Get Thee to a Nunnery? More Like Get Thee to Therapy: Shakespeare on Dr. Phil

Get Thee to a Nunnery? More Like Get Thee to Therapy: Shakespeare on Dr. Phil 🛋️🎭

When the Bard's most tragic figures trade soliloquies for sound advice and iambic pentameter for intervention. The world's first literary family therapy session is about to begin.

ACT I: THE STAGE IS SET

The Dr. Phil studio feels different today. The usual soothing beige walls seem to be sweating under the pressure. The studio audience isn't the typical crowd of retirees and daytime TV enthusiasts—it's a volatile mix of Elizabethan groundlings throwing rotten vegetables and nobles in ruffs looking utterly appalled. A lone lute player in the corner desperately tries to play a rendition of the show's theme music, but it keeps devolving into a funeral dirge.

Dr. Phil McGraw walks onto the stage, but his trademark Texas swagger has been replaced by the cautious gait of a man walking through a minefield made of metaphors and existential dread.

"Folks," he begins, mopping his brow with a handkerchief that will later become critical evidence, "in twenty years of doing this show, I've never seen anything like what we've got today. We have what might be the most co-dependent, communication-challenged, and dramatically excessive group of people ever assembled under one roof. Their family therapist for the last four centuries has been a gentleman named William Shakespeare, and judging by the body count, it's not working."

The dramatic reveal music swells as Shakespeare himself enters first, bowing so low his feather pen nearly stabs him in the eye. He's followed by his greatest hits of human dysfunction:

HAMLET stumbles out, clutching a skull in one hand and two different books titled "To Be" and "Not To Be" in the other. He spends three full minutes debating which chair to sit in before finally collapsing on the floor in existential despair.

LADY MACBETH marches in with military precision, but she's brought her own prop—a bottle of bleach and a scrub brush, which she immediately begins using on the guest couch. "Out, damned spot!" she mutters, scrubbing furiously at a perfectly clean cushion.

ROMEO AND JULIET make their entrance so entangled in each other that they essentially become a two-headed, hormonal monster trying to navigate a single doorway. They eventually collapse into one chair, sucking face with the urgency of people who believe they have approximately 48 hours to live.

OTHELLO storms in last, his eyes wild, scanning the audience for threats. He's brought his own security—a man named Iago who smirks from the audience while sharpening a knife with a handkerchief.

Dr. Phil surveys the chaos, takes a long sip of water, and whispers to himself: "This is going to be a two-episode special."

ACT II: THE DANISH DITHERER (Or, Analysis Paralysis Personified)

DR. PHIL: "Hamlet, let's start with you. Our research tells me you've been having some family issues."

HAMLET: (Staring into the skull's eye sockets) "O, that this too too solid flesh would melt... Actually, 'solid' might be overstating it. Perhaps 'slightly firm flesh'? Thaw and resolve itself into a dew... though 'dew' implies morning, and my issues feel more like a late afternoon drizzle..."

DR. PHIL: "Son, it took you thirty seconds to order your existential crisis from the menu. You've been wearing black for six months, you're talking to skulls, and you're dating a girl you're actively driving insane. This isn't a phase—this is a five-act catastrophe."

HAMLET: "But the play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king!"

DR. PHIL: "No. No, it is not 'the thing.' A private investigator is 'the thing.' A conversation with your mother is 'the thing.' Hiring a troupe of actors to reenact your father's murder is what we call 'extra.' And not the good kind of extra."

HAMLET: "There are more things in heaven and earth, Dr. Phil, than are dreamt of in your philosophy!"

DR. PHIL: "My philosophy includes basic communication skills and not pretending to be insane to avoid difficult conversations. You're not mad—you're avoiding. You're the human equivalent of that spinning wheel on a computer screen."

The audience groundlings roar with laughter. Hamlet looks genuinely offended.

DR. PHIL'S DIAGNOSIS: "Hamlet, you're suffering from what we call 'Weaponized Indecision.' You're using philosophical questions as a shield against actual action. You need to make a decision, any decision, even if it's wrong. And for God's sake, bury your friend and get a living confidant."

ACT III: THE SCOTTISH SPOT-CHECKER (Or, How Ambition Broke a Brain)

DR. PHIL: "Lady Macbeth. We need to talk about the washing."

LADY MACBETH: (Scrubbing so hard she's creating smoke) "Yet here's a spot! Out, I say! Hell is murky!"

DR. PHIL: "Ma'am, you're bleaching leather that's never been stained. The only thing murky here is your grip on reality. You told your husband to 'screw his courage to the sticking place'—which sounds like a euphemism for something that would get this show canceled."

LADY MACBETH: "I have given suck, and know how tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me—"

DR. PHIL: "—And then you immediately talked about dashing its brains out. We've got the clip right here. This isn't ambition—this is a cry for help wearing a crown. You wanted your husband to be a man, but the measure of a man isn't how many people he can murder in his sleep."

LADY MACBETH: (Suddenly lucid) "What's done cannot be undone."

DR. PHIL: "That's where you're wrong. It's called therapy. It's called making amends. It's called not taking career advice from three witches in a swamp. You didn't want power—you wanted your husband to stop being so wishy-washy. And I'm here to tell you, there are better ways to communicate that than suggesting he murder his house guest."

DR. PHIL'S PRESCRIPTION: "We're checking you into a program for OCD and power addiction. And we're implementing a strict 'no supernatural prophecies' clause in your marriage. Also, the witches are getting a restraining order."

