Life is an all-singing, all-dancing horror show
November 14, 2004 | 12:00am
Is it a coincidence that New Voice Company stages Cabaret, a musical about a doomed love affair set against a rising fascist regime, so close to the outcome of the US elections? Maybe so. In any event, it’s hard not to think about the march of history as you watch this take on the Sam Mendes revival that haunted Broadway a few years back.
No, images of Liza Minelli will not dance in your head, despite the catchy songs and familiar characters. This isn’t your mom’s Cabaret, with the bowler hat and the chirpy, kooky Sally Bowles fluttering her lashes in terminal cuteness. The Kit Kat Club of this stage revival is an industrial dump, as is most of ’30s Berlin in the interim between the Depression and Third Reich dreaming. The Kit Kat Girls are not glossy playmates, but serpentine whores decked out in ripped fishnet stockings and layered with German Expressionist eyeshadow. Nor is the Emcee a clownish Joel Grey archetype, but hefty Jaime Wilson, prowling around the stage and upper level with a menacing sneer.
Yet, inside the Kit Kat Club, "life is beautiful," swears the Emcee; beautiful, of course, for those willing to embrace their illusions. Sally Bowles (played by Monique Wilson) is one of those people, the "upper-class English waif" of Christopher Isherwood’s original conception (in The Berlin Stories) who sings at the club at night, snorts cocaine and drinks her blues away in the wee hours, and hitches her wagon to whatever male will keep her company by day.
Still, there must be something memorable about Sally; after all, she’s survived various incarnations in books, plays, musicals and films. Maybe there’s something fascinating about a creature who embraces her illusions and imminent doom so completely, with such verve. In the young and pixie-ish Liza Minelli, you might call it "pluck." In Wilson’s conception, Sally’s dancing on the head of a pin as fast as she can, hoping the world doesn’t collapse around her. With a chipper, store-bought British accent and a stretched-thin smile, Bowles is ready to shack up with struggling US novelist Cliff Bradshaw (Michael Williams), thinking between the two of them they can fend off the hounds of hunger and decay.
They stay in Fraulein Schneider’s boarding house, which is little more than a bed stop for whores and sailors. But even the dignified but determined German Schneider (Joy Virata) has her own illusions, taking a break with a December-December romance with Jewish boarder Herr Schulz (Bonggoy Manahan).
Yes, the backdrop of all this mirth and gaiety is the rise of Nazism as a political force in Germany. With so many Germans scrapping for a living, Cabaret suggests the march to Hitler was as inevitable and inescapable as a children’s sentimental ode to the Fatherland.
There is relief from the heaviness, of course, thanks to charming numbers by John Kander and Fred Ebb (performed by the in-character Ugoy Ugoy Band) like Two Ladies (on the joys of ménage a trois), It Couldn’t Please Me More (on the joys of receiving a pineapple) and Don’t Tell Mama (on the joys of whoring far from home, delivered by Monique and the Kit Kat Girls). Yet with the Girls’ hungry, predatory expressions, even the exuberant Money Song can seem laden with desperation.
But you can do a lot of things with Cabaret’s themes: turn them way up, or play down the politics and focus instead on the song and dance. Bob Fosse chose entertainment with his 1972 film version. Sam Mendes took a darker turn with his Broadway revival, bringing back the torn stockings, the smoke and grist of a Berlin nightclub. Playing up the sinister elements, he still managed to end his musical with a wave and a bow from the cast, as the band whipped up a lively reprise of Cabaret. People were still humming the song on the way to the exits. On Broadway, there’s no way you can leave the audience feeling suicidal.
No such relief from the New Voice Company. "Confrontation" continues to be their essence, and if comments from Music Museum patrons as the curtain fell are any indication, they got their message across. With the final doleful song playing, the cast members marched onstage like Metropolis robots to their marks, then, perversely, refused to smile or acknowledge the audience’s applause. For, whatever one feels about being bummed out by a musical, you couldn’t escape the fact that this was a powerful theater experience, more powerful than most patrons are willing to allow themselves.
Strong belting from Monique Wilson (especially during her final rendition of Cabaret, complete with teary soliloquy) and Lynne Sherman’s standout Fraulein Kost, as well as an inspired, muscular turn from Jaime Wilson make this a vivid theatrical experience in a season, and a market, that never seems willing to challenge viewers.
New Voice, of course, is the company that made The Vagina Monologues its cash cow, presenting a traveling version throughout Southeast Asia. This is one theater troupe that never shrinks from social issues, even if the results can sometimes feel heavy-handed, or like medicine we are compelled to take. Directors Rito Asilo and Monique Wilson dug deep to present a flashy, hard-hitting version of Cabaret, no mere song-and-dance revival.
