Cabaret at the KitKat Club, hosted within the Playhouse Theatre, begins not, like many other shows currently running on the West End, with the curtain rising, but rather with entry to the theatre itself. You are welcomed with speeches on the camera-ban, and an unforgettably large sticker for covering lenses, which reminds you to ‘keep it in the KitKat Club’ before you are admitted into the club itself. Being given a shot of schnapps on the door—which, with the prices in London being as they are, almost redeems the price of a ticket— to really get you in the mood, and then entering through the dingy backrooms, rather than the typically grand front entrance to London theatres, you are pulled through a portal to post-depression Berlin and it is here that you truly understand that this is not a ‘show’ but an experience. The entire idea of theatre itself is flipped around to create a greater impact upon an audience—you are attending the KitKat Club and, thus, are no better than the characters within the musical.
However, the music begins before the curtain.
Walking through the strings of beads, sequins, and other eye-catching designs, you are greeted with a half-naked woman dancing to an equally barely dressed man playing the clarinet. These are the ‘Prologue’ performers: dancers and musicians billed entirely separately to the cast itself. The talented collective improvise and perform in various locations around the ‘club,’ most notably, within the transformed Gold Bar (Goldene Bar, according to my little information card, and the signs in German dotted around the theatre—talk about immersion!) in which a stage has been built over the bar for performances. Though, the dancers, in Ugly Coyote fashion, do not limit themselves to just this, but also the bar itself—doing tricks over poured glasses of champagne. This space is also covered in nude drawings, a ‘queer irreverence’ and is wholly transformed from what was once the grand foyer of the theatre— if you look for the original, non-Berlin aspects, they can be spotted, but it they are hard found and easily lost within the excitement of the Club.
I elected to explore (an unwise decision, considering how packed the building was with people) and boldly ventured to all three of the bars: red, gold, and green. Having followed more German signs (despite my inability to read the language) to the Green Bar, the smallest of the three, and tucked away on the top floor, I found that there were no performers at my time of entry— though this could have been due to a lack of space, as the majority of the area was roped off to cater to the stragglers from the offered early dining experience, which appeared to be running late on the day in question. The largest bar, the gold, naturally had the largest performance area, but the red also hosted an impressive stage— large enough to fit a piano, on which were two scantily clad performers, one playing and the other improvising, to great amusement from the assembling crowd.
The only issue I found with this was the problem of foot traffic, as many people would stand in an overcrowded area to gawk at the performers, despite being entirely in the way of the mob trying to order themselves drinks. Whilst this tends to be a ‘the general public’ issue more than a performance one, it did force me to wonder whether they’d prepared for the huge crowds desperate for some form of alcohol—as all three bars were overcrowded, struggling to field the sheer number of guests.
Within the theatre itself is a circular stage, which is notably low. Around which, for all 360 degrees, are tables—each with a small light bearing the 1984-esque eye that has become the symbol of this modern take on a classic, and a rotary phone, referring to a minor line within the musical that there are ‘phones on every table.’ Whilst my own did not ring, others appeared to be conversing with the Cabaret girls using this form of communication, another element of immersion.
The key to this adaptation is androgyny. This adaptation embraces queer culture, down to the progress flag on each server’s tie, and thus past issues with the musical ‘objectifying’ the women within the club becomes a celebration of progress— especially in adapting the ‘radical’ nature of early 30’s Berlin to modern sensibilities. This is encapsulated within the choreography— a mix of the expected fosse style with LGBT Ballroom and voguing. The costuming was notably stunning— particularly in the contrast between Schneider’s period accurate costumes and the bright, scandalous outfits of the Cabaret girls. However, it was the Emcee who stole the show with both intense movements, emphasised by stunning costuming for each number, and a powerful performance. Described as ‘the spirit of Berlin,’ it is not an easy role to take— especially in the same year as Joel Grey receiving the lifetime achievement award at the Tony’s for his performance as the Emcee alongside Liza Minelli in the iconic film adaptation— and yet, Mason not only succeeds in this role, but is truly outstanding in their performance.
Despite Maude Apatow headlining as the green nail polish wearing, gin-drinking Sally Bowles, the role was played by Sally Frith, who went on to play the role for the rest of the summer. This performance was so powerful and moving in the titular number (Cabaret) that I was forced to commit theatre sacrilege and argue that Frith performed better than Minelli herself— as Frith was able to do what Minelli failed to do, tarnish the charismatic charm of Bowles with the truth of her character. She was not afraid to ‘get ugly,’ crying and half-yelling a few lines, clearly presenting the her fears of the incoming war and pain at the illegal abortion, something which concludes with her, like everyone else, conforming. The heart wrenching number was wholly unglamourised within this production, down to the lack of makeup on her face, and Bowles’ pain was front and centre—as it ought to be.
The ensemble carries the force of the show on their backs, with multiple high energy dance numbers in Act 1. The benefit of a table seat is interactions. As the ensemble move between you, as a patron of the club itself, and the stage, they will flirt, gawk, and chat with you whilst you drink and enjoy the pretty dancers flirting with you— true to the show itself—and feel free to party like it’s 1932. I found myself personally acquainted with Rosie, a regular at my table.
In terms of direction, the show was genius. From the allusions to 1984 down to the shifting personality of the Emcee, everything flowed perfectly. The second act is an anxiety inducing rollercoaster where you feel your heart slowly dropping into your lower intestine— and I would not change that for the world. The use of the Emcee breaking the glass at the wedding of Herr Schultz and Fraulein Schneider to become a symbol of Kristallnacht (the night of broken glass, a night of antisemitic hate-crimes in Germany) as well as the increase of animalistic behaviours of the Gorilla in ‘If You Could See Her’ that makes the punchline so much more horrific to all involved—and particularly to me, as I felt like protagonist Cliff, rapt in horror as the people around me laughed on. The parallels throughout every performance which culminated in a final scene of total conformity shows the inability to escape the Nazi regime. The Nazis, were, for the most part, only alluded to, with there being no outright uniforms appearing in the musical— a way to show the banality of evil. Friends, neighbours, and patrons, the insidious truth within the show is that this is everywhere, most clearly outlined in the horrifyingly beautiful performance of ‘Tomorrow Belongs To Me’ from the entire cast. In a world of insurrections, neo-Nazis, Q-Anon, and the alt-right pipeline, this musical has never felt more poignant.
Show Title: Cabaret at the KitKat Club
Venue: The KitKat Club at the Playhouse Theatre
Review Date: 8th July 2023
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