20
of CultureMental's
Favorite Things in 2024
By Montserrat Mendez
12/31/2024
12/31/2024
The ends of years and the beginnings of others—they’re like doorways, aren’t they? Standing in one, looking back into a room crowded with memories, while another beckons, shadowy and uncertain. We parcel out the past, each moment tucked into its proper drawer, though some remain too stubborn, too beautiful, to be neatly put away. They linger, embroidered into the fabric of our days, like whispers of old friends or the scent of a lover’s cologne.
Because really, isn’t that what creation is? A mirror held up to the faces that bring us joy, those who teach us, and those who let us discover the truths we’d rather not know about ourselves. So here they are—the twenty moments and individuals who lit 2024 like a chandelier, casting brilliance across a year to be cherished, remembered, and perhaps, after that election, forgiven.
Because really, isn’t that what creation is? A mirror held up to the faces that bring us joy, those who teach us, and those who let us discover the truths we’d rather not know about ourselves. So here they are—the twenty moments and individuals who lit 2024 like a chandelier, casting brilliance across a year to be cherished, remembered, and perhaps, after that election, forgiven.
Theatre: Production Company: RetroProductions
20. Oh, but to witness a play so bursting with brilliance that one feels both exhilarated and mildly resentful for not having written it oneself. This gem, commissioned, written, and produced by women, is a hymn to modern theater’s highest aspirations. Set in the vivid world of WHER, America’s pioneering all-female radio station, it manages to be both delightfully fictionalized and heartbreakingly true. Think Steel Magnolias, but with sharper edges and a touch more romance, married to the wry wisdom of a cultural exposé. The performances, naturally, are magnetic anchored by a leading lady who could make reading a tax audit riveting. Perhaps I am a touch biased, having served as an associate producer. But why quibble with the truth? The play resonates, shimmers, and positively glows with the audacity of women breaking rules and glass ceilings alike.
20. Oh, but to witness a play so bursting with brilliance that one feels both exhilarated and mildly resentful for not having written it oneself. This gem, commissioned, written, and produced by women, is a hymn to modern theater’s highest aspirations. Set in the vivid world of WHER, America’s pioneering all-female radio station, it manages to be both delightfully fictionalized and heartbreakingly true. Think Steel Magnolias, but with sharper edges and a touch more romance, married to the wry wisdom of a cultural exposé. The performances, naturally, are magnetic anchored by a leading lady who could make reading a tax audit riveting. Perhaps I am a touch biased, having served as an associate producer. But why quibble with the truth? The play resonates, shimmers, and positively glows with the audacity of women breaking rules and glass ceilings alike.
Reality: ON NETFLIX
19. Sloan Rinaldi on BBQ Showdown
Sometimes, larger-than-life personalities don’t need a Hollywood blockbuster to make an impression. Sloan Rinaldi captured hearts with the kind of radiant gratitude that transforms every moment into a celebration. Her expertise in BBQ was undeniable, but it was her passion—so genuine, so contagious—that made her a queen among pitmasters. She reminded us that mastery is admirable, but true greatness comes from the things that set our hearts ablaze.
19. Sloan Rinaldi on BBQ Showdown
Sometimes, larger-than-life personalities don’t need a Hollywood blockbuster to make an impression. Sloan Rinaldi captured hearts with the kind of radiant gratitude that transforms every moment into a celebration. Her expertise in BBQ was undeniable, but it was her passion—so genuine, so contagious—that made her a queen among pitmasters. She reminded us that mastery is admirable, but true greatness comes from the things that set our hearts ablaze.
Movie: ON TUBI
18. Jem Garrard and SLAY
Well, darlings, what could have been a disastrous foray into kitsch was, instead, transformed into cinematic sorcery by the inimitable Jem Garrard. Imagine: four drag queens, mistaken bookings, an unfriendly audience—and then, as one does, vampires descend. What follows is not just survival, but an eruption of glitter-drenched heroism.
With a budget that likely wouldn't cover a Marvel craft services bill, Garrard conjured a spectacle that could put the flashiest blockbusters to shame. One is reminded of James Gunn in his gloriously reckless days, all audacity and ingenuity.
But beneath the sequins and gore lies a sharp wit and intelligence that elevate Slay from camp to commentary. If there’s any justice (a rare commodity, I grant you), Marvel will hand Garrard the keys to their kingdom, posthaste.
18. Jem Garrard and SLAY
Well, darlings, what could have been a disastrous foray into kitsch was, instead, transformed into cinematic sorcery by the inimitable Jem Garrard. Imagine: four drag queens, mistaken bookings, an unfriendly audience—and then, as one does, vampires descend. What follows is not just survival, but an eruption of glitter-drenched heroism.
