(Chris Jones’s review appeared in the Chicago Tribune, 9/16.)

The best thrillers — and, believe me, playwright Caitlin Parrish's grippingly intimate new play "The Downpour" is as tense and disturbing an experience as any thriller you might find at the multiplex — are rooted in quotidian, real-life fears. You know: Contemplating marriage. Growing old. Leaving home. Leaving town. Getting laid off. Dying. Or, in this particular case, having children.

Sure, you might argue that "Rosemary's Baby" got there first. Still, rare is the play so suffused with the neuroses that are on the mind of many women who find themselves having kids or thinking about that possibility. This is a play that worries over myriad maternal insecurities: Will the kid come out all right? Will I be all right? Will my marriage be all right? Will I still be able to make love with my husband without being constantly interrupted by an alien with tear ducts? (Good luck with that.)


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