Recommended by Jarred Corona

Ah, the fun world of sexual discovery in a country with quite abysmal sex ed mixed with the terrifying potential of coming out. I particularly enjoyed the bit about the fake ID, perhaps because every third time I show my ID, I get a look that says, "But aren't you a child?" I feel like anyone who looks a bit young for their age will have to crack a smile. And the world can never have enough stories with affirming family members, so I'll always cheer for any stories that include such.

Oh, the magic of musical theatre. Oh, the horrors of trauma. This is a piece that shakes with honesty and despair and hope. While the first half resonated with me in a special way, both parts are surely amazing treats for any performer lucky enough to find themselves in Simpatico and Schmidt's world. I have a distinct impression that audiences might forget themselves, might not think to clap as many often do at the end of every song, as they'll be too caught in these characters and not dare to interrupt less they miss part of the magic.

Long live fantasy. Nimue, much like the sword of legend, proves one thing true above all else: that which breaks can always mend back together stronger. We might not outrun death. And man will always point swords at that which they don't understand, at women and magic and nature, and yet man can never get the victory which he truly seeks. The wheel will turn. This is an absolutely lovely read. I'd love to see this staged. I wouldn't mind seeing it adapted for screen, either. Ky Weeks is a phenomenal playwright.

Everything about this premise is both hilarious and amazing. The show itself is a bit haunting. Existential. It's existential in a way, too, that Alistair Crowley might approve. On the verge of moving to a new stage of enlightenment, the gnostic is blocked by a great enemy: Choronzon. I won't spoil this show, but that connection made in my brain makes me want to sit with this show and what it says about cults and religion and the nature of existence for a long time.

How much different is death from a dream? Do we float then on the edges of reality like the memory of a distant sleep? I wonder. This show feels like a wisp. It's a surreal piece that, as you get closer, as you truly see it, is disturbing a bit, and, in that, mesmerizing. And then, like that, it's gone. Wisps always go away, but their memories remain. Well done.

I'm unsure how to explain my thoughts without unloading unnecessary trauma . I can surely say the writing is great. Pflaster sure knows exactly how to compose a verse and bring life to speech. Full characters. Catharsis, perhaps. Catharsis is what I can say. Few pieces of media of any sort have given me terribly strong emotion. The last time I cried at a play was "Tribes" by Nina Raine. I'm... somewhere, at the moment. Scared, I move, and survive. Thank you for giving me a show to survive. I hope you read this as sincere compliment, because it is.

The first thing I noticed was the wonderful voice of the stage directions reminding me of Aaron Posner. Then comes this incredibly snappy dialogue between three VERY engaging women. Then comes this... this beast of a story. I want this show to be everywhere. Colleges on their stages and in the classrooms. Theatres big and small. Maggie Lou Rader wrote a show not just important (liberation for women, sex workers, BIPOC still needs marching on to) but of such wonderful... everything. I'm not even sure why I feel at a loss for words. Please, read this. Perform it. Study it.

I grew up near Bowling Green. A different one, one in Kentucky, but as someone in love with music and with a twin of my own (only, she was born 1.5 years too early), does the different time and place matter, or can this still qualify as a show somehow... written about me? I don't know. Maybe it's because of that, or maybe it's because of the gorgeous writing and dynamic characters, or maybe the hard hitting monologues, but all I can really say in my recommendation here is... Music paints time. This play is music.

Those who know expectations are smart, and smarter still are those who play them and their expected inverses. As Rachel Feeny-Williams leads you through the many secrets of the Helsingtons, you gain a sense of smugness, feeling as if you solved the mystery by pure intuition or familiarity with the genre. But when a scant detail from the very start, which I well forgot, come into play, you can't help but smile at the truth. Mix that in with an ending step of sweet love, and you have a delightful show.

Reading this felt a bit like first time viewing one of the more delightfully insane movies I've ever seen, "So I Married an Axe Murderer." I giggled. I went wide-eyed at moments of comedy and at moments of shocking thrillery goodness. I'm quite happy to have read this amazing work. Three cheers for Doug DeVita. This show is lovely in so many ways. I can't wait to read more of DeVita's works.