• Cabaret, 1/22/23 (Sun)

I hadn’t seen this film since it came out in 1972 and vaguely remember loving it. So when it showed up this month as part of a local theater’s morning classic film series, I jumped at the chance to catch it again on the big screen. It was much talked-about in its day for taking on themes like sexual liberation, anti-Semitism, homosexuality, abortion, and societal complacency in the face of evil, all in a musical format. It’s not the first musical to feature Nazis – The Sound of Music beat them to that. But that was a story of resistance to an established regime, whereas Cabaret examines how society got that way in the first place. The theater was impressively full for a movie over half-a-century old.

The film is an ambitious reconfiguration of the stage musical, creating effectively a brand new piece. The original musical, itself a drastic reworking of the source novel, featured a realistic story set in 1931 Berlin in which an American writer is delivering contraband for a German smuggler , while an older German woman breaks off with her beloved Jewish beau in fear of society’s wrath amid the growing Nazi presence, especially after a brick flies through her window (explaining her decision in one of best theater songs ever written, “What Would You Do?”*). The writer was decidedly heterosexual in this telling, which worked just fine, making him even more vulnerable to the advances of the irrepressible English cabaret singer Sally Bowles. The slide of Germany toward Nazi rule and society’s inability or unwillingness to stop it was shown obliquely through these relationships, slyly commented upon by the cabaret numbers.

The film, working on a larger canvas, is more direct in addressing the breakdown in German society. First is the portrayal of the Nazis. After a Nazi soldier is kicked out of the Kit Kat Klub (not sure if the name was given those initials on purpose), he and his cohorts return to beat the owner to a pulp outside the club (alternating with cuts of the show going on inside), and at the end we see, through distorted glass, Nazis sitting comfortably at the tables, accepted or at least tolerated now by the club/society. Elsewhere, a man passing a scene of Nazi violence dismisses the idea that they pose a larger threat, saying that they’re useful for getting rid of the Communists and can be dealt with after they’ve served their purpose. Brian (the writer, as he is named in the movie) tries to resist the Nazis but finds out painfully that he can’t do that alone. Young Nazis scream anti-Semitic threats outside the home of a prominent Jewish family and leave the corpse of the daughter’s dog on her doorstep. It’s evident from our perspective that signs of the coming regime are everywhere, and we can only watch the downward spiral.

Sally and Brian, now respectively US and British in a reversal of the stage show, have a more complicated romance here. Brian is openly gay in this version (as in the original novel); Sally manages to bed him, but he eventually strays with a rich man that she is also sleeping with. That man enjoys their company for a while, then dumps them as spontaneously as he had reeled them in, leaving behind a bit of money and a curt letter. That detour in the plot doesn’t make much sense. Something feels missing.

Meanwhile, the second pair of lovers are a Jewish woman and Protestant man, again a reversal of the original musical, the latter a gigolo aiming initially at the rich woman’s money. Unfortunately, as these things go, he falls in love with her, but is refused her hand because he is not Jewish. That is resolved through a deus ex machina where he reveals that, lo and behold, he’s actually a Jewish citizen who’s only pretended all this time to be Christian, thus allowing them to marry in a traditional ceremony. What a copout. The story overall is not the film’s strong point.

The emcee is described in many reviews as androgynous, but he seems pretty straight to me, just over-the-top decadent and willing to do anything, regardless of how debauched, to win over his audience. Insisting that he’s bi or gay is fine, but it seems beside the point, especially since it gives him an out; it’s scarier to think that he’s closer to an everyman, a mirror who reflects society rather than challenges it.

Fosse doesn’t seem as interested in creating realistic characters as in creating a mood, which he does with tremendous skill. Interestingly for a choreographer, he chops up the dances in staccato cuts like future MTV videos, maybe because of limitations with Liza Minnelli’s dancing (she mentioned that he had to work around her scoliosis). I’m not usually a fan of that approach, but it characterizes the non-musical parts as well: the restless camerawork, the interspersing of pans and close-ups of the creepy audience along with violent scenes from outside (like the club owner getting pulverized), distorted views, and the takes of performances from various angles, such as views from the wings or looking upward as if from the audience’s perspective. Hats off to editor David Bretherton (reportedly assisted by Fosse) and cinematographer Geoffrey Unsworth for an awesome job capturing the nervous energy that drives the film. Life really is a cabaret here: the audience is mindlessly watching the breakdown of societal norms without realizing that there’s only so far a breakdown can go before total collapse, a theme highlighted by the kaleidoscopic mix of images. They are blissfully unaware of anything other than this made-up world, where “life is beautiful”, as the shows get increasingly outrageous in proportion to the growing lack of outrage.

