the perspective of those who see her and touch her, and through them we have a fully-realized moment.

Even if you were close to your father (as I was), this short, sharp moment will touch you. And if you are not or were not, it may sting -- or not. Either way, Ruben Carbajal's seemingly simple play will stay with you long after you've read or seen it. It is the essence of this relationship that comes through, and is what makes it so powerful.

This play is a testament to the power of intention, meaning, and expression without a word being spoken. This is not a new idea; the works of Charles Chaplin and Buster Keaton were powerful in their silence on the screen. In the loving hands of Scott Sickles these characters give meaning to the depth, urgency, longing, and grief in the moments they share. It is both heartbreaking and joyous, and that's all that needs to be said.

We go through many stages of life and the awareness of it, but Steven G. Martin has chosen three that are moments that stand out because at each of these three stages, we foolishly think we have reached the peak of knowledge and wisdom. But if it were so, then we haven't learned a thing, and in this play we see how much we have yet to learn. The metaphor of packing and preparing for journey ahead is a subtle reminder that not everything we cherish needs to be taken along. Thank you, Steven.

"The Cask of Amontillado" was the first story by Edgar Allan Poe that I read, and it shook me not just in the telling but in the idea of enacting vengeance on a tormentor. Steven G. Martin's adaptation of this story for the stage is powerful not only for the staging and the imaginative design possibilities and the roles to be played, but for setting it in the tale-teller's last moments and his admission of the crime. And yet you wonder if he is seeking absolution or affirmation of his actions, which makes the story all that much more stunning.

A gentle reminder to actors that as the immortal Avery Schreiber once said, "There are no small parts; just short pay." Eric's wistful remembrance of his long career of playing bit parts is charming, honest, and in the end hopeful that while he may never get the big call, he'll still do his best in every part he gets. And failing that, there's always playwriting.

Wayne Firestone's one-minute play says more in that time than some full-lengths, and does it with character, meaning, and impact.

A witty cautionary tale about taking yourself far too seriously, especially when the stakes are so low. I am willing to bet that more than a few people who have read or seen this play will either nod sagely -- or squirm uncomfortably -- with the understanding of having been in this situation, either on the giving or the receiving end of it. It's a great reminder that maturity doesn't always bring wisdom, often with hilarious and meaningful results.

The set-up is great, the tension is taut, and the outcome is --

What, you think I'm gonna tell you?

Human nature looks for something in common when we meet someone: a similar upbringing, the same hometown, mutual interests; something to connect and validate our own lives and affirm that we're not alone. In this sweet little two-hander, Jack Levine finds common ground between two seemingly very different people and make a tenuous connection -- as flimsy as a soap bubble -- but even bubbles can form a foundation.