Recommended by Scott Sickles

You had me at “kaleidoscope.”

And when Speckman says “kaleidoscope,” she means it! The specificity of the imagery is matched only by its originality. The words ARE music! And as they used to say on American Bandstand, “it’s got a great beat and you can dance to it.” When you’re reading it, you’ll want to.

This piece will brand your heart in the best ways.

And you’ll want a peanut butter cup.

There’s a horrible paradox to death in wartime: the anguish that it happened at all, the unforgivable relief that’s it happened to someone else, tempered by the fact that it could happen to someone you love at any moment, if it hasn’t already. Williams uses separation - keeping the tragedy adjacent to the speaker’s family rather than directly in it - to create a resonant foreboding. It’s a family portrait vast as the Guernica, with the innocence of Rockwell and the intimate distance of Hopper. All told with a maternal fierceness.

History often goes unappreciated, no more than in the LGBTQ subculture. It often seems queer people under a certain age have no understanding or appreciation of what it took to get here. That’s why plays like TORCH SONG, BOYS IN THE BAND, and ON THE ROOF are so damn important right now. Hoke creates a vivid portrayal of what gay men in particular (but not exclusively) went through not too long ago. Deeply personal, beautifully individuated, and astonishingly atmospheric, it’s a portal to an oppressive past by which we can evaluate the present and prepare the future.

A great story of dreams: the ones others have for us and the ones we make for ourselves. Lermond gives us a narrator big of body and soul. What the piece has to say about how children are controlled, influenced, and even empowered is important. Throughout, you can’t help but feel for the guy, in his childhood and his present, in ways that both break and warm the heart.

So close and yet so far...

Deray gives us a three-dimensional couple at opposite ends of the Covid-19 occupational spectrum: one can’t work because of the pandemic, the other is caught right in the middle. The play captures the loneliness and frustration of loving a person you can’t touch, even though they’re right there! It’s struggle millions are enduring right now.

Great roles for two male-identifying actors. The tension - emotional, sexual, and otherwise - is palpable, yet love and even romance shine through, even when they complicate matters.

We own what happens to us. We own our stories.

Of course, most of our stories involve other people; what happened to us also happened to them. But sometimes a moment occurs that is profoundly, uniquely, inexorably Our Own. These stories are sacred.

Miller gives us such a tale, filled with passion, joy, and beauty, one that becomes part of us when it’s shared, even though it’s not ours. It’s a gift. She also shows what happens when these treasures are purloined, and the indelible pain that leaves behind, small yet searing. A beautiful piece.

Brutally honest yet not at all judgmental. Osmundsen uses the pandemic to examine human connection in universal ways. Perfect for Zoom, it could almost be set anywhere, anytime. But he's planted his characters firmly in a 12 Monkeys pandem-apocalypse where people are desperate to connect, but not with just anyone. The adaptation of "Never Have I Ever" is simple and powerful. The characters are clear and relatable, we've been the good and bad of all of them at some point. Hope and humor balances out the tone but in a dry way faithful to the circumstances. Terrific sci fi!

Sometimes all you need for an epic love story are two people stuck on a porch, a chicken salad sandwich, and a desire that’s been burning for decades. Haas gives us all this and more in a play that’s equal parts hilarity, romance, and awkwardness. Nostalgia, longing, regret, and ultimately bravery and compassion come together and win the day with some dizzying conversational turns, poorly negotiated boundaries, and the kisses you were never brave enough to ask for until now. Glorious!

I love a good reveal (who doesn’t) and the moment I found out what was really going on, I had to put down the play and ride out a significant fit of guffaws! Otterman starts out by giving us two unrepentant drunks in a panic. They seem terrible. Then you find out why they’re hammered early in the morning and well... who can blame them??? The play is wonderfully twisted and shamelessly shameless! It’s also a fascinating exploration of narcissism, selfishness, and testing our sexual limits. Deliciously crazy!

A cavalcade of surprises, moods, and emotions. BLESS YOU begins mid-date, mid-kiss, between shorelines on the Staten Island Ferry. Exasperation turns creepy, heightened All the more by there being nowhere to run... for either of them. Like many a good horror tale, the play asks what if a terrible superstition turned out to be real. Lawing balances skepticism and belief, building to a stellar climax.