Recommended by Jillian Blevins

Claire Dettlof has a knack for writing women as we are as opposed to how we’re expected to be. The world is obsessed with our bodies, but really, so are we. This raunchy, goofy, relatable 10-minute bitch-fest is full of perfect one-liners and slumber-party fun.

SIMON SAYS rests on an original premise: just as “Ring Around The Rosy” couches a deadly warning about the Black Death in a children’s game, so does the play’s eponymous game—to increasingly disturbing, violent effect. Erin Moughon’s surefooted genre piece hits all the right notes, laugh out loud one moment and spine-chilling the next. Her sly references to conspiracy theories like The Illuminati in her original lore (and the restraint she shows by showing us just enough of it) reveal her to be a literate and practiced storyteller. And what gnarly fun for three actresses!

Non-linear storytelling isn’t new, but it can feel gimmicky or unmotivated. Not so in this metaphysical miracle of a play in which reality spins around one unendurable, unnameable moment, the narrative orbiting it, unable to escape its gravity.

RADIO GHOSTS is carefully crafted with tremendous economy. Here, form and content reinforce each other; heady discussions of quantum physics and the human brain illuminate the structure of the play, helping us piece together the mystery at its center.

Sound is integral to RADIO GHOSTS, providing any designer with the opportunity of a lifetime.

A haunting tale.

How do women define ourselves? What makes us fulfilled? Or valuable? And how does a sexist culture force us to compare ourselves and compete for those precious few spots at the table?

BUZZ’a beautifully written characters offer fantastic opportunities for actresses—from prickly, determined Alicia, to patient peacemaker Eden to Lizzie, the open-hearted idealist. Their shared quest to save the bees from invasive murder hornets (remember those?) creates parallels between environmental crises and existential ones. The theatrical device of the adorable bees and the terrifying hornet (anxiety made manifest) would be a delight to stage.

WORM TEETH is a raucous, weird and wild fable equally obsessed with violence and adorable, fuzzy-wuzzy cuteness. “Twee body-horror” isn’t a genre I ever imagined existing, but after reading this play, I can’t imagine a world without it.

We often forget that “play” is a verb. Kelsey Sullivan’s play does just that. It revels in joyful audience interaction which lets us in to her surreal playground and invites us to join in on the game. Beneath the free-wheeling fun, there lies a lingering question: in a brutal world, is it okay to be soft?

Danielle Frimer has performed a two-pronged miracle: 1.) authentically captured the rhythms and energy of Jewish families without a stereotype in sight, and 2.) written a coming out play that’s at once deeply, heart-rendingly relatable and wholly original.

The Moteks feel so real, their family rituals, mythologies and foibles evidencing both their dysfunction and fierce love for one another.

Frimer’s protagonist gives voice to primal, universal fears—loneliness, failure, rejection—that resonate with anyone with a heart. Her version of Peter Pan sparkles with punny ebullience and mischievous magic, inviting us to get unstuck—to remember being young—to fly.

IS ANYONE WATCHING THIS at first presents as a tongue-in-cheek satire before transforming into a tense existential thriller. A master of character voice and the narrative power of gesture, image, and silence, Rebecca Kane infuses each moment with a subtle, creeping dread. The voice of the (possibly malevolent) meditation app provides a foil for the unraveling protagonist, and thought provoking commentary on artificial intelligence, our reliance on technology, and our inability to cope with solitude. The play’s final moments will leave you stunned.

Dave Osmundsen has written a funny and tender family drama for our time. It has all the trappings of the best of the classic American family play—intergenerational battles, sibling rivalry, economic strife, old grudges and conflicting visions of the future—and populated it with characters who reflect our political and cultural present.

The autistic characters in this play are standouts. Their longings for recognition, compassion, autonomy and support manifest in vastly different ways; they’re unique and fully rounded people, not symbols or mouthpieces. Grounding ITATI is Osmundsen’s compassion for each of his wounded, imperfect characters.

SSOS is a marvel, toggling effortlessly between laugh-out-loud moments of cringe comedy and devastating, soul-baring truth. Incisively skewering therapy-speak, the vocabulary of “healthy communication” and the barriers they place between people trying to truly connect, SSOS investigates how to talk to each other, and more importantly, what to say. Emily Everett’s revealing dialogue gradually exposes her characters’ neuroses, defenses, pretensions, fears, and deepest longings while remaining snappy and naturalistic. I’m thrilled to have had the privilege to see a reading of this play; I’ll be first in line for tickets for the inevitable, well-deserved first production.

For a 90’s tween, NYE ‘99 truly felt like the end of the world might be coming. SISTER/FRIEND overlays that feeling of impending apocalypse with other world-enders: the loss of childhood that comes with a dawning awareness of your sexuality and the fallibility of your parents, and of course every fight with your BFF. Inserting Tess, a sheltered outsider raised to wait for the End of Days, elevates this play to something more than (super-fun, deeply satisfying) 90’s nostalgia. As the target audience for this play—an elder millennial obsessed with cults—I couldn’t stop reading.