T here is probably not a soul — not even an Oxford don who’s written his umpteenth thesis on King Lear — who takes Shakespeare so seriously that he can’t enjoy a little fooling around with the canon. Nothing is sacred when it comes to Shakespeare, even though hordes in every generation of theatregoers since the bard lived and wrote (up until he died in 1616) have pretty fairly worshipped him.

Will himself appeared to bear no neurotic interest in having his text followed to the letter, which is one of the reasons no special effort was made during the playwright’s glory days at the Globe Theatre to write down and protect every last morsel from any particular play. The reason for this was that in the 16th and 17th centuries there was no such critter as a copyright. Therefore any competing theatrical troupe could get its sticky fingers on a full print-out of The Merry Wives of Windsor, run it for months before a packed house of nobles and groundlings alike, and not one ha’penny of royalty money would end up in the pantaloon pockets of Mr. Shakespeare.

Consequently, Globe actors generally received a copy solely composed of their own lines and cues (theatre people today might snidely tell you those are the only words that interest actors anyway). Some of the quarto versions that remain from Elizabethan days are said to have derived from an actor’s mini-script, with the full text provided from memory or invention. The official company, the Lord Chamberlain’s Men, later re-named the King’s Men, would keep on hand one complete, carefully-guarded copy to use as a prompt script, and Shakespeare himself controlled what for some unfathomable reason were dubbed the “foul papers” (maybe on a day Willy was suffering from writer’s block) to serve as his own work-in-progress for the full play.

As we all jolly well know, Shakespeare himself published none of his plays in his lifetime. Seven years after his death, his colleagues John Heminges and Henry Condell posthumously printed 36 of the 37 plays (yeah, yeah, there were a couple of others cowritten, and one, Pericles, that was attributed to Shakespeare but with a cloud hanging over it much like a questionable property deed) in the famous First Folio.

Generally all the troupe members — the writer first and foremost — were amenable to continuous changes, with lines added and deleted to keep up with changing audience tastes and current events. Also, as new performers replaced the old, dialogue and even character traits were amended to suit the new personae.

Down through the centuries, Shakespeare play rehearsals began — and still begin — with directors and actors sitting around long tables and deleting windy speeches and unmanageable lines. As new media competed with theatrical productions for audience share, tolerance for the three or even four-hour plays of Elizabethan times grew slighter with each passing season.

Therefore, what the Vineyard Playhouse has been doing for the past two years with Hamlet, Macbeth, All’s Well That Ends Well, Julius Caesar, Measure for Measure, The Two Gentlemen of Verona, King Lear and now, coming up tonight and Saturday night, Othello (with Anthony and Cleopatra to follow in two weekends) — which is to say editing each play to an hour’s length, give or take — is part of an ongoing trend to shrink Shakespeare’s works as audience ADD quotients enlarge. However, at the playhouse the process is tongue-in-cheek and is by no means intended as a genuine mission to whittle down Henry IV to sit-com length, i.e. 23 minutes with commercials making up the full half-hour.

As cocreator, coscript-editor and co-organizer (along with Nicole Galland) of Shakespeare for the Masses, Chelsea McCarthy puts it, “Our whole aim is to keep the best lines and the important plot points and dramatic moments of each play.

“Othello was particularly hard to cut because the language is so beautiful and yet subtle, and the nuances of character are so important that if anything is left out, it’s impossible to know why the characters do what they do.”

FYI, the abbreviated plot of Othello is as follows: Black general in the Venetian military marries lovely and pure-at-heart noblewoman; an unforgiving officer in the general’s inner circle is passed over for advancement and fakes general’s bride’s infidelity; general murders wife. then, discovering her innocence, kills self. Others are slain by scheming officer, so seven liters of theatrical blood are required for any single production of play. Exuent all.

Othello and the coming Anthony and Cleopatra are part of Shakespeare for the Masses, with the tagline “Quick, painless and free,” but arguably this is misleading. As mentioned above, every last audience member, from the Nascar fan to the earlier referenced Oxford don, appears to have an endless capacity to enjoy the greatest of all playwrights in the English language, served up any which way. It’s a certain bet that no one could savor a 60-minute Hamlet more than an aficionado who has seen Laurence Olivier, John Gielgud, Derek Jacobi and even Mel Gibson in the title role. To know what’s been omitted and to appreciate what remains is part of the fun. Therefore I would recommend that the playhouse series nomenclature be changed from Shakespeare for the Masses, to Shakespeare for Everyone Who Loves, Hates or Has Never Gotten to Know the Dude.

The imminent production of the abridged Othello will feature New York actor Ayab Aktar as Othello, the Irish actor Billy Meleady (who probably looked Shakespearean as a baby) as the sociopath Iago, Brooke Hardman Ditchfield as Desdemona, Ms. McCarthy as Emilia, and Chris Brophy as Cassio. Both Ms. McCarthy and Mr. Brophy have performed each of their roles once before. Ms. McCarthy says with enthusiasm, “Most actors would reprise any role they’ve ever played in their lives. If they were disappointed with their first attempt, they have an opportunity to come at it with a fresh approach. If they loved the part, they’re overjoyed at the chance to play it again.”

For a fun — and free! — time this first weekend of October, stop in and see Othello at the playhouse in Vineyard Haven. The show starts at 7 p.m.

Then you’ll undoubtedly want to return for the second part of the doubleheader, Anthony And Cleopatra on Oct. 16 and 17, also at 7 p.m. For details, call 508- 696-6300.

And now to end with a New Yorker cartoon from a couple of years back, concocted by the artist known as Ziegler to illustrate how Shakespeare is always good for a laugh: We see the bald-crowned, bearded bard seated in a spartan room at his desk, scribbling by candlelight. The cartoon is entitled An Early Draft and the script runs as follows: “Hamlet” by W.S. Act I. Scene 1: An olde castle (interior). Enter Hamlet, stage left. Hamlet: Hi, Mom.