With a budget that likely wouldn't cover a Marvel craft services bill, Garrard conjured a spectacle that could put the flashiest blockbusters to shame. One is reminded of James Gunn in his gloriously reckless days, all audacity and ingenuity.
But beneath the sequins and gore lies a sharp wit and intelligence that elevate Slay from camp to commentary. If there’s any justice (a rare commodity, I grant you), Marvel will hand Garrard the keys to their kingdom, posthaste.
Television: ON PARAMOUNT PLUS
17. Sonequa Martin-Green Leads Us Into the Future
Endings, you know, are a tricky business. They teeter between triumph and disaster, and more often than not, they tumble headlong into the latter. But Star Trek: Discovery managed something rare—it ended on a note so high, it might well have touched the stars themselves. At the helm, both literally and figuratively, was Sonequa Martin-Green, as Captain Michael Burnham. Her performance was a marvel of contrasts: strength tempered by vulnerability, resilience softened by tenderness, a steadfast leader who wore her humanity not as a flaw but as her most precious armor. Captain Burnham wasn’t just a character; she was a reimagining, a quiet revolution of what a Starfleet captain could be. And as for Martin-Green, one can only hope this is less an ending for her than the dawn of a new voyage. Her star, it seems, has only just begun its ascent.
17. Sonequa Martin-Green Leads Us Into the Future
Endings, you know, are a tricky business. They teeter between triumph and disaster, and more often than not, they tumble headlong into the latter. But Star Trek: Discovery managed something rare—it ended on a note so high, it might well have touched the stars themselves. At the helm, both literally and figuratively, was Sonequa Martin-Green, as Captain Michael Burnham. Her performance was a marvel of contrasts: strength tempered by vulnerability, resilience softened by tenderness, a steadfast leader who wore her humanity not as a flaw but as her most precious armor. Captain Burnham wasn’t just a character; she was a reimagining, a quiet revolution of what a Starfleet captain could be. And as for Martin-Green, one can only hope this is less an ending for her than the dawn of a new voyage. Her star, it seems, has only just begun its ascent.
Television: ON HBO/MAX
16. Cristin Milioti - The Penguin
Cristin Milioti’s performance in The Penguin, felt less like acting and more like conjuring. It was an act of creation so vivid, so disturbingly precise, it seemed to exist in the space between performance and apparition. She moved through the story with a terrible grace, balancing calculation as cold as a scalpel’s edge with a fury so immense it threatened to consume the screen. This was not merely a portrayal of a character but an excavation of something raw and primordial within us all—fear, justice, the unbearable weight of choice. Milioti turned her humanity into a scalpel, carving out moments of unbearable tension and fleeting, aching tenderness and the brutality of being a daughter, a woman in a world of encroaching darkness. The story may pulse with its own relentless rhythm, but it is Milioti’s performance that provides its soul. If there is justice in the universe—or at least in the Emmy voting process—her name will be etched on that award this season.
16. Cristin Milioti - The Penguin
Cristin Milioti’s performance in The Penguin, felt less like acting and more like conjuring. It was an act of creation so vivid, so disturbingly precise, it seemed to exist in the space between performance and apparition. She moved through the story with a terrible grace, balancing calculation as cold as a scalpel’s edge with a fury so immense it threatened to consume the screen. This was not merely a portrayal of a character but an excavation of something raw and primordial within us all—fear, justice, the unbearable weight of choice. Milioti turned her humanity into a scalpel, carving out moments of unbearable tension and fleeting, aching tenderness and the brutality of being a daughter, a woman in a world of encroaching darkness. The story may pulse with its own relentless rhythm, but it is Milioti’s performance that provides its soul. If there is justice in the universe—or at least in the Emmy voting process—her name will be etched on that award this season.
Movie: ON NETFLIX
15. Billie Piper - Scoop
Billie Piper’s performance in Scoop is nothing short of incendiary. As Sam McAlister, she inhabits a woman perpetually walking a tightrope—ambition pulling her forward, anxiety threatening to send her tumbling into the void. Piper’s portrayal brims with a ferocity that feels almost unbearable, her every moment vibrating with the tension of someone holding the whole precarious edifice of truth and justice on her shoulders. The film itself spares no one, least of all Prince Andrew. Its most searing critique comes in a moment that is as devastatingly simple as it is unflinchingly honest: Connor Swindells delivering in a phone call a matter-of-fact account of how effortlessly Epstein could access young girls, juxtaposed with the grotesque hyper-sexualized advertisement of young women in their underwear in the background. It’s a moment that lays bare the hypocrisies of a world that grooms its victims from birth while damning those who dare to expose the machinery of exploitation. We are all at fault here, the film screams. And yet, it’s Piper who ensures the critique lands with the force of a hammer. Her vulnerability, her exhaustion, her unrelenting drive to keep pushing forward despite every obstacle—these are what burn themselves into the viewer’s consciousness. I’ve said it before, and I will say it again: the BBC owes us a Sam McAlister series. And there is no one but Billie Piper who could lead it. And I want to write it!
