October 2, 2025

“They Talking Cash-Money-Shit About a Big Bitch!”

As October opened, the ensemble was about midway through The Comedy of Errors—a play that’s as chaotic and short as it is confusing. This has posed some challenges that are fairly unique to this piece. There is not a lot to discuss in terms of important themes or even the richness of Shakespeare’s language. It’s pretty much all plot, and it’s presented in very terse and straightforward verse. The plot is very confusing though, and it has taken most of the discussion time to work out exactly what is happening. With the story deep in its web of mistaken identities, the group dove into the middle acts, navigating the growing chaos of two sets of twins, two sets of debts, and a city convinced everyone’s gone mad.

Early in the session, the group addressed some logistical frustrations, laughing before settling into the reading. The conversation turned thoughtful when one participant shared that she had recently lost a young person in her life. The ensemble offered support and began the night’s work with quiet focus and care.

The reading brought renewed laughter and energy. One participant announced that she wanted “redemption” after feeling nervous the last time she read, and another boldly declared, “I like playing Angelo—that’s my part!” When Antipholus began pursuing Luciana, someone leaned in with delight: “He wants her—I was like ooooh!” Another participant added, “I read it cover to cover—I didn’t want to spoil it!” Everyone laughed, but there was also admiration for how Shakespeare’s quick banter reveals attraction and misunderstanding in the same breath.

The mood shifted to pure comedy when the ensemble reached the scene in which Dromio mocks his wife’s appearance. One participant exclaimed, “They talking cash-money-shit about a big bitch,” and another added, “If I was that woman, my feelings would be hurt!” It is very funny, very tawdry, and pretty classic trope. It’s right up there with a Rodney Dangerfield routine or “Yo Mama” jokes; it’s not very sophisticated stuff, but funny that even Shakespeare– the king of high brow sophistication to those who are unfamiliar with him– has several lines of fat wife jokes. “This sounds like some prison transactions!” one participant said later, comparing Shakespeare’s barter scene to everyday exchanges on the inside.

By the end of the night, the ensemble was laughing through scenes, experimenting with accents, and starting to get the text on its feet. The evening closed with a game that left everyone laughing—the kind of joy that fills the room after good, honest work.

September 30th, 2025

“Good. It’s the First Time I’ve Read Anything Like That in 20 Years.”

The final week of September closed on one of the most moving moments of the month. The group returned to Adriana’s “bitch-out” monologue—her furious, pleading speech to a husband she doesn’t realize is the wrong twin—and took turns reading aloud. One participant, visibly nervous but determined, stood and read for the first time in years. When she finished, she smiled and said, “Good. It’s the first time I’ve read anything like that in 20 years.” The room broke into applause. Another followed, saying afterward, “It felt good—getting some frustration out. I was like, ‘You’re gonna listen to me.’”

As each performer took a turn, the ensemble found new meaning in Adriana’s words. The line “I am not Adriana” sparked debate across the room. “I’m brand new,” one said. “She’s stepping out of herself,” another added. Someone else compared it to Beyoncé’s alter ego: “Sasha Fierce.” Another offered, “I’m not going to act like your wife—I’m not going to act like someone you recognize.” The group studied the text closely—one even pointed out that there’s no question mark in the line—and agreed that its meaning depends on how it’s played.

When the reading was done, the group began to play. They swapped roles, acted out scenes, and even invented a spontaneous game inspired by the movie Scream. It was chaotic, hilarious, and perfectly fitting for a play built on confusion.

The evening closed with laughter and pride. The ensemble had not only found their way through Shakespeare’s wildest farce but had discovered new confidence in their own voices along the way.

September was a month of new connections, and the group is really loving The Comedy of Errors. Through The Comedy of Errors, the ensemble explored themes of identity, love, and misunderstanding—finding that Shakespeare’s four-century-old confusions still can be funny in modern times.

“This is my outside-inside,” one participant said early in the month, and by its end, that feeling had deepened into a collective truth. As October begins, the ensemble stands ready to bring The Comedy of Errors to life—on its feet, in full voice, and with the same laughter that started it all.

September 23rd and 25th

“We’ve All Done This Monologue to Someone!”

This week, the ensemble tackled the heart of The Comedy of Errors—the rapid-fire mix-ups and mounting frustration that drive the play’s humor. Two sets of twins—Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse and of Ephesus—cross paths unknowingly, creating chaos in a city that seems determined to misunderstand them. As they read, one participant laughed, “This guy has anger issues,” referring to Antipholus, who spends much of the play shouting in confusion. Another said, “It feels like bickering—but with two people with different power dynamics.”

