Recommended by Vince Gatton

This gorgeous piece of writing does a great job of exploring the isolation and yearning of the time we're living in without being *about* the time we're living in. Alone on the International Space Station after an unknown catastrophe has wiped out life on Earth, Commander Jessica hears another human's voice for the first time in years. What ensues is relatable, witty, smart, and incredibly moving, without ever descending into maudlin sentimentality. These characters are vivid, rich, and real, and their difficult choices make for great drama and well-earned emotional impact. Deeply satisfying, start to finish.

Exasperated feminism is given glorious voice here, in a short play that delivers pure, over-the-top comedy gold along with its (maddeningly obvious yet still somehow controversial) point. The delicious excess may come from a place of frustration and rage, but Hageman’s sharp comedy skills make it a joy to behold. And the ending is perfection. Brava.

This sly play is demented, relentless, and nightmarish -- by which I mean I love it. A couple in a vaguely-tired marriage finds itself trapped in a No-Exit-with-bread-sticks situation; and while the comic potential of the premise (and <chef's kiss>-worthy title) goes fully and satisfyingly explored, so too does the horror. Prillaman has the courage of his convictions, sticking to his guns as he pushes his scenario further and further, testing its limits until we are fully stuffed with the terror, hilarity, and despair of it all...and yet he finds something very moving in it as well. Brilliant.

We’re all just one click away from disaster, or such at least is my takeaway from this short, sharp, shock of a play. What was meant to be a small, funny family moment rapidly snowballs downhill into an avalanche of recriminations and consequences. Abetted by technology and unfolding with the logic of a too-real nightmare, the rapid escalation of family resentments, tensions, and slights will knock the wind out of you. Excellent and queasy-making.

Is “unbearable” a word one can use to praise a play? It’s the word I keep coming back to regarding The Known Universe, the gorgeous and excruciating conclusion to Sickles’ Second World Trilogy. It begins with these beloved characters receiving truly unbearable news, then proceeds to show how they bear it. Sickles being Sickles, though, it’s anything but a slog: funny, sexy, overflowing with love, and with a central dramatic question that stays alive right to its final moment, The Known Universe is packed with both unbearable sorrow and hard-earned wisdom. And tears. Many tears. Bring tissues.

This is the second short play I've read this week inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (the other being John Bavoso's "Gaydestown"), and I'm struck by how beautifully these writers take this ancient story to such varied and interesting places. Tyler Joseph Rossi has set his on the icy face of Mt. Everest, giving us a haunting exploration of grief and regret that is poetic, spare, musical, and absolutely heartbreaking. Gorgeous, gorgeous work.

This very witty, very gay take on Orpheus and Eurydice asks what happens when the Eurydice doesn't *want* to be saved? As the bickering couple rides the endless escalator back up to the world of the living, their debate sparkles with sharp wit that masks a surprising depth of feeling. A meditation on our pandemic-induced loneliness, a spiky comedy, and a wise little observation about loss and the cycle of life, this brief bite turns out to be a real meal.

This tight and tense ten-minute drama delivers smoothly-flowing dialogue, engaging characters, mounting suspense, and hefty moral weight. A well-dressed man with a guilty secret stands alone on a subway platform, possibly contemplating suicide; a previously-unnoticed unhoused guy intervenes. The exchange that follows is a moral cat-and-mouse game in which class and privilege dissolve in the face of giant questions of crime, punishment, guilt, and absolution. The delicious ambiguity of its final pages, plus its boffo ending, make it a worthy heir to Bradbury, Dahl, or Serling.

Listen. Someone out there of my generation/demographics may be able to resist this deeply psychotic mash-up of V.C. Andrews' Flowers in the Attic and C. S. Lewis' The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe...but I'm here to tell you simply that I am not that person. Wicked, inappropriate, absolutely nuts, and yet -- honestly? -- only a *slight* exaggeration of the weirdness of its sources, Flowers in the Wardrobe is like a gonzo wink at my 12-year-old self. If you know, you know, and Kevin King knows.

What if your happy ending came along right as the world itself was coming to an end? That's what's in play in the second part of Scott Sickles' Second World Trilogy, wherein the young persecuted pen-pals from Marianas Trench have grown up to achieve their wildest aspirations -- just as the planet seems to be entering its death throes. Sickles starts with a literal bang, our heroes' (re?)union consummated from the get-go; but there are still forces pulling them apart, as implacable as the tectonic shifts that broke up the titular mother continent. Crazy-smart writing, and epically swoon-worthy.