15. Billie Piper - Scoop
Billie Piper’s performance in Scoop is nothing short of incendiary. As Sam McAlister, she inhabits a woman perpetually walking a tightrope—ambition pulling her forward, anxiety threatening to send her tumbling into the void. Piper’s portrayal brims with a ferocity that feels almost unbearable, her every moment vibrating with the tension of someone holding the whole precarious edifice of truth and justice on her shoulders. The film itself spares no one, least of all Prince Andrew. Its most searing critique comes in a moment that is as devastatingly simple as it is unflinchingly honest: Connor Swindells delivering in a phone call a matter-of-fact account of how effortlessly Epstein could access young girls, juxtaposed with the grotesque hyper-sexualized advertisement of young women in their underwear in the background. It’s a moment that lays bare the hypocrisies of a world that grooms its victims from birth while damning those who dare to expose the machinery of exploitation. We are all at fault here, the film screams. And yet, it’s Piper who ensures the critique lands with the force of a hammer. Her vulnerability, her exhaustion, her unrelenting drive to keep pushing forward despite every obstacle—these are what burn themselves into the viewer’s consciousness. I’ve said it before, and I will say it again: the BBC owes us a Sam McAlister series. And there is no one but Billie Piper who could lead it. And I want to write it!
Reality: ON PARAMOUNT PLUS
14: Kween Kong - RuPaul's Global All Starts
But what a revelation she was—Kween Kwong, stepping onto the glittering stage of Drag Race with all the grandeur of a bygone starlet and the fearless candor of someone who’s lived lifetimes in a single breath. The show, of course, has its rhythms and tropes, its predictable highs and lows, but Kween Kwong was something else entirely. She moved through the competition like a poem in motion, carrying her heritage not as an accessory, but as the very fabric of her being. What struck me most, though, was her audacity to confront herself so openly. To lay bare her vulnerabilities, to grapple with her imperfections, and then to transform them—through sheer force of artistry—into something luminous. Watching her wasn’t about the crowns or the catfights or even the runways (though they were, naturally, divine). It was about witnessing someone carve out a new definition of leadership, one rooted not in dominance but in the uncompromising authenticity of simply being. Winning? That was never the point. Kween Kwong redefined the game itself, and in doing so, she reminded us all of what it truly means to stand tall.
14: Kween Kong - RuPaul's Global All Starts
But what a revelation she was—Kween Kwong, stepping onto the glittering stage of Drag Race with all the grandeur of a bygone starlet and the fearless candor of someone who’s lived lifetimes in a single breath. The show, of course, has its rhythms and tropes, its predictable highs and lows, but Kween Kwong was something else entirely. She moved through the competition like a poem in motion, carrying her heritage not as an accessory, but as the very fabric of her being. What struck me most, though, was her audacity to confront herself so openly. To lay bare her vulnerabilities, to grapple with her imperfections, and then to transform them—through sheer force of artistry—into something luminous. Watching her wasn’t about the crowns or the catfights or even the runways (though they were, naturally, divine). It was about witnessing someone carve out a new definition of leadership, one rooted not in dominance but in the uncompromising authenticity of simply being. Winning? That was never the point. Kween Kwong redefined the game itself, and in doing so, she reminded us all of what it truly means to stand tall.
Television: ON NETFLIX
13. Ato Essandoh in The Diplomat
There’s a haunted beauty to Ato Essandoh’s Stuart Heyford—a man undone by the weight of his own memories, yet painstakingly stitching himself back together, thread by fragile thread. As Heyford, Essandoh doesn’t flinch from the jagged edges of PTSD, nor does he smooth them over for the sake of comfort. Every moment he inhabits is steeped in raw honesty, his pain laid bare like an open wound, his resilience a quiet defiance against despair. But it’s in his complicated, cutting relationship with Keri Russell’s Ambassador Wyler that the performance truly takes flight. Heyford’s ambition is singular: to shape Wyler into something extraordinary, a President, a leader of consequence. Yet, how do you build greatness in someone for whom your faith has soured? The tension between that aspiration and his disillusionment brims with unspoken heartbreak. Essandoh lets us feel every sting, every flicker of hope that remains despite his better judgment. It’s a performance that lingers, like a low note struck on a piano—resonant, melancholic, and impossible to ignore.
