My latest Broadway obsession is “Cabaret” at the Kit Kat Club at the August Wilson Theater. From the moment you walk into the theater, “Cabaret” wastes no time pulling you into its world. The smoky, seductive Berlin nightclub on the cusp of the 1930s immediately trapped and enticed its audience to have a good time. Even before the lights dimmed and we got to our seats, the pre-show set the tone of the musical masterfully. Before entering the theater, ushers placed stickers over our cameras, reminding us to “keep it all in the Kit Kat Club,” meaning no photos or videos were allowed. Once we passed through the beaded curtain, we weren’t just members of the audience but patrons of a cabaret, swept up in the glitz and eventual unraveling of Berlin in Weimar-era Germany.
Overall, “Cabaret’s” atmosphere is unique and immersive, beginning with the pre-show, which starts an hour before the musical begins. There’s a pulsing, almost voyeuristic quality where you’re nearly too close to the action, inviting you to participate in the decadence right before you. The atmosphere makes you feel like you are a patron of the club, and later, a part of the problem when the rug is seemingly pulled from right under you, exposing the impending fall of that way of life happening before you. But that’s by design. “Cabaret” isn’t meant to be comfortable. It lures you in with its dazzling musical numbers, provocative costumes and carefree humor, only to expose all that rot at the top of Act II, which has been growing throughout the first act, but you are still too blind to notice.
Adam Lambert as the Emcee is magnetic. He commands the stage effortlessly with charisma and a hauntingly beautiful voice. He perfectly portrays the Emcee’s role as an entertainer and dark narrator from when the lights dim and we are welcomed into the Kit Kat Club. In the song “If You Could See Her,” Lambert toes the line between lighthearted humor and a dark undercurrent, leaving the audience unsure whether to laugh or squirm.
Opposite him, Auli’i Cravalho delivers a stunning performance as Sally Bowles. Her Sally is layered, going from vivacious and charming in one breath to painfully fragile in the next. Cravalho’s vocals soar in her tonally different numbers, “Don’t Tell Mama” and “Cabaret.” She captures the heartbreaking essence of someone clinging to the stage lights, the only safety she knows, desperate to drown out the looming shadows of a world falling apart right before her.
The staging of this production is nothing short of brilliant. The set blurs the line between stage and audience, making you feel part of the club, laughing with the dancers one moment and watching history turn on a dime the next. The transitions are seamless, and the visual storytelling is as impactful as the dialogue and songs.
One of the most striking moments for me happened after the final curtain. During the pre-show and intermission, the refreshments area was alive with music and chatter, and people sipped their drinks and mingled as if they were really enjoying a night out in Berlin. But after the show ended, everything changed. There was no music or voices despite everyone leaving the show together, just silence. The same space that had been bustling was now eerily empty, and you could hear a pin drop. That silence was deafening, serving as unspoken commentary on the themes we had just observed with complicity, ignorance and the cost of looking the other way.
Lambert and Cravalho shine in roles that demand everything vocally, emotionally and physically. “Cabaret” doesn’t let you walk away. It forces you to sit in that discomfort, reflecting on parallels between then and now. It is, in every way, a masterclass in storytelling and theatrical impact.
The production lures you in with glitz and leaves you staring down the uncomfortable truths beneath it all. It’s not just a show; it’s an experience.