Dygood, dybbad and dyugly: Dy Dybbuk review

Inspired by his own experience travelling between Russian and Ukranian Jewish shtetls, S. Ansky wrote The Dybbuk in 1917 and created what is long considered a seminal work in Jewish theatre. Centred on the age-old theatrical themes of love and betrayal, it places them in a small community inspired by the folk tales that Ansky discovered on his travels. Now being staged in the King’s Head Theatre, Islington, The Dybbuk has been brought resurrected in a production that is as possessing in experience as it is in theme.

The main hilt of the story is the love between the almost destitute Chonen and the beautiful Leah, the latter of which is destined to be married once her wealthy father has chosen a viable suitor. As Chonen’s all-consuming love causes him to question and explore the boundaries of his faith, he unravels as a husband is found for Leah, dying of grief. In death he becomes a Dybbuk, a spirit capable of possessing the body of any creature and soon seizes control of his beloved to expose what kept them apart in life.

A brief synopsis of the story does not do justice to the script, constituting of a delightful blend of philosophy and social commentary with some intriguing emotional imagery delivered deftly by a skilled cast. As the lovers of the piece, Edward Hogg as Chonen and Hanne Steen as Leah excel, the former conjuring a tortured soul with an incredible intellect trying to evoke the true power of scripture surrounded by others who simply practise as habit, and the latter as the enchanting beauty who beguiles him. 

The cast equip themselves well with the exception of Chris Courtenay as Leah’s father who is miscast in the role, appearing too much like a comedic fool to be believable as an unscrupulous foil to the lovers’ plan. David Meyer’s turn as the Rabbi Azriel called in to exorcise the Dybbuk manages to remain on the right side of hammy for the most part whilst Tam Williams’ Messenger conveys the correct spooky quality demanded of the role, if perhaps a little too much by the end.

The staging of The Dybbuk however is its greatest achievement alongside the lead performances. From the opening scene, the intimacy of the rather small theatre lends itself perfectly to the story and the director has employed it to full effect. More than anything, the ingenuity with which the possession of Leah was choreographed is wonderfully successful and any scenes without the pair can seem drawn out by their absence. Despite a slow down in the pace of the play towards the end, complete with some revelations of dubious credence, there is a good attempt to hold the interest of the audience even if it doesn’t maintain the visceral appeal of Leah and Chonen’s scenes.

The Dybbuk is by no means treading old ground despite its central themes. With its top notch cast and a vitality seldom matched in larger productions, it is nothing less than enchanting.

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