Life Certainly Is a Cabaret

“Cabaret” was the first show I saw upon arrival in New York, and it has taken me two nearly weeks to “unpack” this suitcase.

Today when one walks into the August Wilson Theater it is virtually unrecognizable. A completely new edifice has been placed over the existing audience and stage space, and nothing is as it was. Out with the old and in with the new, except the new isn’t permanent. It’s a façade that will be taken down once this production’s term has ended and a new one takes its place, a theme embraced by the hopeful character of dear Herr Schultz in his naiveté.

In order to get to the stage, you are led through a twisting labyrinth where the alcohol is served freely – sincerely, you are offered a free shot of cherry schnapps the second you are willkommened at the door. You are surrounded by the image of the “all seeing eye” in every corner of the theater – every wall, every table, on the program, and on the sticker that is put on the lens of your phone when you enter. During the show, a telephone prop is used which is in the shape of a triangle with the Eye of Providence blazing across the front – even your conversations are being tapped by an unknown. “Someone” is watching you at every single moment.

The opulence of this gilded theater is pretty stunning. In the moment, I was really taken aback because the Kit Kat Klub of “I Am Camera” and described in the script of “Cabaret” is a really seedy, gritty, disgusting dive of a bar. It’s the end of the road for performers, and a land of “misfit toys” where anyone and everyone is welcome and free to be who they really are and act upon their desires. Nobody who is anybody would be caught dead in that place…or would they?

Conversely, this Kit Kat Bar Is like an elite and exclusive Club 33. Patrons are plunking down hundreds, in some cases thousands, of dollars to sit at reserved tables nearest the stage where they can order flutes of champagne and indulge their every sense. It’s abundantly clear who the “haves” and “have nots” are in this space. The most wealthy and influential people have the prime real estate, and they’re not afraid to flaunt it because “what happens in Berlin stays in Berlin,” am I right? From the get-go, the ensemble in your face - or your lap - a cavalcade of gender-fluidity, each one specifically cast for their uniqueness and je ne sais quoi. It’s a veritable freak show, and at the center of it all the MC serves as a demented ringmaster.

I saw “Poltergeist” when I was 8-years-old, which gave me a pretty serious case of coulrophobia. I am terrified of clowns - always thinking that there’s one hiding in my closet or just around the corner waiting to attack me. As a child, I was unable to sleep in a room by myself and moved from my basement bedroom to a shared one with my sister upstairs. At night I lived in a state of constant panic. Imagine my horror when Eddie Redmayne appears on stage at the top of the show the visage of a demented clown. From his oversized boots and neck bow, smeary makeup, right up to his pointed little party hat, he is a vision of terror that is the stuff my nightmares are made of. He doesn’t even look human, but rather like a twisted marionette in the way his body is contorted, his arms suspended in the air, and his hands flopped open as if welcoming me into an embrace of death. (Later in the show, he transforms quite literally into the grimmest of reapers.) It suddenly feels as if I’ve just taken my seat on a rollercoaster to hell. Perfect.

This production is about as damn near perfect as you can get with the stage version of "Cabaret." The casting was impeccable - including the color conscious casting that was so very on point. The performances were some of the finest I've ever seen. Gail Rankin is a devastatingly destructive Sally who simply cannot be contained, Bebe Neuwirth is hauntingly tragic, and Eddie Redmayne is positively creep-a-licious.

The universalism of “Cabaret” is largely derived from the fact that the characters are so nebulous, and the script open to interpretation. Corruption, deception, denigration, the need for power and control are human tendencies that have existed since time immemorial, and will continue to exist forever on this earth in every country and every society, no matter how big or how small, because of human nature. We are all flawed beings who are susceptible to temptation and vice. One of the primary themes of “Cabaret” is “This could happen to you. This is you.” And yes it could. And yes it is. Even today. Now. In this world. In this time.

Corruption and deception and the quest for control and power pervade corporate and political America. Many of today’s financial elite and political ruling class seem to be members of a very dark and very exclusive “Klub” where hedonistic desires are acted upon and evil is rampant. Politics in America is no longer about representation of the people, it’s about gaining power and holding onto it as long as you can, no matter the cost. It’s about indulgence and greed (show me that freezer full of ice-cream again Nancy Pelosi), putting on a façade and hiding who you really are and your real intentions, and sticking it to the groundlings while making yourself look like a hero. It’s also about hiding in the shadows, like a puppet master, using blackmail and entrapment to bring down your foes. If you’re rich and powerful, it’s OK to be a freak, as long as you toe the line - but you don’t know who may be watching you or recording you. How you act in secret may destroy you.

After last night's political debate, this production became even more relevent. Old Joe is a sad, hollow, shell of a man. He’s a washed-up elderly actor who can’t remember his lines in front of an audience, and who just wants to go home and take a nap. He has to be led around by the hand like a child, and force-fed his dialogue. Half the time, I don’t think he knows where he is or what he’s doing there, and this is the leader of the free world, my friends. He’s the epitome of a puppet President.

In this election season we are asked to select between garbage and trash. What’s the difference? If a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, ergo the garbage and trash. We are faced with two terrible choices - puppet president and a monster. With the monster, you know who and what you’re fighting against. He has a face and a voice and he’s not afraid to tell you what he’s going to do. But I find the puppet president to be more sinister because we don’t know who the puppet master is. Just who is pulling the strings, and what is their master plan?

Many of us feel like our votes don’t count anymore, and those who are voting usually aren’t voting FOR something or someone, they are voting against what they feel is the worse option. As a society we have become complacent, just like those people in pre-World War II Germany. We are comfortable. Our basic needs are met. We have been lulled into contentment, and have probably given too much power to a force we can’t even see, let alone control, and to the vocal minority at both ends of the political spectrum. The world that we are left with is one where we are so divided that we are heading on the fast track to our own demise as a society, but we’re too "busy" to even notice. We live our lives with blinders on so we can only see what is directly in front of us, rarely looking at the full picture, and the powers-that-be like it that way.

Under this lens, the opulent world that director Rebecca Frecknall and designer Tom Scutt have created at the August Wilson Kit Kat Bar makes perfect sense. Here you are lured in, tempted with vices, and told you are free to be who you are and do whatever you like. But once you realize that you are being watched you can’t stop thinking about it. You realize that, in order to survive, one needs to become a part of the homogenous herd. As this production of “Cabaret,” draws to a close, every character puts on a drab brown suit, cloaking and masking their true identity. It becomes impossible to see the characters as individuals as they scurry to hide their past and invent a new persona that meets societal expectations. Those who don’t, or who don’t leave, are inevitably destroyed.

Life, my friend, is a cabaret.