A review from Berlin

Cabaret (seen 05/08/2014)

Tipi am Kamzleramt, Berlin

A Review by Carmen Paddock 

Nestled in Berlin’s immense public park, the Tiergarten, is Tipi am Kamzleramt, an intimate, glamorous theatre adorned with red velvet and crystal. The shows performed there are a throwback to the famed Weimar Republic days of the 1920s, when Germany’s capital was hotbed of liberal, experimental, avant-garde performance.

Their 2014 summer production of the classic musical Cabaret was a double homage to this era of theatre, as its plot not only brought pre-war Berlin to life but its was performed in the traditional style. For instance, the audience sat at small circular tables scattered around in front of the stage and could order drinks and snacks throughout the performance. The on-stage action, costumes, and set were loud, colourful, and larger-than-life. Additionally, performers and the live band did not confine themselves to the stage and regularly spilled out into the audience’s space – at intermission a mini dance revue and music parade took place between the tables. This was often to the viewer’s mixed discomfort and delight, as the show was far from tame. Raunchy and racy were the words of the day, and if a lewd joke could be made or an obscene gesture thrown, it was not missed. This was not a show for the easily offended.

Cabaret’s powerful effect, however, was far greater than sequins and shocking behaviour. From the famous ‘Wilkommen’ to the final spotlight’s fade to black, the sharp choreography, gutsy performers, and seamless scene transitions enthralled throughout the entire three-hour run time. Continuing the inclusive theme mentioned above, the lighting and sound design incorporated the audience’s space, heightening immersion and involvement in this delightfully decadent, debauched, and dangerous world. Every element of the play was attacked full-on, from bold and bawdy dance hall numbers to the central love story to the growing Nazi shadow (a very interesting phenomenon in a German theatre, as the audience sit silently as swastikas slowly appeared on backdrops and uniforms).

While very hard to pick the best performers from an impeccable cast, the Master of Ceremonies and Sally Bowles carry the show, and the actors playing both deserve much credit for this feat. The former’s detachment, debauchery, and doubling in small roles (such as the cocktail waiter and rail ticket inspector) gave the illusion that was simultaneously the soul of 1920s Berlin and yet removed from the madness of the time. The starring showgirl had a rich, earthy voice and convincingly conveyed a devil-may-care attitude on stage with serious self-doubts and an inner fragility when confronted with love and its consequences. ‘Mein Herr’ deliciously, sinfully, raucously celebrated a life of freedom, but when Sally chose that life of freedom the effect is strikingly opposite. The fear and fury under the façade was evident in her performance of ‘Cabaret’, and while she sent Clifford off with a smile and flippant request to be remembered, as soon as the door closed the façade cracks completely. It was a genuinely gut-wrenching pathos.

While impossible to definitively read an audience’s reception, it is reasonable to guess that it was an enormous success in the case of Cabaret. At the show’s conclusion the incessant, enthusiastic applause brought actors and musicians for eight successive curtain calls. The compère was right: our troubles were forgotten at the show’s conclusion, and it was difficult to leave the entrancing, gritty world of the Kit Kat Club and Weimar Berlin.