“Happy August the Tenth: From Tennessee Williams to a Surreal Play. My University Theater Experience” (Essay)

Vocabulary

1. Fall head over heels: Become very excited or in love with something.
2. Entertain the idea: Think about or consider something.
3. Fueled by: Driven or motivated by something.
4. Stumbled across: Found something by accident.
5. Unsettling piece: Something that makes you feel uneasy or uncomfortable.
6. Dysfunction: Not working well or being disorganized.
7. Resonate: To make you feel something strongly.
8. Spark: To start or cause something.
9. Somber: Serious and sad.
10. Morbid: Relating to death or sadness.
11. Unhinged: Crazy or out of control.
12. Absurd: Very silly or unreasonable.
13. Hilarious: Very funny.
14. Surreal: Strange, like a dream.
15. Cerebral: Something that makes you think deeply.
16. Pointed out: Told or showed something clearly.
17. Pull it off: Succeed in doing something hard.
18. Embrace: Accept or welcome something.
19. Props: Objects used in a play or show.
20. Mime: Act out something without speaking.
21. Mesmerizing: Very interesting or making you focus completely.
22. Raid: Quickly take or search through something.
23. Scrappy club: A group that works hard, even without many resources.
24. Theatrics: Actions or events that are dramatic or exaggerated.
25. Patch things up: Fix a problem or argument.
26. Rolls around: Happens again, usually on a regular basis.
27. Cramped: Small and uncomfortable because there isn’t much space.

Back in university, I fell head over heels for the works of Tennessee Williams and Eugene O’Neill. Their plays felt like whispered secrets on old paper, and for a while, I entertained the idea of becoming a playwright myself—even though, let’s be honest, it’s not exactly a career that will make you rich.

When I became president of the English Club, we decided to form our own drama troupe: The Thespian Theater. Our first mission? Stage a play.

There was just one tiny problem: we had no budget. Paying for the rights to a famous play was out of the question, and we were too inexperienced to tackle Shakespeare or any of the other classics in the public domain.

So, I did the logical thing—I would write my own play or at least adapt an unknown short story. Fueled by my love for Tennessee Williams, I stumbled across one of his lesser-known short stories, Happy August the Tenth. It was a quiet, almost unsettling piece about two middle-aged, unmarried women sharing an apartment in New York City. There was no clear plot, no dramatic resolution—just a day in the life of two women stuck in their own dysfunction. And yet, despite its understated nature, something about the tension and the bond between these two characters resonated with me. I tried adapting it into a play, but its quiet melancholy didn’t translate well to the stage. It didn’t become a script, but it sparked something—a creative possibility.

What emerged instead was a two-act play. The first act was somber, even a bit morbid—a quiet foundation. The second act, however, was completely unhinged, absurd, unpredictable, and, somehow, hilarious. The audience laughed in all the right places. What began as a serious piece transformed, almost by accident, into something surreal and strange. One of my friends called it “too cerebral,” and a professor labeled it “silly”—which, I proudly took as a compliment.

Rehearsals were chaotic. I hadn’t even finished writing Act Two when we started blocking Act One. One professor, who was our advisor, scolded me for this in front of the actors. She even pointed out a coffee stain on the script. The actors and other club members were nervous, but somehow, they trusted I’d pull it off. And I did—barely.

With no budget, I embraced minimalism. I was inspired by a play I saw at the University of the Philippines Manila—another Tennessee Williams piece, staged with zero props. The actors mimed everything, from sipping tea to slamming doors. It was mesmerizing. So, I raided my bedroom for a few items and told my cast, “Improvise the rest.”

The play was a moderate success, but a success nonetheless. We only had three performances—just what we were allowed—but the little campus theater was packed every night. Even some of the English faculty were surprised that our scrappy club managed to pull it off. Sure, we got a few bad reviews, but we didn’t care. We were proud.

Of course, the drama didn’t stop at the script. The production came with its own backstage theatrics. I won’t go into all the politics, but let’s just say there were heated arguments with a professor—including one with our lead actress, which was entirely my fault. Thankfully, we patched things up just in time. As they say in theater, “Everything goes wrong… and yet the play goes on. It’s a miracle!”

I stopped writing plays after that—probably a little burned out. But every year, when August 10 rolls around, I still whisper to myself, “Happy August the Tenth.”

The play, by the way, was set over 24 hours in a cramped apartment in an unnamed city. Two middle-aged women live together—one worries about her ailing mother and plans to visit her that day. The other couldn’t care less about anything. She watches TV, snacks constantly, and swears she sees ghosts floating past the window. Not exactly Pulitzer material, but it was ours. (667 words)