Cabaret

Reviewed by Holly Bartges

Opening night at Littleton’s Town Hall production of Cabaret rocked the house, broke the heart twice — and then turned around and did it again — assaulted the senses on political intrusion, unnerved the mind on economic desperation, and thrilled the soul with its powerful familiar music.

Scott McLean as Cliff Bradshaw and Melinda Dickson as Sally Bowles in Town Hall Arts Center’s production of Cabaret.

Raw to the core, Cabaret transports us back to a terrifying time in history when one man gripped control over body, mind, heart, and soul of a country. Over and over again the question has been asked how could this be? How could this happen? How could one small man with hair in his eyes, manage to take control of an entire country?

Town Hall deserves strong accolades for moving out to let the Kit Kat Club take over its theatre, and especially deserves acknowledgement inviting Nick Sugar to mold Cabaret into the searing, biting, reality it was meant to be with his critical direction and stunning choreography.

When Cabaret is watered down, it becomes an exciting, well-put together toe-tapping-let’s- dance musical peppered with a tinge of risqué smirking. When it is taken in all honesty at its most basic level, it digs deep into the lives of the characters, allowing truth to hang out as a free flowing flag on a bent flag pole, it is designed to thrill, perplex, ponder, shudder, question if it happened once, could it happen again?

The more it is produced in drastic honesty, the deeper the questioning, as well it should be. This is not a ’60s do nothing, go nowhere, flippant let’s-have-a-rollicking-good-time, and for heaven’s sake don’t-make-me-think-musical. It was never meant to be. Masterof wrote the book, with lyrics by Fred Ebb, and music by John Kander.

Sugar’s production deliberately peels back the covers to show the scars, the wounds, the heartbreak, the desperation of a people wanting to live, to survive, To be alive, and what desperate people will do to maintain a sense of stability even if it means crowding the halls of a dingy, raunchy, devil may care, let it all hang out decadent Kit Kat Club in 1930s Germany.

If this production offends protected conservative eyes, so be it. It should and needs to. Cabaret actually reflects exactly what happens when individuals walk around protecting their protection coveting their puritanical innocence refusing to be aware of their surroundings. The longer Cabaret is around, the more it is produced, the more relevant it becomes. It couldn’t possibly be more relevant than it is right here and now.

Sugar as the Emcee of the Kit Kat Club, a probing mystical muse, and a political double-edged sword, delivers his eyes as headlights delving deep into the souls of several individuals caught and captured in various circumstances of their fenced in lives in the midst of economic depression.

The Kit Kat Club symbolizes a place where customers can forget their troubles, surround themselves with the illusion everything is beautiful: the girls are beautiful, the boys are beautiful, life is beautiful, the orchestra is beautiful, (in this case it actually is with Donna Kolpan Debreceni as musical director at the piano). In their raunchiness, heavy makeup, revealing skimpy clothes, claiming a raw sexuality because that’s all they have, they think.

The talented actors stepping into the skins of the Kit Kat Girls are awesome. Paula Whitaker plays Rosie, Jessica Hindsley plays Lulu, Staci Jackson takes on Frenchy, Amanda Earls plays Texas, and Shanna Meek plays the baby Helga, The Emcee knows them well, very well in fact, demonstrated when he introduces them explicitly. Then there is Sally Bowles, living hand to mouth, sleeping with anyone she can to survive as the Kit Kat’s lead singer. On the one hand Melinda Dickson is absolutely adorable with her gorgeous voice and animated style. On the other hand Sally isn’t suppose to be adorable; she’s desperate, and Dickson magnificently allows that to peek through Sally’s demeanor.

A writer looking for a novel story line, from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania wanders around Europe heads for Berlin on a train. Scott McLean turns Clifford Bradshaw into a thoughtful, I’ll-try-anything-once, looking for experience, living on a short income, curious writer. Astute, proud of have money in his pocket, sleek, ignorant Ernst Ludwick doesn’t care where the money comes from as long it comes. Brian Hutchinson wears Ernst inside out, transparency showing through for those who have eyes to see.

A strong simple woman, running a boarding house, pride keeping her contained, snugly wrapped in a warm insulated blanket of protection, Fraulein Schneider allows herself to melt over the attention of Herr Schultz with his simple naive school boy charm.