ACT IV: THE VERONA VORTEX (Or, Teenage Drama to the Death)

DR. PHIL: (Takes an exceptionally long drink of water) "Kids. Romeo. Juliet. Look at me. You're 16 and 13. You knew each other for approximately 96 hours before getting married in a secret ceremony that wouldn't hold up in any court."

ROMEO: "But Dr. Phil! 'Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night!'"

DR. PHIL: "Son, you said the EXACT SAME THING about a girl named Rosaline YESTERDAY. You're not a lover—you're a one-man boy band with a recital problem. Your emotional range goes from zero to suicide in four days flat."

JULIET: (Emerging from Romeo's neck) "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

DR. PHIL: "That's very poetic, honey, but in the real world, your name determines your dental plan and whether you can get a student loan. You don't solve a family feud by faking your death. You solve it with family counseling and maybe a joint barbecue."

ROMEO: "But our love is like a violent delight that has a violent end!"

DR. PHIL: "That's not romance, that's a warning label! Healthy relationships shouldn't require poison, daggers, or a 90-year-old man in drag giving you questionable potions. Friar Lawrence over there should have his license revoked."

DR. PHIL'S FINAL WORD: "Romeo, you're grounded until you can name three emotions other than 'ecstasy' and 'despair.' Juliet, you're getting a new, age-appropriate friend who isn't named 'Nurse.' And both of you are banned from balconies for the foreseeable future."

ACT V: THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER (Or, How a Handkerchief Destroyed a Marriage)

DR. PHIL: "Othello. You're a military general. You command armies. You've faced down actual swords and cannons. Yet you were taken down by the world's worst wingman and a piece of embroidered fabric."

OTHELLO: "She gave away my handkerchief! The handkerchief my father gave his mother! It was magic!"

DR. PHIL: "Was it magic? Did it have GPS tracking? Could it send text messages? No. It was a NAPKIN, brother! You let another man named Iago—who's sitting right there smirking like the snake he is—plant a seed of jealousy in your head, and you watered it until it strangled your entire marriage."

IAGO: (From audience) "I am not what I am!"

DR. PHIL: "Sir, that doesn't even make sense. Your entire motivation appears to be 'I think he passed me over for a promotion.' That's the plot of a bad workplace comedy, not a reason to destroy multiple lives."

OTHELLO: "But she did betray me! I saw the evidence!"

DR. PHIL: "The 'evidence' was a story from a known liar about a handkerchief that your wife, Desdemona, clearly just misplaced! You didn't even ask her about it! You went from 'Hey honey, have you seen my hanky?' to 'I'm going to murder you in our marital bed' in one scene! That's not a tragedy—that's a failure to communicate of epic proportions."

DR. PHIL'S DIAGNOSIS: "Othello, you have the emotional intelligence of a rock. Iago, you're a garden-variety hater with too much time on your hands. Desdemona, you need to learn to speak up when your husband is being irrational. And everyone involved needs to learn that marriage isn't supposed to end in smothering."

THE GRAND FINALE: THE BARD'S INTERVENTION

DR. PHIL: "Now, Will. We need to have a serious talk. You're the common denominator here."

SHAKESPEARE: (Sweating profusely) "I am but a humble mirror to nature! I show the human condition in all its glory and folly!"

DR. PHIL: "You show a world where the first solution to any problem is poison, stabbing, or poorly planned fake deaths. Your characters don't talk TO each other—they talk AT each other in beautifully crafted speeches that completely avoid the actual issue."

SHAKESPEARE: "But the drama! The passion! The stakes!"

DR. PHIL: "The stakes are imaginary when everyone could just use their words! Hamlet could have asked his uncle one direct question. Othello could have said 'Honey, have you seen my handkerchief?' Romeo and Juliet could have told their parents 'We're dating, deal with it.' Your plots aren't tragedies—they're a series of easily avoidable misunderstandings fueled by ego and terrible advice."

SHAKESPEARE: "But the poetry! The language!"

DR. PHIL: "The language is enabling their dysfunction! You've created a world where soliloquies replace solutions and monologues mask the real problems. Your 'human condition' needs a 1-800 hotline and a twelve-step program, not another sonnet."

The studio falls silent. The groundlings have stopped throwing things. The nobles look thoughtful.

DR. PHIL'S FINAL PRESCRIPTION: "Will, I'm prescribing you a course in couples counseling textbooks. You're banned from writing any more scenes involving identical twins—it's a crutch. And every time you want a character to die, you have to write them having one honest, vulnerable conversation first. I think you'll find it's much harder to write."

Shakespeare looks down at his quill, then at the chaotic family he's created. For the first time in 400 years, he's speechless.

FINAL CHYRON: Hamlet enrolled in a decision-making workshop. Lady Macbeth entered a program for OCD. Romeo and Juliet were sent to separate boarding schools. Othello and Desdemona entered intensive couples counseling. Shakespeare was last seen taking notes at a community mediation center. Iago was charged with inciting violence and is currently selling used chariots.

The only tragic ending here would be not learning from their mistakes.

Think your family has issues? ❤️🎭 Follow more absurd literary takedowns on Twitter 🐦💫 @Allen_Fried Dive into more hilarious critiques at FriedReads.com 🔥📖

Even the greatest tragedies could use a little therapy.