What an outstanding performance unfolded before my eyes tonight. We all think we know the premise of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde—a respectable doctor, a dangerous alter ego, a descent into darkness—but what happened on that stage was a metamorphosis far more horrible, intimate, and sinister than I ever expected. Just like Dr Jekyll himself (pronounced “Geekell,” as we are firmly instructed), the production twisted and contorted the familiar story into something raw and immediate. What I witnessed was not simply an adaptation; it was the transformation of a man into a monster happening in real time, mere feet away.
The entire piece was acted, adapted, and produced by James Hyland—whose name you’ll recognise if you’ve followed my previous reviews, particularly his unforgettable pirate performance in Gold and Silver. My admiration for Hyland is no secret, and tonight only deepened it. As artistic director and founder of Brother Wolf Productions, he has carved out a reputation for intense, visceral storytelling, and this performance was yet another testament to his extraordinary craft.
As Dr Jekyll, Hyland began with a composed, almost scholarly presence, introducing himself with a polite restraint that lulled us into a false sense of security. But as the story progressed, he began to mutate—subtly at first, then with terrifying ferocity—into his monstrous alter ego.
What makes Hyland’s performance so astonishing is not simply that he plays both Jekyll and Hyde, but that he embodies an entire cast of characters. This was a one man show in the truest, most demanding sense: a relentless, breathless display of physical and vocal dexterity. He shifted from character to character with no hesitation, no stumble, no moment of uncertainty. One second he was the distinguished doctor; the next, a snarling, contorted creature whose very posture seemed to warp the air around him.
At times, Hyland appeared to transform involuntarily, as though Hyde were clawing his way out even without the aid of the infamous potion. His body twisted, his face contorted, and his voice dropped into something guttural and inhuman. The deformity and ugliness of Hyde seemed to bloom across him like a disease, and we in the audience could do nothing but watch, transfixed and horrified Sitting in the front row proved to be an experience for those who had chosen seats to have the best view in the house. Hyland’s presence was so threatening, so volatile, that several audience members visibly squirmed in their seats. His booming, tempestuous voice filled the intimate space of the White Bear Theatre, making the descriptions of the murders feel almost too close for comfort. We were no longer passive spectators—we were voyeurs dragged into the dark, unsavoury world of 1800s Whitechapel, forced to confront the brutality lurking beneath Victorian respectability.
And then came the knife. It appeared suddenly, shockingly, and Hyland wielded it with such conviction that the front row collectively tensed. In a space as small as the White Bear, the proximity was genuinely unnerving. This was theatre at its most visceral—raw, immediate, and frightening.
Hyland’s charisma and dynamic vocal range carried the performance effortlessly. He moved from refined gentleman to grotesque creature with a fluidity that was both impressive and deeply unsettling. It may not be the warm, festive fare one expects at this time of year, but it was an outstanding, remarkable piece of theatre—one that leaves you rooted to your seat, heart pounding, unable to look away.
Reviewer - Penny Curran
On - 21st December 2025
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