Recommended by Doug DeVita

What leaps out in this incisive short Zoomedy from Diana Burbano is the universality of her work here. Yes, the characters in this piece are all Millennials, but the conversation they're having is one that has been had countless times by twenty somethings on the brink of taking on the world and finding something barring their way; in this case, it is COVID, which is of course a formidable opponent. But nonetheless, Burbano finds the melancholy thread of frustration we're all feeling (and the general sense of Zoom-fatigue) and spins it into something we can all hold onto, together. Wondrous.

Larry Rinkel. The Flying Dutchman. The Staten Island Ferry. A mis-matched young gay couple. What's not to love?

Daniel Olivas draws us in with his poetic, gently lyrical suppositions based on feelings engendered by old family photographs, and before one realizes it, he's turned the tables with adroit, ferocious skill; we feel even more for Amna, and her horrifying story leaves us both shattered by her, and for her. A powerful monologue that resonates with fierce passion, and a wonderful opportunity for a gifted actress.

Sickles is in fine form with this apocalyptic dark comedy. Mixing nihilism and lust in equal doses, he creates a world on the brink of destruction that, while terrifying, is not without its tender, beautiful, and deeply human moments. We should all be lucky enough to go out with this kind of Sicklesian style.

All couples have a dance they do, choreographed and polished after years of being together; in this charming and beautifully handled little gem, a clueless couple, married after a whirlwind series of events that could hardly be called a courtship, are alone for the first time. As they negotiate the uncertainties about their futures and take the first steps of the dance they will do for the rest of their lives, we watch, enchanted by the naiveté of the couple and the gentle but piercing wit with which Johnston tells their story. It's sheer romantic fun.

Set in a dystopian future not unlike our present day – but with a "benevolent" dictator instead of, well, y'all know... – Gonzalez' monologue (intriguingly written to be gender-neutral) shocks from how "normal" it all seems, even as the signs keep piling up until it's too late and we're caught in the trap. Intriguing, even funny at times, this monologue is a terrific piece of performance art, and should have a life in a multitude of arenas, from traditional stages to bars to living rooms and beyond. Great stuff.

So many of my favorite things are in this sharp, funny one-act: coffee, fucked-up relationships, "Frasier," and Gay Noir chief among them. Osorio has crafted this laugh-out-loud dark comedy with a sure sense of the sublimely ridiculous, and the laughs pile up even more quickly than the bodies. Absolutely wonderful.

"I hate that we’re all so...I don’t know...shitty about how we include people across the diaspora."

Taking on cultural appropriation, unconscious bias, blended identity, and whole bunch of other hot button issues about race, class, and cultural divisions inside a culture and out, Rachel Lynett pulls no punches and leaves one on the floor gasping. A stunning work, and a necessary work. I'd love to be in the audience when this is produced, which it should be – often.

This delightful origin story telling how the Bennets of "Pride and Prejudice" became a couple has Austenian wit to spare, and yet enough of playwright Emma Wood's own voice to become a work all its own. Wood gives the play an edge both period and contemporary; an initial sense of joy turning into fear is shared by our protagonist, the young James Bennet, and the audience, as we know the future he begins to see so clearly as the curtain falls. Deft and touching, MR. BENNET'S BRIDE is a terrific bit of theatre that deserves a long life onstage.

Hope Villanueva depicts a disturbingly probable future in THE QoL MANDATE; her dialogue is sharp, her characters are real, and her skill at playing with time and place – often simultaneously – is extraordinary. This is a play both complex and simple, tragic and tender, ugly and beautiful. And oh, so necessary. Read it. Ponder it. Produce it.