Cabaret plays at Music Museum from Nov. 5 to Dec. 4. Call New Voice Company at 896-5497, 896-6695 or 896-0630 for tickets.
No, images of Liza Minelli will not dance in your head, despite the catchy songs and familiar characters. This isn’t your mom’s Cabaret, with the bowler hat and the chirpy, kooky Sally Bowles fluttering her lashes in terminal cuteness. The Kit Kat Club of this stage revival is an industrial dump, as is most of ’30s Berlin in the interim between the Depression and Third Reich dreaming. The Kit Kat Girls are not glossy playmates, but serpentine whores decked out in ripped fishnet stockings and layered with German Expressionist eyeshadow. Nor is the Emcee a clownish Joel Grey archetype, but hefty Jaime Wilson, prowling around the stage and upper level with a menacing sneer.
Yet, inside the Kit Kat Club, "life is beautiful," swears the Emcee; beautiful, of course, for those willing to embrace their illusions. Sally Bowles (played by Monique Wilson) is one of those people, the "upper-class English waif" of Christopher Isherwood’s original conception (in The Berlin Stories) who sings at the club at night, snorts cocaine and drinks her blues away in the wee hours, and hitches her wagon to whatever male will keep her company by day.
Still, there must be something memorable about Sally; after all, she’s survived various incarnations in books, plays, musicals and films. Maybe there’s something fascinating about a creature who embraces her illusions and imminent doom so completely, with such verve. In the young and pixie-ish Liza Minelli, you might call it "pluck." In Wilson’s conception, Sally’s dancing on the head of a pin as fast as she can, hoping the world doesn’t collapse around her. With a chipper, store-bought British accent and a stretched-thin smile, Bowles is ready to shack up with struggling US novelist Cliff Bradshaw (Michael Williams), thinking between the two of them they can fend off the hounds of hunger and decay.
They stay in Fraulein Schneider’s boarding house, which is little more than a bed stop for whores and sailors. But even the dignified but determined German Schneider (Joy Virata) has her own illusions, taking a break with a December-December romance with Jewish boarder Herr Schulz (Bonggoy Manahan).
Yes, the backdrop of all this mirth and gaiety is the rise of Nazism as a political force in Germany. With so many Germans scrapping for a living, Cabaret suggests the march to Hitler was as inevitable and inescapable as a children’s sentimental ode to the Fatherland.
There is relief from the heaviness, of course, thanks to charming numbers by John Kander and Fred Ebb (performed by the in-character Ugoy Ugoy Band) like Two Ladies (on the joys of ménage a trois), It Couldn’t Please Me More (on the joys of receiving a pineapple) and Don’t Tell Mama (on the joys of whoring far from home, delivered by Monique and the Kit Kat Girls). Yet with the Girls’ hungry, predatory expressions, even the exuberant Money Song can seem laden with desperation.
But you can do a lot of things with Cabaret’s themes: turn them way up, or play down the politics and focus instead on the song and dance. Bob Fosse chose entertainment with his 1972 film version. Sam Mendes took a darker turn with his Broadway revival, bringing back the torn stockings, the smoke and grist of a Berlin nightclub. Playing up the sinister elements, he still managed to end his musical with a wave and a bow from the cast, as the band whipped up a lively reprise of Cabaret. People were still humming the song on the way to the exits. On Broadway, there’s no way you can leave the audience feeling suicidal.
No such relief from the New Voice Company. "Confrontation" continues to be their essence, and if comments from Music Museum patrons as the curtain fell are any indication, they got their message across. With the final doleful song playing, the cast members marched onstage like Metropolis robots to their marks, then, perversely, refused to smile or acknowledge the audience’s applause. For, whatever one feels about being bummed out by a musical, you couldn’t escape the fact that this was a powerful theater experience, more powerful than most patrons are willing to allow themselves.
Strong belting from Monique Wilson (especially during her final rendition of Cabaret, complete with teary soliloquy) and Lynne Sherman’s standout Fraulein Kost, as well as an inspired, muscular turn from Jaime Wilson make this a vivid theatrical experience in a season, and a market, that never seems willing to challenge viewers.
New Voice, of course, is the company that made The Vagina Monologues its cash cow, presenting a traveling version throughout Southeast Asia. This is one theater troupe that never shrinks from social issues, even if the results can sometimes feel heavy-handed, or like medicine we are compelled to take. Directors Rito Asilo and Monique Wilson dug deep to present a flashy, hard-hitting version of Cabaret, no mere song-and-dance revival.
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