13. Ato Essandoh in The Diplomat
There’s a haunted beauty to Ato Essandoh’s Stuart Heyford—a man undone by the weight of his own memories, yet painstakingly stitching himself back together, thread by fragile thread. As Heyford, Essandoh doesn’t flinch from the jagged edges of PTSD, nor does he smooth them over for the sake of comfort. Every moment he inhabits is steeped in raw honesty, his pain laid bare like an open wound, his resilience a quiet defiance against despair. But it’s in his complicated, cutting relationship with Keri Russell’s Ambassador Wyler that the performance truly takes flight. Heyford’s ambition is singular: to shape Wyler into something extraordinary, a President, a leader of consequence. Yet, how do you build greatness in someone for whom your faith has soured? The tension between that aspiration and his disillusionment brims with unspoken heartbreak. Essandoh lets us feel every sting, every flicker of hope that remains despite his better judgment. It’s a performance that lingers, like a low note struck on a piano—resonant, melancholic, and impossible to ignore.
Theatre: Boomerang
12. Genia Femia’s Mercutio Loves Romeo Loves Juliet Loves
What a play! Set in the early 2000s, when Wicked was the toast of Broadway, the internet was still more promise than presence, and love... particularly queer love... was a secret many feared to whisper aloud. Against this backdrop of tentative beginnings and unspoken truths, Leah Nicole Raymond, Stacey Raymond, and Rocky Vega deliver performances that are nothing short of devastatingly beautiful. Each heartbreak, each hope, resonates with piercing clarity. Femia, with unflinching candor, lays bare the stormy weather of youth—its tempests of longing and its torrents of despair. The play pays homage to those maddening, glorious years when every glance felt like fate and every slight, an epic tragedy. It reminds us that the pangs of young love, so absurd in hindsight, are anything but trivial; they carve deep grooves in the heart, shaping us as surely as any grave, grown-up sorrow. This is no mere play—it is a tender ode to the messy, magnificent process of becoming.
12. Genia Femia’s Mercutio Loves Romeo Loves Juliet Loves
What a play! Set in the early 2000s, when Wicked was the toast of Broadway, the internet was still more promise than presence, and love... particularly queer love... was a secret many feared to whisper aloud. Against this backdrop of tentative beginnings and unspoken truths, Leah Nicole Raymond, Stacey Raymond, and Rocky Vega deliver performances that are nothing short of devastatingly beautiful. Each heartbreak, each hope, resonates with piercing clarity. Femia, with unflinching candor, lays bare the stormy weather of youth—its tempests of longing and its torrents of despair. The play pays homage to those maddening, glorious years when every glance felt like fate and every slight, an epic tragedy. It reminds us that the pangs of young love, so absurd in hindsight, are anything but trivial; they carve deep grooves in the heart, shaping us as surely as any grave, grown-up sorrow. This is no mere play—it is a tender ode to the messy, magnificent process of becoming.
Television: ON DISNEY PLUS
11. Jinkx Monsoon in Doctor Who
As the Nemesis Maestro, Jinkx Monsoon swept onto the screen like a tempest, delivering a villain that was part grand opera, part devil-may-care mischief. Every gesture, every note of that gleefully malevolent laugh, shimmered with an almost tactile delight—a performance that didn’t merely inhabit the role but consumed it, leaving no corner of the screen untouched. This year, Monsoon wasn’t just a star; they were an event, a celestial phenomenon. From Doctor Who to Little Shop of Horrors off-Broadway to a dazzling turn in Chicago, they tore through stages and screens with the ferocity of a hurricane and the precision of a maestro tuning an orchestra. It wasn’t merely a performance—it was a weather system, sweeping us all into its orbit. And truly, isn’t it something to behold? To watch the world threatened with takeover by such a force, and to find ourselves entirely, unapologetically willing to surrender?
11. Jinkx Monsoon in Doctor Who
As the Nemesis Maestro, Jinkx Monsoon swept onto the screen like a tempest, delivering a villain that was part grand opera, part devil-may-care mischief. Every gesture, every note of that gleefully malevolent laugh, shimmered with an almost tactile delight—a performance that didn’t merely inhabit the role but consumed it, leaving no corner of the screen untouched. This year, Monsoon wasn’t just a star; they were an event, a celestial phenomenon. From Doctor Who to Little Shop of Horrors off-Broadway to a dazzling turn in Chicago, they tore through stages and screens with the ferocity of a hurricane and the precision of a maestro tuning an orchestra. It wasn’t merely a performance—it was a weather system, sweeping us all into its orbit. And truly, isn’t it something to behold? To watch the world threatened with takeover by such a force, and to find ourselves entirely, unapologetically willing to surrender?