When the group reached Adriana’s confrontation scene, the room erupted with laughter and recognition. “We’ve all done this monologue to someone!” one ensemble member declared. The speech—part jealousy, part heartbreak—became a mirror for everyone in the circle. We framed the conversation around the question: “What does the character want?” One participant said, “She wants him to come home and get his head straight.” Another added, “To claim her.” Someone else said, “She’s trippin’—she’s feeling jealous for no reason,” and the group laughed.

Between readings, participants experimented with accents, playing with the sounds of Shakespeare’s language. “They don’t speak all fancy—they just speak normal to you… I’ll be ghetto still!” one participant said, and the group erupted again. This is a recurring debate we have with members of the ensemble– just about every year we talk through this at some point. Even if we encourage folks to use their natural voice, the final decision is always up to them.

By week’s end, they weren’t just reading Shakespeare; they were living him—finding themselves in his characters’ chaos, humor, and longing.

September 16th and 18th

“Everyone’s Voice Counts”

As September deepened, the ensemble’s work grew more focused. Tuesday began with laughter—a round of What Are You Doing? had everyone calling out imaginary actions and cheering each other on. When the group turned back to Adriana’s monologue, the energy shifted to concentration and courage. One ensemble member performed the speech twice, prompting a peer to remark, “The first time felt like a poem, this time was like she was really there.” The actor nodded: “It felt more real.”

Another participant wanted “to put more into it,” taking another run at the same lines. The group lingered on the moment when Adriana calls her husband an “Unfeeling fool!” trying out different tones until someone exclaimed, “That was good—she really did a good job!” The applause that followed was genuine and proud.

By Thursday, new members had joined, and the ensemble paused the text to share stories about growth. “I was stupid shy and now I’m out there!” one said. “I thought I was the star of the show even though I had two lines!” Another reflected, “You can be yourself and be vulnerable.” A chorus of agreement followed: “Everyone’s voice counts.” “The ensemble matters.” “This is my outside-inside.”

The conversation turned reflective and deeply personal. “I was definitely in my shell. It helped me a lot with confidence.” “This is building the right kind of confidence instead of being cocky—I’m right sized.” “Before it was egotistical confidence—this is good self-esteem.” Then, laughter filled the room again when a participant introduced themselves as “William’s Shakespeare.” The cheers that followed made clear: this group had found its rhythm—collaborative, confident, and kind.

September 9th and 11th, 2025

“This Is the Tragic Part of the Comedy”

The Comedy of Errors books arrived this week, and the group dove straight in. The story begins with Egeon, a weary father from Syracuse who faces execution in Ephesus unless he can pay a ransom. As he explains to the Duke, years earlier, his family was torn apart in a storm at sea—his wife and one son drifting away with one servant, while he and the other son survived. The absurdity and sadness struck the ensemble all at once. “Antipholus rhymes with Syphilis,” someone joked, breaking the tension. Another observed, “This is the tragic part of the comedy,” recognizing Shakespeare’s ability to layer grief beneath laughter.

By the end of Act 1, everyone was hooked. “It’s the illogical part that makes it work,” someone said. The group marveled that both twins—and their servants—share the same names. “He’s basically setting them up for failure!” one participant laughed. But even as the group played with the humor, the conversation turned toward empathy. “It’s the tragic part of the comedy,” one repeated. “He’s just trying to find his family.”

Thursday brought a very different kind of energy. Reading Act 2.1, the ensemble encountered Adriana and Luciana—the play’s central women—locked in a debate about love and loyalty. Adriana is furious that her husband seems to neglect her; Luciana, her sister, insists that wives should be patient and obedient. What followed in the room mirrored the play itself: “I don’t want to be in Shakespeare’s day,” one participant said. “If I can’t have liberties and be seen and not heard—I don’t think so.” Another countered, “My husband leads the house. My opinion is respected, but he leads the house.” Then, voices piled on: “Never depend on a man.” “I run this shit!” “Ain’t nobody gonna run me.”

The debate got lively and loud, full of conviction and laughter. “If it is done properly, respect goes both ways,” someone concluded. Another added, “It has to be equal.” What could have been a centuries-old conversation about gender became a living exchange about equality and autonomy in the here and now. When the group returned to Adriana’s speech, one participant said softly, “She is so defeated. I don’t know if a sunny look from him would repair her.” The group nodded, understanding that even in a farce, Shakespeare’s women still are complicated and contain hidden depths.