Recommended by Ricardo Soltero-Brown

The rise in tension never stops in Lindsay Partain's short about a submersible stuck at the bottom of the Mariana Trench. Romy and Leo spend the whole play trying to solve what is clearly a life-or-death situation and we are bound to watch in silence, engaged and worried. This is high action for a stage work with staggering possibilities for set, sound, and lighting design.

Why can't we let go of the past? Because it means something to us, of course. How sad it is when it doesn't make much sense in the present. This play is all about tone and body language as a broken relationship has its last words. Glimpses of personal growth and desperate attempts at kindness make this exchange hard for everyone as we realize we're watching an attempt at closure, believed by many to be both possible and not. And if it's not for closure, then what's it for. This play takes a chance, like its characters, at finding out.

Let this dramatic letter by Franky Gonzalez take you, it moves so gracefully, rises so well to a personal, emotional climax - one of the best examples of a monologue doing so that I've read. It is tense and moving, it tells you to put your guard up, but catches you with it down. Very impressive writing about the codes of brotherhood and warriors. Was the letter sent, do the depictions actually occur, would they be right or wrong if they did? A perfect short play.

I have been looking for this play for a long time, about a latino who is apparently not latino enough, not brown enough. Many latinx pass as white and it can play with the head, for better or for worse, either way, it plays with the head. Ana Teresa makes her point to a boy who really doesn't know where he belongs and, so, through an instinct of survival, removes himself from any side, until he sees an advantage. It's the wrong decision to make, but Hernandez makes it clear what the choice entails, and allows us to witness.

Carnes writes a play where the two players are between a rock and a hard place, an infuriating impasse; when a mother is so scared for her child, she won't even let her do the things which empower her. It's a tough gig. What's interesting is we're left with choosing who to side with, even though both are correct, and both are missing a point. This is high drama. Breathless and suffocating, inspired and illuminating.

There's an interesting line about if suicide were a solution, we'd all be dead. That was where this dialogue had me by the throat, or heart. Gonzalez has a fine drama here with two people on opposite ends of a timeless argument and still makes it feel fresh and urgent. He understands the individuality of persons and their problems. Kindness can come from the most unanticipated of places and it can be effective, so, this play is not just about being a part of this world, but what you can do while in it.

Emily Hageman does a great job with two characters and an elephant in the room. There are fine lessons here about the use of language here, how we can speak without thinking, the sentiment of orchids, and other victims of toxic masculinity. Empathy doesn't choose who it applies to, that's not how it works, and in that sense, Hageman has written a brave play. Strength needs to be redefined, Hageman knows this and shines a light on one of the first steps to doing just that: acknowledging pain. Too many parents, even, refuse to acknowledge their sons' pain.

An eye-widening dark comedy of manners and feeling. Kathy, Emily, and Randy all have reasons to see this play's central incident as a personal inconvenience, but it's also clear that they have been tested up to their necks by Mary, who - it must be said - has taken all the attention. It's clever writing that makes the fact they argue who hated her first a subject of contention, her misfortunes a source of bonding, and her bodies fate an issue of practicality still a surprise. Bohannon has a knack for tackling dark material with pirouettes and jigs of humor.

The language and visuals in Lindsay Adams' 'Cottonmouth' lift you up off the ground like a child and swing you around, giving you that unsteady feeling in your stomach. The whole piece moves with an unstoppable force, like a short by Poe or Wilde. The account by this young girl is juxtaposed with a seemingly innocent performance by paper dolls and leaves one with terrors unspeakable.

There is in Hageman's 'Dragged' the unexpected theme of suppression, used to clever, moving effect. Rooted - in the subject of addiction, yes, but also - with a healthy dose of grudging communications. Save as being (perhaps) no more than a means to an end, Dawn and Max are always having a discussion neither of them really wishes to have, even when it's their time to take the lead, ask or answer questions - whether it's about sexual activeness, child bearing, suicide, or a stash of pills, there's evidence neither wants to be doing this. They, of course, need to.