Recommended by Michael C. O'Day

A delight, philosophical and scatalogical in equal measure. Blevins has created a funny, bawdy, strangely touching meditation on guilt, public disapproval, and finding ways to soldier on through life's indignities - and she has as much fun coming up with theatrical ways to demonstrate those indignities as she does coming up with flights of medieval verbiage that would do the Pythons proud.

A nifty little ghost story, with more than just scares on its mind. Keyes takes the dizzying social advances that have been made over the past decades and uses them to anchor a marvelously constructed supernatural tale about the importance of acknowledging the past while letting go of its baggage. A lovely piece of work.

As one of this century's indisputable Wise Men once put it, "the problem is choice." Rand Higbee has a blast turning this existential quandary into a fizzy science-fiction rom-com, as every attempt at flirtation by a certain young physicist-to-be - as well as every reaction by his psychology experiment's text subject - creates a cascade of new potential realities. Even as the timelines and complications pile up, we never lose sight of the warm, benevolent hearts of the characters - or the playwright. Delightful work.

If you're like me, then fantasies about rewinding the timeline back to a point where the world wasn't completely and totally boned take up a substantial portion of your mental energies. Paul Braverman seems to be offering up a madcap farce about such fantasies, with a late-middle-aged couple getting a second chance (thanks to space aliens, natch) to conceive the savior of humanity they should have conceived forty years ago - until it all takes a heartbreaking twist, and asks just how much we're willing to sacrifice in order to live by our values. A wonderful, heartfelt head trip.

Fun fact: the very first play I ever performed in, back in college, was Peter Shaffer's BLACK COMEDY - so the theatrical device of inverting light (i.e. the power goes off for the characters, but the lights come to full on stage as the actors stumble about "blindly") holds a special place in my heart. Ward Kay uses this device to delightful effect in THE BRIDE IN BLACKOUT, a sweetly delightful tale of pre-wedding jitters and the folly of making plans in this chaotic world of ours. A treat!

A beautiful meditation on the myths of American masculinity and the ways in which they interfere with our lives, our relationships, our ability to connect - a thorny topic which Love succeeds in dramatizing through the simplest, most vividly theatrical of narrative devices. A poetic and evocative text which actors will have a blast performing.

I mean, I was on board as soon as I heard the line "you kinda look like a displacer beast" used as a romantic come-on. Of course, Greg Romero has far more on his mind with this nesting-doll tale of alienation and awkward connections than simple geek references (though the geek references here are ON POINT). Indeed, LARPING belongs in the conversation with that other Great American Play about a childless couple covering their grief with fantasy and gameplaying - though Romero has the grace to give his two (or possibly four) characters, and us, a chance for healing.

Man, the 90s were weird - a patina of progressivism and empowerment plastered over dark and desperate impulses which we've never gotten rid of. In THE ABUNDANCE, a darkly surreal tale of multi-level marketing, Chelsea Sutton has crafted a twisted period piece (love the worn-out VCR inspired scene changes) with an urgent warning for today - that capitalist conformity isn't something imposed on us, but something we seek out ourselves to escape our own desperations. Plus there's a sentient (and highly inappropriate) bottle of miracle tonic!

Try and imagine Thornton Wilder's THE SKIN OF OUR TEETH done as an ESPN segment and you might - MIGHT - get a sense of McNeill's glorious, gonzo achievement here. A workplace relationship comedy, allegory for aging, metaphor for America, and apocalyptic vision all at once, WE'RE ALL ATHLETES sets off a rapid fire blast of theatrical devices and madcap jokes without ever once losing its heart. Glorious.

A delightful vignette of small-town eccentricity, with just enough of a dark undercurrent to give it some bite - after all, most of the time when people of strong convention and too much free time descend upon their elected officials with complaints, they're not angry about the local phone prefix. Tremendous fun to watch, and a blast for actors to perform.