Barb Reeves took over Schneider’s role a week and half before opening night. She walked on stage with ownership written all over her. With her rich low voice, Reeves allows the music to give her poetic humor to her practical philosophy. She has already survived a great deal. She will survive again knowing which side of the bread goes the butter. Schneider’s song “So What” tells precisely where and how she lives with Reeves staunchly planted in the middle.

Fresh fruit so hard to come by, Schultz owns a small grocery, romances the love of his life with a pineapple. He has enough wits about him to save face when he exits Schneider’s room in full view of the vixonish kitten Frauline Kost who takes great pleasure making sure lonely service boys aren’t so lonely to the dismay of Schneider. Mary McGroary brings Kost vibrantly to life as well as Fritzie. A very talented graceful dancer, McGroary gives one of her top-flight performances. Following the show, she said, “I haven’t been so theatrically fulfilled in a very long time,” knowing exactly what she was saying and why she was saying it. Her eyes glistened. A playful, desperate, lady of the night fighting to survive, fighting constantly against Schneider to survive, her haunting “Tomorrow Belongs To Me” sends shivers curling down the spine.

The undercurrent developing romances between Cliff and Sally, and Schneider and Schultz spell heartbreak and disaster. The growing Nazi party members have been Schneider’s friends. To continue letting out rooms she’s not about to take a stand against them. Schultz, a Jew, doesn’t understand, doesn’t care, all he knows is he loves Schneider, all he knows is thatŐs all that matters. John Arp’s magnetic ability to mold himself into whatever character he wears, defines Schultz with his stooped shoulders, admiring eye of Schneider, his simple live and enjoy quiet philosophy tapered with what has politics got to do with him?

The juxtaposition of the scenes takes the breath away. Following the lovely duet between Schneider and Schultz, “It Couldn’t Please Me More,” with two shy, lonely older people finding themselves giddy with the love they deserve, the stark spotlighted scene of a serious Emcee walking out on the stark stage with an old record player, and a scratchy recording of “Tomorrow Belongs To Me” numbs the sense with a frightening reality.

Humor plays tricks following Schultz plaintiff song “Married,” the Emcee waltzes with a gorilla (Whitaker tucked neatly inside) singing “If You Could See Her,” …as I do. Of course, it is funny. It is a very funny scenario, until his smiling eyes become piercing lightening rods shutting out the laughter with “She wouldn’t look Jewish at all.”

On a striking set designed by Tina Anderson, the stage is stark with a few necessary suggestive pieces of furniture that can easily be placed and removed with ease. A wall in back with three doors, nooks and crannies for unexpected surprises of peering eyes, invited and unwanted guests, the Kit Kat girls and boys to peek around, showing off their wares. Levels on top for the Emcee to lounge, direct, and astutely observe tragedies being played out to their cruel ending. Having one of spaces framed with bright lights serves as a harsh reminder of what is coming.

The Kit Kat Boys slither in and out in graceful choreography. Kurt Kruckeberg plays Bobby with conniving oiled smoothness. Bobby not only recognizes Cliff from a gay bar in London, but has the gaul to confront him head on. So he embarrasses Cliff. So what? He has nothing to lose. Philip Martin plays Victor, Steven J. Burge plays Hans and Rudy, and Kent Randell plays Herman and Max oozing their sexuality as though that’s all they have. In many ways, they’re right. That’s all they have, and when that’s all you have you flaunt it.

Rambunctious entertainment, Cabaret provides history with a lesson of what happens to people caught in an economic trap, seeking relief, grabbing blindly, aching to live, escaping to a bawdy atmosphere because after all “Life is a Cabaret” and troubles can be drowned long enough to be forgotten, at least for a while. Unfortunately, that while doesn’t last very long, particularly under the Nazi regime, and the pungent poignant ending startles the senses.

Dickson added a particular shuddering element to Sally in her last song, “Cabaret.” Her abortion, breaking up with Cliff, her uncertainly reflects in her shaking voice spelling out the beginning of the end.

This is the third time I have seen Sugar’s Cabaret. This is his fifth production. I can hardly wait to see the sixth. If ever there was a reason to become politically astute, Cabaret highlights it. Town Hall’s production is an absolute must see because of what it says, because of the expertise in which it says it, because the cast is “beautiful,” the orchestra is “beautiful,” because Sugar will knock you out, pick you back up, and knock you out again, because Cabaret is simply magnificent.