When Robert Louis Stevenson published his ambiguously dark tale of hidden urges and repressed desires, it’s unlikely that he could ever have considered his ‘fine bogey tale’ would have become an historical and trans-cultural phenomenon. While even today the names Jekyll and Hyde are synonymous with both someone having an evil alter-ego and with the dualities of personality. It’s a novella that is brim-filled with subtle and easily ascribable allusions and metaphorical meanings which have been oft-linked with myriad allegorical interpretations.
Despite being penned and published in Bournemouth and set in old London Town, the fingerprint of Auld Reekie is firmly impressed all about its cold and shadowy sides. So it’s rightly just that the story grafted by the Edinburgh-born Stevenson, reinterpreted through Gary McNair’s 2022 adaptation for the stage (first performed at the Reading Rep Theatre by Audrey Brisson), should begin a Scottish run in the Capital itself. After which the rest of the Lyceum-produced tour will bring it to Perth Theatre, Dundee Rep and the Macrobert Arts Centre.
What’s most striking about the production is how fully it throws itself into duality as the central theme of the story. It’s both clear in the opening monologue, as the excellent Forbes Masson as Gabriel Utterson delineates the complexities of good and evil, as well as in Richard Howell’s brilliantly simple lighting design: the stark contrast of the white striplights around the seemingly endless void of shadow onstage. It’s a smart and efficient way to portray Utterson: ever floating between the shadow and the light, unwilling or unable to cling fully to either. Thus we are led through the tale of the beleaguered lawyer, dragged into the murky situation between his old friend and client Dr. Henry Jekyll and his new acquaintance, the vicious criminal Edward Hyde.
It’s a powerhouse performance of subtle effectivity, as Masson plays into his comedic repertoire and likeable affability, charmingly endearing the audience to Utterson’s eager curiosity into what turns increasingly into a greedy quest for truth. But as the only member of the cast, he also shows a sly versatility and transformative skill befitting the story. It’s captivating, whether slipping on a pair of spectacles or stepping between roles with a straightening of the spine, a stoop of the shoulder and a switch of vocal timbre.
McNair’s twist on the story brings a modernity to it that never feels out of kilter with the historical confines of the events, nor a crowbarring in of something new fangled. Over the decades, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll & Mr Hyde may have been interpreted in myriad ways. And here, in our self-reflective days of the 21st century, almost 150 years after it was written, McNair and director Michael Fentiman have crafted a reflection of guilt, complicity, silence and the never-ending fascination with the grotesque and horrific.
It’s a brilliant play, and at a brisk 70 minutes, the piece never outstays its welcome, managing to elicit both laughter and gasps of fright while retelling a well-trodden tale in a manner that will still surprise and enthral, as the unceasing whoops, whistles and applause proved. It’s a performance that I cannot hold back from warmly recommending on these cold winter nights.