Cabaret at the August Wilson Theatre
★★★★
An impeccably well-thought-out production that gives an old story traction, relatability, and its bite back. After 3 years, two countries and countless stars, Rebecca Frecknall’s take on Cabaret is as cutting as ever.
*POSSIBLE SPOILERS AHEAD*
Content Warnings:
Fascism
Antisemitism
Nazism
Depiction of swastikas
Hate crime
The Holocaust
Misogyny
Pregnancy and Abortion
Mentions of Drug and Alcohol Abuse
Sex
Humorous Depictions of Sex Acts
Violence (Physical Fighting)
My Review:
I’d feel as though I were misguiding our readers were I to omit that this review comes after writing two academically rewarding essays, watching 6 shows in 3 countries and staying up until 6 A.M. every night aged 13 as one of the five members of the pre-revival Cabaret fandom (seriously). I had a folder during high school, in which I would keep pieces of lined A4 paper that I was using to hand-write the entire script from memory whenever I got bored. If you are inherently, not a fan of this show – welcome to just about as far on the other side of the fence as you could get.
Like in London, the experience begins with a pre-show performance in a repurposed foyer of sorts. I only witnessed the tail end of this after battling through New York City’s Government Mandated Slow Walkers who, I assume, had all congregated in one place to defeat the whole purpose of me not packing heels. Regardless, the actor-musicians stationed by the bar were fantastically engrossed in the atmosphere they were creating, and benefitted from a larger audience across the pond; who, unlike their English counterparts, were perfectly happy to engage with the performance (read: stop and stare) – that’s not a jibe. I really appreciated how readily an American audience accepted the ideas that alarmed the audience I had last been a part of. Side note, I was also thrilled to see people dressed for the occasion – I had received disapproving looks in London for a lace-up top, so I salute the man I saw last week wearing something that wouldn’t have been out of place inside the actual Kit Kat in Berlin.
Upon entering the theatre, the pre-show performance continues. One performer I was unable to take my eyes off was Deja McNair-Kyles. Her command over her movements is exceptional and she absolutely stole the show from where I was sitting. As the orchestra began their iconic tuning of their instruments, the lights dimmed, the show began, and I reached the point in the review where I get to start talking about Orville Peck.
This was Peck’s second performance as the Emcee, and in relation, his second performance without his trademark mask. Already, Peck has a clear understanding of his Emcee – a sign that this production of Cabaret is in good hands. He is a force of controlled power and energy from start to finish. Peck not only understands his material but celebrates – and grieves – it over the course of the show. The casting (by Bernard Telsey and Kristin Charbonier, CSAs) of an artist (in the most literal sense) with a wonderful creative mind, who has a wealth of experience in many areas of the performing arts, is utterly inspired. Peck and his character share many similarities in their positions as public figures in the show’s beginning, an yet he strikes a starkly different figure in character. His movements are uniquely strong and purposeful in a way that delights with the daring trickster we meet in Wilkommen, and haunts with the emotionally drained, run-of-the-mill compère we have before us by Cabaret. Many Emcees before him have presented like two completely different people at these points in the show, but Peck shows us the same man, dulled by dread and devoid of all the sparkle we were treated to in act one. In my eyes, a perfect Emcee is one who discovers the golden middle ground between storytelling device and flesh and blood. Peck’s Emcee is one that is only human when avoiding everything that makes him so. He is an absolute delight and privilege to watch, and I cannot wait to hear how his portrayal develops with time.
His costar, Eva Noblezada, provides a stunningly beautiful vocal as Sally Bowles. I’m always grateful to watch a singer not try to overcompensate their performance in either direction whilst playing this role. Noblezada captures Isherwood’s original description of a Sally who doesn’t care about what others think of her. She hits the ground running with Don’t Tell Mama, a raucous parade of unbridled Party Girl Power, making use of growl and distortion in her voice to give her jokes a little more oomph. However, in terms of other noticeable detail, she lacks the definition that Peck has with his Emcee. At her second performance in the role, Noblezada gives us a perfectly acceptable, run-of-the-mill Sally Bowles. She hits every point required of her, but her acting has an air of painting by numbers. Compared to the constantly present thinking feeling Sally of Amy Lennox (the last performer I saw in the role) who leaves it all on the floor in the show’s title number, Noblezada’s finishes the show with just as many walls up as she started with. In its purest form, all moments after this number feel like being dragged feet first through gravel, but when you know Sally still has more to give, the impact just isn’t there.
One moment in the show I keep returning to is the song Money. In a production that gives you time to stop and think, it stands as a clear midpoint between fun and fascism. On my first viewing of this production, I felt that the number failed to express whatever point it was making and was left without any idea why such a powerful song felt so undercooked in an otherwise excellent production. After reflection (and, perhaps, a second viewing in a country in which a cocktail costs upwards of £25,) I’m more appreciative of Frecknall’s staging of a flashy distraction for any audience member beginning to have their doubts about the story. If you feel the obvious foreboding beneath Cliff and Ernst’s new business venture of smuggling goods to and from Paris, you don’t get to feel it for long before Orville Peck materialises from the ground, his costume giving the cultural crossover of the century - Stupid Deaths Becomes Her. Right in front of your eyes, something has died. Something has changed, and it will not change back. This part of the story is relayed to you by the Glam Grim Reaper himself for this reason. Peck and the ensemble bring this to life (pun unintended) with unnatural movements that conjure up the idea of puppetry and provide a flashy distraction for the audience in the August Wilson, and the collective audience in Berlin who are watching their country’s downfall like a car crash involving a fireworks lorry.
Before I wrap up, a big thank you to the staff at the August Wilson for very very kindly accommodating my request to move after seeing a free table seat. I’ve heard similar positive things about the West End production’s staff and would feel completely comfortable making accessibility requests to this team.
In summary, this production remains an undeniably beautiful and haunting experience that gives its source material the respect due, whilst using its own original ideas to build something new. I will never get tired of this show and how it inspires and changes people. Do not miss Orville Peck in this role if you find yourself in New York – he, and this performance, have earnt their spots in the Cabaret hall of fame, and my memory.
Thank you for taking the time to read and I hope this review has proved interesting and helpful for you :)
- AnxiousTheatregoer