Television: On Paramount Plus
10. The Final Season of Evil
It ended as it should—on the brink of the abyss, with chaos, salvation and dark humor inextricably tangled. Kristen Bouchard (Katja Herbers) and Father David Acosta (Mike Coulter) stood resolute, against demons both flesh and spectral. Their humanity was a fragile armor, a blessing and a curse that fractured and mended with each harrowing choice. The finale? It didn’t resolve; it lingered, haunting like a half-remembered prayer, leaving us yearning for answers that might never come. Walking in the shadowed footsteps of The X-Files, Evil danced between cynicism and belief with a nimbleness that felt uniquely its own. Its critique of the Catholic Church—piercing, unflinching—rang sharp against its tender reverence for faith itself. Faith, here, was not dogma or institution; it was a trembling hand reaching in the dark, desperate to grasp meaning amid a world unraveling. There is something chillingly true in Evil’s final thesis: that the world is shaped, corrupted, by shadowy forces indifferent to the suffering of many for the gain of a few. And yet, we endure.
10. The Final Season of Evil
It ended as it should—on the brink of the abyss, with chaos, salvation and dark humor inextricably tangled. Kristen Bouchard (Katja Herbers) and Father David Acosta (Mike Coulter) stood resolute, against demons both flesh and spectral. Their humanity was a fragile armor, a blessing and a curse that fractured and mended with each harrowing choice. The finale? It didn’t resolve; it lingered, haunting like a half-remembered prayer, leaving us yearning for answers that might never come. Walking in the shadowed footsteps of The X-Files, Evil danced between cynicism and belief with a nimbleness that felt uniquely its own. Its critique of the Catholic Church—piercing, unflinching—rang sharp against its tender reverence for faith itself. Faith, here, was not dogma or institution; it was a trembling hand reaching in the dark, desperate to grasp meaning amid a world unraveling. There is something chillingly true in Evil’s final thesis: that the world is shaped, corrupted, by shadowy forces indifferent to the suffering of many for the gain of a few. And yet, we endure.
Television: ON NETFLIX
9. Jessica Gunning - Baby Reindeer
Jessica Gunning’s turn in Martha was nothing short of a theatrical gut punch—raw, relentless, and utterly unforgettable. In Baby Reindeer, she didn’t merely act; she inhabited, she haunted, she stalked. Her performance was a masterclass in heartbreak and grit, each moment teetering on the knife-edge of despair and defiance. With every line, every anguished gesture, Gunning carved out a portrait of a woman clawing her way through the wreckage of her own life, dragging us along for the ride whether we liked it or not. Her desperation was visceral, a live wire thrumming just beneath the surface, electrifying the air and leaving the audience breathless. Jessica Gunning didn’t just take the stage; she took us prisoner. And honestly, we weren’t even sure we wanted to be set free.
9. Jessica Gunning - Baby Reindeer
Jessica Gunning’s turn in Martha was nothing short of a theatrical gut punch—raw, relentless, and utterly unforgettable. In Baby Reindeer, she didn’t merely act; she inhabited, she haunted, she stalked. Her performance was a masterclass in heartbreak and grit, each moment teetering on the knife-edge of despair and defiance. With every line, every anguished gesture, Gunning carved out a portrait of a woman clawing her way through the wreckage of her own life, dragging us along for the ride whether we liked it or not. Her desperation was visceral, a live wire thrumming just beneath the surface, electrifying the air and leaving the audience breathless. Jessica Gunning didn’t just take the stage; she took us prisoner. And honestly, we weren’t even sure we wanted to be set free.
Television: HBO/MAX
8. Issa López’s True Detective: Night Country
In the stark, unyielding wilderness of northern Alaska, Issa López has carved a tale both timeless and immediate, a mythology that takes us to the ends of the world. With True Detective: Night Country, López has taken the bones of the series and remade them—reinvented them—into something startlingly original, yet achingly familiar. The icy expanse becomes both stage and metaphor, a boundless void in which cultural memory and systemic rot intertwine, each casting shadows that seem to stretch beyond the edge of the frame. This is storytelling as it should be: grand in its scope yet intimate in its details, a narrative that ventures deep into the recesses of the human spirit, only to emerge with a revelation—cold, luminous, and as undeniable as the northern lights. López does not merely invite us to witness her vision; she demands it, commanding our attention with the precision of a poet and the urgency of a prophet. In this reimagining, True Detective achieves its greatest form, a series reborn not through reinvention alone, but through an act of faith—faith in the power of stories to transform, to endure, to illuminate the uncharted. It is López’s triumph, and our gift, that she has not merely dared to make us look at the darkness but to see it, truly, for the first time.
