Copyright chicagoreader
Sometimes it takes a smaller theater to make a bombastic show work, and that’s the case with Kokandy Productions’s bold revival of Frank Wildhorn and Leslie Bricusse’s musical, Jekyll & Hyde. Based on Robert Louis Stevenson’s 1886 novella, Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, which gave rise to every “split personality” horror tale since (as well as introducing the phrase “Jekyll/Hyde” as a descriptor for people whose natures change from day to night on a dime), the musical has its fair share of fans—but also detractors. In his review of the 1997 Broadway premiere, New York Times critic Ben Brantley wrote, “It doesn’t require your undivided attention, since it keeps saying the same things, with the slightest variations, over and over again.” Jekyll & HydeThrough 12/21: Thu–Sat 7 PM, Sun 5 PM; also Wed 11/26 7 PM, no show Thu 11/27; Chopin Theatre, 1543 W. Division, kokandyproductions.com, $50 general, $60 reserved, students/seniors $35, limited $15 artist tickets each performance Bricusse’s book, repetitive though it is, takes many liberties with the original, mostly by introducing two women as love interests for Dr. Jekyll, whose experiments on himself turn him into the murderous Hyde (David Moreland ably plays both parts for Kokandy). Emma Carew (Emily McCormick) is the upright and loving daughter of Jekyll’s friend, Sir Danvers Carew (Nathan Calaranan), and the betrothed of Jekyll. And because every madonna seemingly requires the opposite (well, this is a story of binaries, after all), there’s also Lucy Harris (Ava Lane Stovall), who entertains men onstage and off at the scabrous saloon called the Red Rat (the manager is named Spider, and long-limbed Quinn Kelch moves like one). Lucy’s unfortunate encounters with Hyde leave her literally bruised. Her encounters with kindly Dr. Jekyll, on the other hand, make her dream of a better life, as she sings in “Someone Like You.” It’s odd (or perhaps ironic) that a story that tells us repeatedly what it’s about—the darkness hidden inside each person—makes no attempt to go beyond the surfaces of the tale. Yet somehow, director Derek Van Barham and his cast make this an entertaining bit of over-the-top seasonal balderdash. I’ve never seen it on a big stage, but I can easily imagine Jekyll & Hyde collapsing under the weight of its own pretentiousness in a big proscenium house. Here at the Chopin (Kokandy has moved upstairs from the basement to the larger theater), there’s room for the large cast and even more importantly for the larger orchestra of 15 musicians under the baton of musical director Nick Sula. The larger stage gives choreographer Brenda Didier plenty of room to work her magic as well, and the overall look of the show, particularly the costumes by Rachel Sypniewski and makeup design by Syd Genco, provides a delightfully garish penny-dreadful aesthetic. One thing that helps for sure: Barham has cast the ensemble with an eye toward diversity, including several trans and nonbinary performers, which adds an interesting layer to the questions of identity at the heart of the story, without falling into the trap of suggesting that queer or trans individuals are somehow twisted or untrustworthy. Indeed, Quinn Simmons in the dual roles of Lucy’s friend, Nellie, and Jekyll’s loyal and anguished assistant, Poole, has some of the most quietly compassionate scenes in this dark show. If you saw Kokandy’s masterful production of Stephen Sondheim and Hugh Wheeler’s Sweeney Todd three years ago or their revival of American Psycho two years ago, you know that the company can handle dark and bloody themes. (The vengeance that Jekyll-as-Hyde takes on the hypocritical colleagues who undercut his experiments at the hospital definitely have echoes of Wheeler’s book for Sweeney.) If you’ve been following Kokandy at all, you know that Barham and Sula always get tremendous vocal performances out of their actors, and that remains true here. The songs may not have a lot in the way of nuance, but the cast sings the ever-loving hell out of them. Moreland achieves the sense of transformation with unfussy but marked physical and vocal choices, rather than wigs and other folderol. And Stovall, in a star-making turn, is simply transcendent in what could easily be a thankless victim role. But the entire ensemble, moving all over the levels of Sotirios Livaditis’s wooden set (resembling a Victorian operating theater) deliver performances with clarity, precision, and wit that transform the pedestrian material to satisfying heights—a reverse Jekyll/Hyde transformation, if you will. If, unlike me, you’re already a fan of the show (de gustibus non est disputandum and all that), you’re unlikely to find a better version anytime soon.
