Recommended by Scott Sickles

Mr. Martin clearly thinks he's being O, So Clever in this absurdist expose of the pretentiousness of evaluating the inherently subjective intrinsic value of art, yet he has hoisted himself on his own petard by creating this piece of art, this play, that is objectively perfect. The rhythms carry the words in perfect syncopation, the characters are perfectly drawn and individuated, the thesis and the treatise are perfectly executed in a perfect series of perfectly structured perfect setups perfectly igniting perfect payoffs. It's all perfect, perfect, perfect. So much for art being subjective! Better luck next time, Martin!

"Not now, sweetie. Daddy's reading the police blotter."

Ah yes!

As the adult child of a father who read the police blotter, as well as a long time devotee of topical medicinal creams, this play really spoke to me.

It presents a serious malady, paternas nofunnibonis, with the sensitivity it deserves.

The play is also chock full of Busserian one-liners, strategically placed groaners, and good old fashioned nuclear family dynamics vividly evoking the educational film product placement nostalgia that holds so many of our molecules together.

Read NEW, FROM THE MAKERS OF LAFFTRAX... today!

I haven’t had Chhena Poda but I looked it up and what idiot wouldn’t like sweet baked cheese? (Though washing it down with a Diet Coke is giving the the shudders.)

But Samir’s gonna like what Samir’s gonna like whether Roopa likes it or not. This tale of mother/son acceptance goes both ways. It’s as effervescent as a cool soda on a summer day and sweet as its titular dessert without the least bit of cheese. A delight!

I can’t stop imagining the costumes!!! Especially for SET!

Utterly hilarious. What begins as a meta theatrical sketch quickly (and at 4 pages it better happen quickly) explodes into a tale of betrayal, conspiracy, and usurpation rivaling Shakespeare and Toy Story! Relentless fun!

There is no more consistently inconsistent force of nature than grief. It comes in waves, but randomly. It never goes away but it does get sick of us if we hold on too tightly, and checks back in after we let it go. Grief is also contagious. When it doesn’t spread directly, its damage has a radius. Floyd-Priskorn miraculously pulls off manifestations of grief that capture its amorphous/polymorphous nature, both in its immediate presence and over time. A gentle, subtle, extraordinary work.

A taut, tight noir about a smart, strong, successful heroine in an isolated setting with a man who...

Read it and find out.

Girard elegantly builds the tension, somehow revealing intentions both in front our faces and right under our noses. There are numerous red flags, but the kind that that are more obvious in strangers and easy to dismiss in friends. Even when reveal hits, part of you shares the onstage astonishment and denial. That Girard does this in ten pages is utterly remarkable!

I just saw New Ambassador's Off-Off-Broadway production and it is a scorcher!

Objectively speaking, a newborn literally feeds off its parents. Not just mother’s milk. Their needs become the center of life. Their wants have no consideration of yours. You belong to them more than they belong to you and their id-driven whims inform every decision.

Sometimes, that interdependence sparks joy. Through a darker lens of anxiety and division, these demands can feel like they have consequences. What if they do? What is and isn’t real is up for grabs as parents determine if their infant is simply fussy or a vengeful god. Either way, the stakes are dire.

Oh what a pleasure this is for actors! For mad scientist Victor… it’s a lot but all things considered he takes it in stride. For instance, it’s vexing when you’re on the verge of a major world changing ethics-committee-rebuke-worthy achievement only to find that someone else already does it as a hobby… and probably better. The nesting dolls, though… a propmaster’s dream. The Laboratory is comedy alchemy.

All it's missing is a death row pardon two minutes too late!

An epic tale of a really crappy work day when even the best moments crash and burn as they reach their zenith. Fun and funny!

I also sort my M&Ms. I don't know why. Forman's monologue comes closer to explaining that tendency more than anything I've encountered. Of course, there's more going on here than sorting candy. Contrasting Skittles and M&Ms is apt, emphasizing how we're all different and all the same, how some things can be either/or and others simply can't.

But it's the personal stories about different generations of very young people and how they define themselves. Profound and simple, this is necessary reading, especially for anyone who "doesn't get the nonbinary/pronouns thing."

This will help you learn.