Broadway is about to lose three productions this August that I have been defending, attending, and talking about in elevators for months, and if you let them close without seeing them you are going to spend the fall season furious at yourself.

Let me start with the most urgent one. Sable and Gold at the Calloway Theatre closes August 3. That is days from now. Renata Voss in the lead role of Miriam has been doing something in this production that I genuinely could not explain until the third time I saw it — she holds the stage by removing herself from it. There is a scene in the second act where choreographer Marcus Hale has staged her completely downstage right while the ensemble processes behind her in a column, and she is doing almost nothing: just standing there in the amber light, hands loose at her sides. The entire house leans forward. The mechanics of that are about geometry — about where your eye is drawn when one body is absolutely still in a field of movement — and Voss understands it in her bones. THAT THING. That is a diva who knows the physics of space, and she is closing in four days.

The Vermillion Hour at the Hargrove Theatre closes August 17, which sounds like longer but is not enough time. This production — choreographed by Deja Okafor, who I have been watching since her work in the downtown dance-theater circuit — is one of the most technically ambitious things I have seen on a Broadway stage in two years. The ensemble work in the second act builds structurally: it starts with six dancers in a tight cluster downstage center and expands outward over approximately ninety counts of music until all thirty-four bodies are in motion. I watched it the first time thinking it was a coincidence that my eye felt like it was tracking a crowd forming in real time. It is not a coincidence. Okafor is constructing a crowd in front of you, measure by measure. And the LED installation — designed by Petra Sol — shifts from amber to a deep bruised red as the formation hits full size, which means the design and the choreography are having a conversation with each other at the exact same moment you’re having your emotional reaction. DESIGNED. I will not stop saying it.

Here is my honest note on The Vermillion Hour, because I do not hype without receipts in both directions: the book has a problem in the first act. The dialogue in the early scenes works too hard to justify the spectacle that comes after it, like the writers didn’t trust that an audience would accept forty minutes of extraordinary dancing without a lengthy explanation. You will accept it. We all will. The dancing earns itself. But those thirty minutes of mid-tempo songs and expository setup are slower than they need to be, and the people I’ve brought to this show have all checked in with me at intermission looking slightly confused about whether they like it. Then act two starts and nobody is confused anymore. Get through act one.

And then there is The Meridian, closing August 31 at the Ashford, directed by Vivienne Cross in what feels like a formal statement about what a finale can do when a production has had sixteen weeks to figure out what it’s actually about. The ensemble — twenty-eight performers — has developed a physical intelligence together over the run that I can only describe as collective breathing. Every formation shift, every energy change, lands simultaneously because these bodies have been doing this together long enough to stop performing unison and start experiencing it. There is a difference, and you feel it from the audience like a change in air pressure. Scenic designer Orlando Pitt has given the closing act a set that collapses downward in real time, level by level, while the company dances on it — and I need you to understand that watching a stage dismantle itself while twenty-eight people refuse to stop moving is the most ALIVE thing I have seen this year.

August 31 is your hard deadline.

Go in order of closing date: Sable and Gold first, right now, tonight if you can. Then Vermillion Hour before the 17th. Then build to The Meridian on the last night of the month, and make noise when that set starts to come down.