Recommended by Steven G. Martin

This is a delightful comic morsel. Turner writes the story of Penelope and her admirer so that the audience won't know where it ends up until the final line.

Haigney creates a nightmarish "What if?" scenario presented as a news broadcast. Every line of dialogue is a death knell ("This." "Is." "Our." "Fate.").

I enjoyed a production of "aMUSEd" at the 2019 IndyFringe Fest. Jacobs' script has a high-concept premise -- an ancient Greek muse is actively inspiring mortals in contemporary times -- but it's grounded by the notion that it's difficult for anyone to accept loss and move on. This is a warm comedy, a feel-good drama.

There is no middle ground or gray area when it comes to the over-prescription of opioid painkillers. There is obvious right and obvious wrong, and McClain batters those in the wrong (pharmaceuticals, overbearing medical professionals, the tepid media) through a series of Ridiculous actions and ironies.

"What Are You So Afraid Of?" is a savage indictment and a necessary one. I love it. I also hope it becomes obsolete and unnecessary as a result of the end of the epidemic.

This script is mesmerizing. Spotswood takes an internalized, figurative situation -- the mental examination of a relationship's ups and downs after its end -- and makes it literal and external. It's a brilliant choice because Maggie's actions are perfectly suited to who she is, a doctor-researcher. It's an even better play because of all the emotions Spotswood ties in with the very relatable situation: heartache, loss, anger, doubt.

There is never a sense of safety in this short play. The dialogue breaks back and forth, the actions constantly build, almost out of control. Hansen shows the youthful energy of these characters -- all children under age 13 -- and their deadly zeal.

"The Children Who Played at Slaughter" is difficult and horrifying. The language and actions of these youth will shock you. But consider the religious allegory, and it becomes a story of (costly) salvation.

In a minute, Scott Sickles establishes character and backstory, and paints a tiny-yet-bighearted portrait of camaraderie and a burgeoning friendship among three people. It's direct, matter-of-fact, upbeat, inclusive, and sweet. It's refreshing.

Misery doesn't love company, people do. This is an embrace for those who attend weddings without a +1 by their side.

By telling this tale of personal greed, priorities, motivation, and marriage as a fable, Hansen makes it more universal and harder hitting. These characters are archetypes, there is a moral. It's about as direct as a play can be, and it's even more wonderful because of it.

Julia Specht draws in the audience with what starts as a farce of the extravagantly rich, their decadence, and their ridiculous manners and social mores. But what starts as a spoof turns serious and, frankly, sad as servant Bess becomes Specht's focus.

A scathing look at the rich and spoiled, an empathetic view of the poor and hopeful, "i believe in a republic in which money has a great deal to say." is about class in America.

Merilo has created a dark and dangerous short play. It is one thing to read a story by Edgar Allan Poe, it is another to be completely surrounded by one, as in Merilo's wonderful adaptation that will make an audience feel uneasy, uncertain, and unnerved.