The musical numbers are amazing. Fosse removed the show’s character numbers (those sung in place of dialogue in a typical musical), limiting all songs but one to those performed by Sally and/or the emcee on the stage of the Kit Kat Klub. That is, the songs are presented as in real life as performances, and thus comment on feelings rather than express them. As noted, Fosse negates that realistic approach with an impressionistic jumble of images that suggest production numbers without fully showing them. The sizzling chair routine in “Mein Herr”, for instance, was like a flip-book with suggestive poses, but somehow comes together as the film’s most memorable number, including Liza’s Dietrich-like take. The cynical “Money Money” was more straightforward but is still interrupted with audience reactions and the like. (Both songs were written specifically for the film but left enough of an impression that they often show up these days in stage revivals.) The title number was also enhanced by various interwoven images, such as the emcee’s leering face, past memories, and scenes of violence.

The only song not presented at the club was “Tomorrow Belongs to Me”, sung at a beer garden. In a superb presentation, we first see a sweet-faced youth singing what appears to be a pastoral number, only to realize as the camera pans down that this is a young Aryan voicing an anthem to a Nazi future, two years before Hitler’s rise to power. As the crowd begins to join him in mounting intensity, we realize from hindsight how society is being transformed before our eyes. (Observing the crowd’s passion, Brian asks his friend, “You still think we can control them?”)

Liza dominates her scenes with sheer star presence. She was apparently rejected for Broadway despite her close friendship with the authors on the grounds that nobody as talented as that would have been singing in a dingy Berlin club. But I think we can forgive that as poetic license – who wants to pay to see a cut-rate performance? In any case, the fact that a super singer (if we assume that) would have to lower herself to perform there is a message as well. Liza doesn’t just sing the songs but acts them, and her renditions pulse with energy, especially a heartfelt “Maybe This Time” (another addition to the movie that’s often imported into the stage version). She’s also expert in the dramatic scenes, as when she disappointingly reads the telegram from the father who never seems to have time for her after he failed to show up yet again for an appointment. Her Academy Award was well deserved. Michael York is a perfect foil, a proper English gentleman to Sally’s wild American ways. His understated approach was especially effective in the context of his sexuality, avoiding the usual stereotypes.

Joel Grey, the only holdout from the original stage cast, offers a unique version of the enigmatic emcee. Subsequent emcees have chosen a more depraved portrayal (including in my experience UK, US, Japanese and Israeli productions), but Grey’s interpretation doesn’t let on at all what he may be thinking or feeling, which is much more sinister. I’m glad his performance was preserved for posterity; I would love to see a version of this approach on stage someday. Others in the cast were fine but little more than bit players given the power of the three stars, the lack of character songs, and the reduced emphasis on narrative to tell the story in favor of the dynamic camerawork and editing along with the Weill-like cabaret numbers.

The film’s jagged approach to the material embodies both the unsettled nature of the Weimar period and the show’s theme. I do wish scriptwriter Jay Presson Allen (and uncredited Hugh Wheeler, who reportedly did extensive revisions) had filled out the love triangle more logically and been braver in the treatment of the Protestant-Jewish couple. Still, given the timidity of most adaptations of big stage musicals – where the main idea seems to be why fix what’s not broken? – Fosse’s audacious reimagining of the show in cinematic terms is impressive by any standards. A movie musical milestone.

*”What Would You Do?” is a remarkable song about the powerlessness of an individual to resist societal forces once they’ve run amuck (“Suppose you’re one frightened voice / Being told what the choice must be / What would you do / if you were me?”). It’s the most powerful number in the stage show and its absence in the film, though understandable in light of Fosse’s approach, is nevertheless regrettable. It roughly parallels a much weaker song in the stage version of The Sound of Music, “There’s No Way to Stop It”, an attempt at cynicism by the ever-positive Oscar Hammerstein II that was also cut from the film version.