Recommended by Matthew Weaver

Hehir has an uncanny knack for creating interesting characters we immediately want to hang out with, and the ragtag Table 14 bunch at Vincent and Gina's wedding are no exception. They're an awkwardly game group thrust together for a few hours under less than ideal circumstances (fortunately McDonald's is right across the street), and we in the fortunate audience get to sit amongst them and observe their secrets as they spill forth.
Hehir knows the true best part of a wedding is the peoplewatching, and she delivers with gusto.

Sickles offers a new sort of fairy tale for our times, with a heroine who, understandably, never quite lets her guard down and a genuinely well-meaning rescuer, who understands. These are two gentle souls, each bearing their own scars, seeking to safely navigate dangerous waters.
Sickles' tale is complicated and simple in the same breath, no surprise to anyone who is well-acquainted with his ability to explore deep, thoughtful people striving to achieve the fullness of their existence, and the oasis they find in one another along the way.

Chilling, and remains chillingly timely.
Prillaman is a master of creeping dread and the intersection between everyday life and unsettling dread.
Somewhere, Rod Serling sits beaming, tips his cap and raises a toast.

Oh, I feel this monologue from Emma Goldman-Sherman in my bones, and so will you, too.
As with all of her writing, Goldman-Sherman's words bear weight. Here, Mouse relives longlost, relatively minor forgotten sins, unnoticeable to anyone but the perpetrator, but oh, how those old sins can press down. Until they crush.
Draped in sorrow, Mouse ponders how radical the idea of forgiveness is. Extraordinarily moving.

The way Carbajal plays with words on the page and words on the stage is always something to behold, and UNTITLED is no exception. Here he explores a single sound, picks it up, examines it and holds it out for the rest of us, asking the audience to ponder: What is our relationship to the things we hear?
If that were the only question Carbajal poised, it would be enough. By shaking up how he presents it, we must ponder our relationship with that page and with that stage. It's an exciting jolt to art and to our hearts. Aspire.

Accuardi takes one of the strangest, most infamous and hilarious moments from the 2020 election and injects humanity - an accomplishment in and of itself - into it. We get the everyday goings-on of life at Four Seasons Total Landscaping and its neighboring businesses - college papers, broken relationships, old hurts, daily ennui. The loveliness of the mundane. And then a political clusterfuck that remains compellingly inscrutable. Absolutely fantastic. Loved every minute.
"The playwright doesn't know either. She made all this up."
I hope this is all true. I really do.
Until I hear otherwise, it is.
Maybe even then.

A stirring piece of theater that strives to capture the scope of humanity - and does so triumphantly.
Makes me think of Ruben Carbajal's found dialogue pieces, which is very much intended as a compliment to both Stevens and Carbajal.
We all know not to read the comments, but Stevens dares us to do so, and looks beyond the surface to find something as lovely and haunting as the Gordon Lightfoot ballad. Everything the aliens or future sociologists want to know about society today is here.
Powerful.

An utter joy to come upon a play that PLAYS.
Kirkman here plays with light - there is none - and sound - there are so many - and words on the page and up upon the stage. We might not have ever been in Jedidah and Wayne's exact shoes - but then again, we have all been where they are now. Lost. Utterly hopeless. Trying not to panic. And what was that whisper?? Finding our way through the darkness. We hope.
This play is a pleasure because you can see how much pleasure the playwright took in crafting it.

A lovely winter's tale, packed with heat and wit (which, in Sickles' hands, is often very much the same thing). Max, Gunnar and Ingrid all find a way to warm their hands against the heartache and nourish themselves from the cold. Laced with a tender sadness, yes, but also criss-crossed with hope and warm humor.

A marvelous "What If?" of a meal that anyone would give their eyeteeth to attend, without any of the actually having to be there for the entire duration.
As a fellow artist, I understand completely the moment where Rodin brings out his block of marble. I am sure my family members and friends relate to this quite differently.
Sickles, that charming rogue, has the uncanny ability to dwell handily in both high-brow concept and slapstick humor and RODINS is an exquisite marriage between the two. It's ridiculous, it's silly, it's FUN! Full of bon mots, all precisely the mot juste.