Since 2010’s That Hopey Changey Thing, Off-Broadway theatergoers have fretted over American politics alongside the Apple family, denizens of the Hudson Valley village of Rhinebeck. With We’ll See now at the Public Theater, playwright and director Richard Nelson presents the 13th  installment of his “Rhinebeck Panorama” and his eighth Apple play (counting three COVID live streams). Thanks to a familiar and remarkable ensemble, and Nelson’s signature fly-on-the-wall naturalism, We’ll See achieves its quiet, bittersweet power by placing larger political concerns alongside the hyper-specific and finely drawn relationships of its characters.

Welcome to a 21st-century American Jewish home, where whatever comes along is embraced with love—with some exceptions. Debbie Goodstein’s The Blue Violinist Over West End Avenue introduces a prototypically eclectic family, who bear little resemblance to the Jews of their great-grandparents’ era.

In Dan Giles’s play The Charioteer, two siblings attempt to forge a relationship despite their reluctance to share their true feelings, wanting to connect but unsure of themselves. High school senior Charly (Mia Wurgaft) visits her brother Owen (Jake Horowitz) at college and has her first drink—and her first experience of getting blackout drunk. Owen, who went away to college a few years earlier, has essentially abandoned his family. Owen takes Charly along to an anarchist house party, where he essentially abandons her in favor of spending the night trying to reconcile with his ex-girlfriend Ellen.

Parcel from America subtitles itself “The Irish Musical,” and begorra, is it ever. A near-original, loosely adapted from a story by Tomáseen Foley, with music by Malcolm Hillgartner and Kevin Corcoran and book by Hillgartner, Jahnna Beecham, and Michael J. Hume, it wears its Irishness on its sleeve—not to mention on its brogues, its Aran sweaters, and set designer Harry Feiner’s evocative County Limerick backdrop. A placid evening, with goodhearted small-towners looking after one another and banding together as a community when one of its own is suffering, it’s a feel-good show, and a welcome one.

Jen Diamond has invented a deadly contagious disease, named her play after it, and set the drama during an outbreak. What is truly infectious in The Morbs, though, are its other storyline—about three former sorority sisters reuniting after several years—and the trio of dynamic performances that bring it to life.

Memoirs of Amorous Gentlemen, directed and choreographed by Rob Ashford, is a visually arresting musical whose dark, decadent atmosphere proves more compelling than its book. Though the production’s inventive design draws audiences into the seedy world of a Parisian brothel, the visual experience ultimately outshines the material it serves.