Recommended by Vince Gatton

Don't let the breezy, knowing tone of this play's protagonist/narrator fool you: the depth of feeling and largeness of ideas here are, well, insidious. The surprises keep coming well beyond revelations about the mysterious Anton, as Francesca's witty story sneakily accumulates moral and emotional weight - even as it recoils from pat sentiment or easy answers. You will want to be friends with The Insidious Impact of Anton, is what I'm saying -- and whether it will admit it at first or not, the feeling is probably mutual.

Hilder’s characters often do things that not only surprise the audience, but surprise themselves. Such is the case with his take on Kafka’s The Trial, wherein Our Dude is caught up in a comic nightmare that is as much about what’s happening inside him as it is about what’s happening to him. There’s a trick to telling a story with this much give-no-fucks attitude and an equal measure of loving care, but Hilder pulls it off. It’s wildly funny, appropriately horrifying, and deliciously sad.
And funny.
And horrifying.
And sad.
Make it stop.

This moving and humane ghost story has compelling characters and ideas about self-determination, transformation, and the persistence of love. The ghost-hunters are a delightful pair of genuine oddballs; the ghosts a study in control and manipulation. A late theatrical coup brings the two pairs together in a twist of both plot and form that’s revealing and invigorating, unexpected and yet entirely right. The setting and action allow for tremendous breadth of directorial imagination – it’s possible that no two productions of this play would look anything alike – and Courtney is a winner of a role. A lovely little gem.

David Hilder gets at the jagged experience of grief with sharp humor and honesty. Drown captures beautifully -- and sometimes hilariously -- people trying hard to say and do the elusive right thing when there are so many things to get wrong. Talking clams and the relative merits of eating plankton versus krill add a welcome dose of off-kilter theatrical wit to the exploration of Bonita's troubled state of mind. A sweet, sad, and not-at-all-mawkish play.

I hate you, Clown Bar. I hate you because clowns are evil and freak me out and you are a play filled with them that I nonetheless couldn't resist. You're hilarious, you're dark, you're musical, you're sad, you're violent, and you're wildly theatrical. Hate hate hate you, Clown Bar, for making me love you so. Get lost.

So many dramas packed into one tight, suspenseful play. A prodigal sister returns, conflict follows, but in a way that feels entirely specific and fresh. David Hilder reveals his ominous "sideways version of next year" to us on a strictly need-to-know basis, doling out the hints and explanations in doses just large enough to serve the tense story. I can't tell if this is a big Brave New World nightmare packed into a small family drama, or a moving family drama disguised as a dystopian-future thriller. It's probably both, and it's all excellent.

A married couple goes through a long dark night of the soul, and it's a gripping journey. This marriage feels lived-in, each person vividly real, complex, and human. John Yearley avoids all the pitfalls of exposition between people who know each other well, and allows backstory, secrets, lies, and half-truths to be revealed in ways that feel entirely natural -- without ever losing their dramatic punch. In this battle of wits, wills, and hearts, what could "winning" even look like? This smart, suspenseful, sad, and beautifully humane play manages exactly the right answer.

A powerful visual metaphor undergirds this taut, suspenseful little drama. Two women seem to be speaking past each other throughout, but each pleasant evasion or polite non-answer reveals an ugly battle of wits. A profound little gem about something important, and a terrific example of leaving a lot unsaid without ever losing clarity.

Takes us back to the bad old days of gay life in America, through a strong sense of place and rich, funny, sad characters. The motley denizens of this secret club speak in the hard-boiled, wise-cracking patois of film noir, nicely underscoring the danger inherent in their life on the margins of a hostile society. Effective use of music and time-shifts as well.