8. Issa López’s True Detective: Night Country
In the stark, unyielding wilderness of northern Alaska, Issa López has carved a tale both timeless and immediate, a mythology that takes us to the ends of the world. With True Detective: Night Country, López has taken the bones of the series and remade them—reinvented them—into something startlingly original, yet achingly familiar. The icy expanse becomes both stage and metaphor, a boundless void in which cultural memory and systemic rot intertwine, each casting shadows that seem to stretch beyond the edge of the frame. This is storytelling as it should be: grand in its scope yet intimate in its details, a narrative that ventures deep into the recesses of the human spirit, only to emerge with a revelation—cold, luminous, and as undeniable as the northern lights. López does not merely invite us to witness her vision; she demands it, commanding our attention with the precision of a poet and the urgency of a prophet. In this reimagining, True Detective achieves its greatest form, a series reborn not through reinvention alone, but through an act of faith—faith in the power of stories to transform, to endure, to illuminate the uncharted. It is López’s triumph, and our gift, that she has not merely dared to make us look at the darkness but to see it, truly, for the first time.
Theatre: People's Theatre Project
7. The Community of People's Theatre Project
There is a rare and wondrous alchemy to what the People’s Theatre Project achieves—a mingling of art and activism that transcends mere initiative to become something altogether essential, something resembling a calling. This extraordinary collective stands as a beacon of courage and generosity, embracing growth and artistic exploration not as optional pursuits but as moral imperatives. Their work transforms creativity into a communal act of resistance and renewal, insisting, with quiet ferocity, that art can and must shape the world around it. And so, clear your April 2025 for Marco Antonio Rodriguez’s Domino Effect, a play that unfolds with the soft, relentless thunder of revelation. Over the course of one evening in Washington Heights, Rodriguez crafts a story as precise as a domino tile and as vast as the spaces between stars. Generations collide, identities coalesce, and a simple game becomes a bridge—a delicate, resilient thread connecting the universal yearning for love and understanding to the vibrant, specific tapestry of immigrant experiences. I debated whether to include this production on this year’s list—it seems destined to appear again in 2025. So this year, I celebrate all the people who make People's Theatre Project the gift to the community that it is.
7. The Community of People's Theatre Project
There is a rare and wondrous alchemy to what the People’s Theatre Project achieves—a mingling of art and activism that transcends mere initiative to become something altogether essential, something resembling a calling. This extraordinary collective stands as a beacon of courage and generosity, embracing growth and artistic exploration not as optional pursuits but as moral imperatives. Their work transforms creativity into a communal act of resistance and renewal, insisting, with quiet ferocity, that art can and must shape the world around it. And so, clear your April 2025 for Marco Antonio Rodriguez’s Domino Effect, a play that unfolds with the soft, relentless thunder of revelation. Over the course of one evening in Washington Heights, Rodriguez crafts a story as precise as a domino tile and as vast as the spaces between stars. Generations collide, identities coalesce, and a simple game becomes a bridge—a delicate, resilient thread connecting the universal yearning for love and understanding to the vibrant, specific tapestry of immigrant experiences. I debated whether to include this production on this year’s list—it seems destined to appear again in 2025. So this year, I celebrate all the people who make People's Theatre Project the gift to the community that it is.
Television: ON DISNEY PLUS
6. Ncuti Gatwa in Doctor Who
Let’s talk about charisma. Let’s talk about energy. Let’s talk about Ncuti Gatwa striding into the Whoniverse like he owns the place—because he does. Gatwa’s Doctor doesn’t walk; he paces, he propels, he monologues without missing a beat. He’s all heart, two of them, thank you very much and he carries a gravity that anchors even the wibbliest, wobbliest of timey-wimey stuff. Gatwa has the potential to make this the smartest, sharpest, most emotionally resonant Doctor yet. Let’s hope the writers are in the room, writing like the whole universe depends on it.
6. Ncuti Gatwa in Doctor Who
Let’s talk about charisma. Let’s talk about energy. Let’s talk about Ncuti Gatwa striding into the Whoniverse like he owns the place—because he does. Gatwa’s Doctor doesn’t walk; he paces, he propels, he monologues without missing a beat. He’s all heart, two of them, thank you very much and he carries a gravity that anchors even the wibbliest, wobbliest of timey-wimey stuff. Gatwa has the potential to make this the smartest, sharpest, most emotionally resonant Doctor yet. Let’s hope the writers are in the room, writing like the whole universe depends on it.
