Expectation can be a cruel mistress. Perhaps because this is the first staging of Yentl, a 1962 Yiddish short story made more famous as a Hollywood movie – which its author, Isaac Bashevis Singer, is quoted as being less than complimentary about its ending (and he is right, based on the more haunting and melancholic end to this production at the Marylebone Theatre), perhaps because of the shadow cast by Barbra Streisand, perhaps because of my own ignorance (I am not a big Streisand fan), the story that unfolded on stage last night was not quite what I had expected (not for the first time sadly, I had assumed – because of Streisand's singing career – that there might have been a more musical element to it; I once sat through the first twenty minutes of Wuthering Heights, muttering at the lack of songs, only to realise I had booked the play, not the musical Heathcliffe!). While I knew the basic outline – Yentl's desire, fuelled by faith, to adopt a male persona in order to be given access to the precepts and practices of her Jewish faith (it having been illegal and – the term used on stage – an ‘abomination' for women to even read from the Torah, let alone to study it and discuss it amongst other men) – the way the story unfolded was new to me.
And, what develops is absorbing, entertaining, although, at times – even accepting the era the play is set in and the culture of the time – stretching credulity a little that Yentl's disguise extends as long as it does (it is not clear how long a time period the play is covering, but long enough for Yentl to become involved in a most unusual love triangle of sorts, between former suitors Avigdor, played with boyish bravado and burgeoning sensuality by Ashley Margolis, and the more timid, but frustrated, Hodes, played well by Genevieve Kingsford). The play manages – perhaps as an echo of its wider themes regarding shifting identities and the reinterpretation of faith – to be both slightly silly and substantive at the same time. It is dealing with weighty matters – what it means to be male and female, what role religion plays in prescribing parts to people, regardless of their feelings, desires and ambitions, what level of free will and choice we actually have (the suggestion being that, even though we are given a choice, the result will end up being the same – there is ultimately no way out for Yentl, after they have taken part in the second of the three weddings (no funeral) promised at the start of the show). Given when it was written, these themes – notably the hot-button issues of identity and gender fluidity and the manner in which communities, notably religious communities, deal with them – are even more prescient today. The play explores the layers of love available, from fraternal – amongst scholars and initially between Yentl's assumed male role as Anshel and Avigdor, leading to all sorts of romantic revelations as the latter literally exposes himself to his friend – to physical (for both sides of Yentl's triangle) to platonic and pleasurable (the character of Avigdor is particularly open in this regard, a peeping tom seeking marriage to relieve him of his sexual frustrations).
Yet, treading a fine line of increasing farce, the physical element of both relationships creates confusion and questions credibility, even if Hodes is literally and figurately in the dark regarding the nature of their physical relationship. There is nowhere for Yentl to go – having started out almost as a sort of Semitic Cyrano, seeking to bridge the gap between the former suitors, torn apart because of his past and her mother's disapproval, but ending up both married to Hodes and expected to produce a litter of children (impossible, regardless of how they define themselves), the play can only end one way, reinforcing the theme of preordained futures, even as you wonder at how the suspicions regarding Anshel's behaviour, both in bed and out of it, have not led to the revelatory confrontation with Avigdor much earlier.
To be fair, Amy Hack – in effect in the dual role of Yentl and Anshel – carries the show well, borne of the experience of playing the same part in Australia. A mixture of wide-eyed innocence, as she seeks to escape the various lies and half-truths that have led her to be effectively trapped between the two people she loves (and it is true that she does, but loves her faith more), and weary frustration at the role her gender and religion has bestowed unfairly on her (Yentl is far more knowledgeable and capable in debate than Avigdor for example, as they debate religious imagery, the role of temptation, the basis of God), blessed also with a fine singing voice to bring the show to an end, the show absolutely depends on her credibility – and she ultimately delivers.
However, and no fault of Evelyn Krape, another Australian veteran, here playing The Figure, both narrator and supporting cast (the actual cast is limited to four, but even the short story is wider, so Krape plays multiple parents, friends and scholars, as well as providing the narrative arc of the show), the constant need to comment on events in a heavily laden comedic tone (much of it in Yiddish, requiring constant reference to the translation on screen above), became wearing to me (although not, I should point out, to the majority of the audience, who seemed to find that part of the character entertaining, when I found it extraneous). There was no need to underline what was happening, given it was clear from the action on stage, all of it atmospherically and cleverly lit (kudos to Tom Turner and the technical team – the literal lighting of Yentl's religious awakening at the start and the growing gloom at the end matched the mood perfectly).
So, take whatever expectations you may have from the movie, whatever view you have on these controversial issues – the role of religion, the nature of identity, what it means to be a man and a woman both then and now – and make your way to the Marylebone Theatre. The entertainment is preordained; your reaction to it, like Yentl, will be entirely your own.
It runs until 12 April.
Review: David Brown Photos: Manuel Harlan