Yentl Review: Ambitious and Provocative Theatre at Marylebone Theatre

★★★

Bold, provocative and occasionally chaotic, Kadimah Yiddish Theatre’s Yentl arrives at Marylebone Theatre carrying the weight of a beloved film and a celebrated Australian run. Directed by Gary Abrahams and based on Isaac Bashevis Singer’s short story, the production arrives in London following an acclaimed Sydney run, attempting to interrogate gender, faith and identity through a strikingly theatrical lens.

The story follows Yentl, a Jewish woman forbidden from studying sacred texts. Determined to learn, she adopts the male alter ego Anshul and enters scholarly circles in order to study the Torah. In doing so she befriends the charismatic Avigdur (Ashley Margolis), forming a close connection with him while navigating the complicated triangle with Hodes (Genevieve Kingsford), the woman he hopes to marry. Hovering over everything are the echoes of Yentl’s father and the wider pressures of faith, gender and tradition.

At its heart, Yentl is a story about access to knowledge. This production leans into that tension, placing Yentl’s intellectual hunger against a world determined to exclude her.

At the centre of the production is Amy Hack’s thoughtful portrayal of Yentl and Anshul. Hack brings a compelling innocence to the role, capturing the character’s curiosity and quiet determination. She also relishes the script’s understated humour, allowing comedy to emerge naturally rather than forcing it. That innocence, however, might have benefitted from evolving more noticeably as Yentl’s journey progresses.

Ashley Margolis brings warmth and confidence to Avigdur, creating a strong contrast to Yentl’s tentative exploration of identity. Meanwhile Genevieve Kingsford’s Hodes offers emotional grounding to the central relationship dynamic, delivering moments of sincerity that help anchor the production’s more surreal elements.

The most striking and divisive presence comes from Evelyn Krape as the omnipresent “Figure”. Appearing in multiple guises including narrator, impish trickster, father, goat and sexual provocateur, Krape injects much of the production’s comic energy. The Figure functions as a manifestation of Yentl’s inner conflict, part conscience and part mischievous commentator. Krape’s timing is impeccable and she frequently punctures the play’s heavier themes with well placed humour. Yet her near constant presence on stage often becomes distracting. At times the character commits the theatrical sin of “character death”, remaining visibly present while disconnected from the scene unfolding around her. A powder white face, moustache and horned helmet are bold visual choices, but their impact inevitably diminishes when they are rarely allowed to disappear.

Visually, the production embraces an elegant minimalism. The ashen, forest like floor gives the stage an almost ritualistic quality, every step landing like a question Yentl is not supposed to ask. Yentl’s movements appear uncertain and searching, while Avigdur’s stride feels grounded and assured. Between scenes, a curtain inscribed with passages from the Torah opens and closes, marking the transitions in the story. The text becomes a quiet but constant reminder of the knowledge Yentl longs to access and the religious structures that prevent her from doing so. The abstract house like structure frames the action effectively without overwhelming it.

The production also moves fluidly between English and Yiddish, with captions appearing when necessary. This bilingual approach enriches the storytelling and grounds the play firmly within its Jewish cultural and historical context.

Where the production falters is in some of its directorial choices. The show clearly aims to explore sex, gender and identity with boldness, yet the execution often feels oddly muted. The sexuality is not quite provocative enough and the gender bending not quite radical enough to fully realise the play’s thematic ambitions.

Certain moments also feel misplaced rather than purposeful. A nightmare sequence in which Avigdur flashes the audience a blood covered “mangina” lands awkwardly instead of provocatively, drawing eye rolls rather than insight. Similarly, the recurring horror style sound design initially creates tension but quickly becomes repetitive and ultimately loses its impact.

The ambition is undeniable.

This Yentl is brimming with ideas and unapologetically embraces the queerness at the heart of the story. Yet the production occasionally buckles under the weight of its competing ideas. With sharper refinement and a clearer tonal balance that allows the audience moments of release alongside the intensity, this bold staging could evolve into something genuinely extraordinary.

Messy, provocative and undeniably bold, this Yentl may not fully cohere, but its ambition is impossible to ignore.