Movie - Universal Pictures - At Theatres Now
5. Wicked
Oh, what a grand and glittering thing this is, a spectacle so sumptuous it practically demands its own emerald crown. Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande, bless them, bring more than voices—they bring truth, fierce and unflinching, wrapped in aching vulnerability. Together, they tether this tale of witches and woe to the ground, reminding us that even in the land of Oz, resilience is rebellion, and hope is the bravest kind of sorcery. And those final notes—those soaring, defiant, spine-tingling, Defying Gravity notes—are enough to make the most earthbound of us rise to our feet and face our fears head-on. Because sometimes, it takes a bit of fantasy to show us the reality of who we are and what we might yet dare to become. Well, if this isn’t a showstopper, I’ve yet to meet one.
5. Wicked
Oh, what a grand and glittering thing this is, a spectacle so sumptuous it practically demands its own emerald crown. Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande, bless them, bring more than voices—they bring truth, fierce and unflinching, wrapped in aching vulnerability. Together, they tether this tale of witches and woe to the ground, reminding us that even in the land of Oz, resilience is rebellion, and hope is the bravest kind of sorcery. And those final notes—those soaring, defiant, spine-tingling, Defying Gravity notes—are enough to make the most earthbound of us rise to our feet and face our fears head-on. Because sometimes, it takes a bit of fantasy to show us the reality of who we are and what we might yet dare to become. Well, if this isn’t a showstopper, I’ve yet to meet one.
Theatre: LINCOLN CENTER
4. Anika Noni Rose in Uncle Vanya
Anika Noni Rose didn’t just play Elena; she inhabited her, like sunlight spilling through an old, cracked window—revealing everything, no matter how uncomfortable. She gave us an Elena who saw the world with unsettling precision, a woman who wore her heartbreak not like a careless ornament but like a finely tailored coat. Her intelligence was sharp enough to see past the men's facades, her stoicism so profound it might have been mistaken for grace. In a play where the men dream big and act small, Rose’s Elena was painfully, brilliantly awake, a presence that felt like it had wandered in from another century, one more familiar to us than to them. And that’s her genius. She didn’t just make Elena modern; she made her essential, dragging her into the 21st century with such deliberate strength that you couldn’t help but wonder if that’s where she belonged all along.
4. Anika Noni Rose in Uncle Vanya
Anika Noni Rose didn’t just play Elena; she inhabited her, like sunlight spilling through an old, cracked window—revealing everything, no matter how uncomfortable. She gave us an Elena who saw the world with unsettling precision, a woman who wore her heartbreak not like a careless ornament but like a finely tailored coat. Her intelligence was sharp enough to see past the men's facades, her stoicism so profound it might have been mistaken for grace. In a play where the men dream big and act small, Rose’s Elena was painfully, brilliantly awake, a presence that felt like it had wandered in from another century, one more familiar to us than to them. And that’s her genius. She didn’t just make Elena modern; she made her essential, dragging her into the 21st century with such deliberate strength that you couldn’t help but wonder if that’s where she belonged all along.
Theatre: Broadway - LYCEUM THEATRE NYC
3. Conrad Ricamora in Oh Mary at the Lyceum Theatre
Ricamora’s Abraham Lincoln was a horny, gay fever dream, desperately trying to emancipate himself from his alcoholic, fame-starved wife Mary. Tossing out innuendos sharper than a stovepipe hat, he turned the Great Emancipator into the Great Queer Flirt with a performance so hilariously precise it almost stole the show. Yet, Ricamora’s quick-witted charm didn’t outshine Cole Escola’s commanding Mary, it made her chaos sparkle even brighter, elevating this farcical masterpiece to uproarious heights.
3. Conrad Ricamora in Oh Mary at the Lyceum Theatre
Ricamora’s Abraham Lincoln was a horny, gay fever dream, desperately trying to emancipate himself from his alcoholic, fame-starved wife Mary. Tossing out innuendos sharper than a stovepipe hat, he turned the Great Emancipator into the Great Queer Flirt with a performance so hilariously precise it almost stole the show. Yet, Ricamora’s quick-witted charm didn’t outshine Cole Escola’s commanding Mary, it made her chaos sparkle even brighter, elevating this farcical masterpiece to uproarious heights.
Theatre: Home - wild project , The Flying Carpet Theatre Company - New York City Theatre , Theater Accident
2. Matthew Freeman’s The Ask
It begins, as all good confrontations do, with words. Words that bristle, that cut, that quiver just beneath the surface, waiting to pounce. Freeman’s The Ask is a play of ideas, yes, but it’s also a delicate vivisection of the spaces between people—the silences, the missteps, the looks that say too much or nothing at all. On the stage, we see Greta (Betsy Aidem) and Tanner (Colleen Litchfield) locked in a battle as ancient as time and as modern as the pronoun debate. It’s a collision, a dance, a skirmish of ideologies played out with such exquisite tension you half expect the walls of Greta’s Upper West Side study to implode under the weight of it all. And yet, what Freeman offers isn’t just drama—it’s truth, raw and complicated. Greta, with her polished manners and frayed ideals, meets Tanner, a voice of the future still learning to sing in tune. Aidem plays Greta with a steeliness that trembles ever so slightly at the edges, while Litchfield’s Tanner is all nervous energy and fierce determination, a generation’s frustration wrapped in earnestness. It’s a masterful interplay of performances, a study in contrasts that director Jessi D. Hill shapes into something breathtakingly poignant. Beneath the brittle humor and sharp dialogue, there’s an aching vulnerability, a reminder that understanding, no matter how brief, is the hardest act of all.
