Recommended by Miranda Jonté

What a delight this piece is: zany and rife with ridiculous, myopic characters who possess an overinflated sense of self-importance. Except Teddy. This crowd has no idea that Teddy ain't long for this group, movin' on up to bigger better things. Between living in long-ago glory days and an active refusal to listen, Lila, Jan and Aaron's collective narcissism leads to a misunderstanding that is both refreshing, and, avoidable. What a fun, fun piece for audiences and actors alike. A big YAY.

The final line of this piece slowly rattles my bones.
Loving someone is the bravest thing one can do, and to have it put so simply, so cleanly, gets to the heart (no pun intended) of what really matters. Simon's dawning realization and ensuing decision make for a gorgeous shift in perspective. Do yourself a favor. Choose love.

What you think is going the route of 'final girl' satire, mixed with a twist of 'don't trust anyone,' Soucy's Midnight Cafe has a twist alright, one that warms your bones. You never know who's going to go to bat for you, and here, it's grand.
One has to love the horror and supernatural genres to tie them together in both satisfying nostalgia and tenderness; Soucy is master of both.
Yes.

Sometimes, a love story is the casualty of poor timing, and missed opportunity. In the case of Cathro's titular character, the most famous elf of all time falls in love with a mortal girl, a girl of sixteen, and does not have the tools to woo her.
Rather, the human world of the girl and her spiteful mother, is not equipped to deal with the advances of a two-thousand-year-old elf from a different world. This Santa is broad and handsome, strong and beautiful. But Cynthia is sixteen, and this is beyond her ken.
A heartbreaker.

Sometimes the protagonist is not who you think it is. Like the rom-com lead's pining best friend who is clearly the obvious choice, Carl the Narrator's need for connection is so strong, as is we humans' basic need to see and be seen, that he risks prospective life and limb to, simply, matter.
The stakes are life and death in Heyman's quiet little gem of a piece, and we are reminded that the most simple of needs are often the ones most worth risking everything-

We all know the story of penny-pinching Scrooge and his equally parsimonious partner, Marley- but do we know the 'why,' behind their cold, ungenerous paths? Richter gives us an unexpected origin story that causes one to feel the rightness of it in their soul. This take is equal parts beauty, sorrow, explanation and regret. The chains we hear softly approaching as these two continue to lose their way, also herald a compassion not typically associated with Marley and Scrooge. But Richter crafts & delivers it beautifully. A deeply satisfying heartache for sure.

Simon's philosophy is simple and pure and therein lies the beauty and ache of this piece. He actually means well. I love a writer who takes a perspective that is never considered, and turns it out in all the humanity and misguided- or sometimes just misunderstood- beauty it deserves. I can get on board with Simon's reasoning. Soucy paints a gentleness, a tender heart, in this shackled killer who understands our lack of comprehension, our myopic black and white. I don't even want to use 'killer.' Bravo.

Holy sh*&.
The matter-of-fact bass line of this piece is what makes the dawning horror of it. Holly's sticking to her task of saving Leah- verbally shaking her to clarity in order to prep her for war, grabs your guts & bones. Her directness highlights the urgency & severity of the situation. This is a play with stakes, stakes for days. The sense of dread, of 'something is not right' is the creeping smoke of the fire they're in. Grounded, horrifying- It's gorgeous & by the end (Leah's beginning!) I was near tears. YES.

Well this is just plain lovely. Aching. True. The acknowledgment of needing to be one’s own. The declaration or it- and offer of it.
I love that Marchant captures the mother-daughter relationship so clearly, and that while it is Demeter and Persephone (or not), it could be, and is, universal.
Just a beautiful piece.

No one does poignant everyday dialogue like Gatton. What starts out as a typical day with typical bickering becomes a dawning as mother and son, through walking through mom's youth and the awareness of mortality, discover and see one another as human beings, moving beyond their assigned roles. In Gatton's two-handers, there is usually a mover, and there is a port in the storm (Protocols, Cassie Strickland) and the navigation to peace, or at least a mooring, is always a joy to experience. An in-your-bones piece, this.