Recommended by Ricardo Soltero-Brown

This is my favorite kind of play. It begins with a primal urge, simple, even absurd. This want, desire, goal drills its way through everybody; through the hole, it drags their politics, their fear, their shame. The entire ecosystem of an immediate society collapses because of humanity's astonishing ability for inhumanity. We come to the theatre to ponder and commune over this, it would seem, inherent inability, then leave with an effort to rectify it. This's the best full-length I read on NPX in 2017, with impressively natural dialogue. If I had a company, it'd be next in the season.

This character reminds of a guy I used to bump into and sit down with at a bar in Atlanta, and the stories he told me were just like this. Burbano's monologue rings and reeks with authenticity. I might have named the other bad-ass bitches Slade reminds me of, but apparently she used to know them, or may have, which is just an incredibly deft touch by Burbano. I'd like to bump into and sit down with Slade at a bar, listen to her stories, being simultaneously awed and appalled; also, if a fight breaks out, I'm on her side.

I know Jen, met her in college, we still keep up; but when playwright Steven Hayet discloses what show she was an extra for, I froze. Hayet must have experience if not only knowledge about the common traps and travesties, workings and wonders, niceties and naïvetés about the dime-a-dozen actress we so often hear about or have even seen head out west. The commercial director is spot-on. Hayet's piece isn't solely focused on the vapidness of stardom, though, it's also an honest portrait and sympathetic portrayal of the acting artist's plight, concerned with identity and moments of truth.

Matthew Weaver at his best will easily equal or surpass the joys and charms of John Cariani, Craig Lucas, and Wendy Wasserstein. He's one of those playwrights, one of those reasons we remember our hearts, that we even have them, why we have them, and what they're for. These tales are the endgame, no matter what personal, political, or professional diatribe or drama came before or comes after, the bliss of a kiss is the whole point. Weaver, sly dog that he is, doesn't forget to remind us that everyone's taken, and that broken hearts will dare everything to mend.

My favorite part about this play is that a 20-something deals with a 40-something over the latters mother. There's something inherently tense and probably profane about it, and it has one holding their breath as though just before the drop of a ride. This short has the keen eye and wit, sense of humor and irony, pity and pathos of anything by Don DeLillo. The struggle with the television is impressively poignant, tragic and effective. Audiences should fall easily into the play's haunting melody, even become sad at the final tune. A fine work which both evokes and invokes empathy.

Portrait of the artist in hurt. Portrait of the artist in hope. Portrait of the artist in hand. This is a play structured solely around sad dramatic irony, and - make no mistake about it - it ought to be dramatic. Play with iconography, it would not be the vapid choice here, but rather the inspiring one. Pack a punch. Paint a picture. That's the whole point. "Tomorrow." It all comes down to "Do it, don't do it." Those are the choices. This is a rather poignant piece about when the choice is noticed, and about what is realized.

Craig-Galván's noble short for young audiences addresses issues that we wish were solely adult subject matter, unfortunately, with the world we live in, that is not the case. She does this with a language and pace that adolescents will be able to follow and be engaged by, even - my guess is - with middle school students unfamiliar with theatre, and high school students devouring new ideas, which would prove to be its most important quality.

My favorite thing about Wyndham's characters has always been their spirit. It doesn't take long for you start sensing their energy and getting a whiff of what they're all about. They make a point, ultimately quite gracefully, and in Wyndham's longer pieces they go through rather moving journies, like here, showcasing Wyndham's abilities and concerns with plot. This monologue's "Associate Librarian" is a wonderful example of the character with everything planned, except for her own general state of being, which gets in the way to charming and hilarious effect. Wyndham should not be ignored in the search for American voices.

Diaz-Marcano's dialogue dances, but what pierces my heart is that all of his characters that I've read, I know them. My grandmother was on the island during Maria, and we did everything to get her safe, my cousin went to Florida with her family during Irma; not everyone has these luxuries, let alone love, in their life, especially in anticipation of a natural disaster. Many people have to stay because it's their only option. When you learn why Chayanne stays - it's not entirely the house - you'll understand why "jokes" about Puerto Rico already missing lights are a disgrace.

There's plenty in this play to brood upon and ruminate over regarding desperation and loss, there's plenty to laud and admire regarding it's protagonist's clear, concise, and unadulterated goal, there's plenty to awe and appreciate regarding playwright Rachael Carnes' smirking, grinning approach to fourth-wall breaking and word play. We seldom get a farce this pure. We seldom get a play this sympathetic to the generally, even objectively, unsympathetic, the worthless, tiny, and often forgettable. I dare say, y'know, even willing to bet, that's the whole point, what the play's about; and that is an honorable, honorable thing, by any standard.