2. Matthew Freeman’s The Ask
It begins, as all good confrontations do, with words. Words that bristle, that cut, that quiver just beneath the surface, waiting to pounce. Freeman’s The Ask is a play of ideas, yes, but it’s also a delicate vivisection of the spaces between people—the silences, the missteps, the looks that say too much or nothing at all. On the stage, we see Greta (Betsy Aidem) and Tanner (Colleen Litchfield) locked in a battle as ancient as time and as modern as the pronoun debate. It’s a collision, a dance, a skirmish of ideologies played out with such exquisite tension you half expect the walls of Greta’s Upper West Side study to implode under the weight of it all. And yet, what Freeman offers isn’t just drama—it’s truth, raw and complicated. Greta, with her polished manners and frayed ideals, meets Tanner, a voice of the future still learning to sing in tune. Aidem plays Greta with a steeliness that trembles ever so slightly at the edges, while Litchfield’s Tanner is all nervous energy and fierce determination, a generation’s frustration wrapped in earnestness. It’s a masterful interplay of performances, a study in contrasts that director Jessi D. Hill shapes into something breathtakingly poignant. Beneath the brittle humor and sharp dialogue, there’s an aching vulnerability, a reminder that understanding, no matter how brief, is the hardest act of all.
Theatre: Drops in the Vase
1. The Cast of Feejee Mermaid
Obsession. That was where it started, wasn’t it? A little itch beneath the skin, a splinter you couldn’t quite dig out. It grew, festered, took over, until every thought, every breath, was in service to it. That was the lifeblood of Clay McLeod Chapman’s FeeJee Mermaid, brought to gruesome, glittering life by Drops in the Vase earlier this year. It wasn’t just theater; it was an autopsy of the human spirit, performed with the precision of a surgeon and the wild abandon of a lunatic. And what a cast it had been! Each actor was an artist, each performance a scalpel cutting closer to the truth. Morgan Zipf-Meister was unforgettable as Lizette, a creature of terrifying grace, her obsession crackling like static in the air. Niccolo Walsh’s Lyman was all taut nerves and quiet desperation, a ticking time bomb wrapped in vulnerability. Duane Fergusson’s PT commanded the stage with a swagger that masked a gnawing dread, while Adam Files’ Gryffin was a man haunted, his every movement shadowed by an inevitability he couldn’t escape. Under Pete Boisvert’s direction, the ensemble didn’t merely perform—they descended, deeper and deeper, into a shared madness. And as the lights dimmed and the final words hung in the air like the scent of something rotting, you realized you had been complicit all along. And you found yourself welcoming Drops in the Vase to the theater community, hoping they would meet the towering bar they had set for themselves again and again.
1. The Cast of Feejee Mermaid
Obsession. That was where it started, wasn’t it? A little itch beneath the skin, a splinter you couldn’t quite dig out. It grew, festered, took over, until every thought, every breath, was in service to it. That was the lifeblood of Clay McLeod Chapman’s FeeJee Mermaid, brought to gruesome, glittering life by Drops in the Vase earlier this year. It wasn’t just theater; it was an autopsy of the human spirit, performed with the precision of a surgeon and the wild abandon of a lunatic. And what a cast it had been! Each actor was an artist, each performance a scalpel cutting closer to the truth. Morgan Zipf-Meister was unforgettable as Lizette, a creature of terrifying grace, her obsession crackling like static in the air. Niccolo Walsh’s Lyman was all taut nerves and quiet desperation, a ticking time bomb wrapped in vulnerability. Duane Fergusson’s PT commanded the stage with a swagger that masked a gnawing dread, while Adam Files’ Gryffin was a man haunted, his every movement shadowed by an inevitability he couldn’t escape. Under Pete Boisvert’s direction, the ensemble didn’t merely perform—they descended, deeper and deeper, into a shared madness. And as the lights dimmed and the final words hung in the air like the scent of something rotting, you realized you had been complicit all along. And you found yourself welcoming Drops in the Vase to the theater community, hoping they would meet the towering bar they had set for themselves again and again.
