Cabaret
Rating: 
Playhouse Theatre in London, The Kit Kat Club
Willkommen, and bienvenue, welcome!’ Eddie Redmayne is now officially up and running as the sinister Emcee in what’s likely to become the West End’s hottest ticket: The latest revival of the Berlin nightclub musical Cabaret.
So what’s the Oscar-winning star from The Theory Of Everything? Answer: ‘Nicht schlecht’, or not bad, as they say on Google translate.
It’s a mistake, though, to think the show’s all about him – even if Alan Cumming did just that when he played the same role in Sam Mendes’s 1993 production. He is actually the master of ceremonies in a Weimar Republic dive bar, which was infamous for its shady practices.
There are many tassels: A chorus of drag queens, can-can girls and other performers. It may be a little parsimonious in its pleasures, but this eagerly anticipated new staging of Cabaret certainly looks good, sounds good – and runs like clockwork
John Kander and Fred Ebb’s musical is really about the feisty singer Sally Bowles (Jessie Buckley) and Clifford Bradshaw, the young American writer who becomes her lover – a revelation here in the form of Omari Douglas.
The other big star here though is Tom Scutt’s astonishing makeover of the Playhouse Theatre: Transforming the West End venue into a very swanky speakeasy.
Scutt’s refurb goes right down into the woodwork, with seats in the stalls fitted with ledges for all important ‘refreshments’. That also means more leg room… it’s like travelling business class, danke schon!
Two tassel-trimmed dress circles are visible above the small stage.
We are urged to arrive early to soak up the Club’s atmosphere, as gaudily made-up actors move through the art deco-styled bars, one carving through the strings of a violin with her bow, another vigorously throttling an accordion and a third blasting smoky atmosphere from a saxophone – while dancers twerk on a balcony or grind hips on a marble bar.
John Kander and Fred Ebb’s musical is really about the feisty singer Sally Bowles (Jessie Buckley) and Clifford Bradshaw, the young American writer who becomes her lover – a revelation here in the form of Omari Douglas
Once the show gets under way, Redmayne’s ginger-wigged Emcee flounces about on stage like a cross between a Nosferatu vampire and Marcel Marceau.
He twists his body into anguished shapes, and spits out his first Welcome number. While doing so, he also makes a few lewd jokes.
He’s not a natural comedian, and the diction of his singing voice is sometimes lost in a strangled, Dustin Hoffman squawk.
But linking the scenes in Rebecca Frecknall’s self-consciously stylish production, he’s conventionally and suitably creepy.
The show’s sexiness is not something that anyone would accuse. Frecknall was able to navigate this modern minefield.
Buckley’s tomboy Sally eschews the raunchy flamboyance of Liza Minnelli’s famous turn in the role on the big screen, and focuses on her anguish – pretending to be more confident of her sexuality than she really is.
And even though she delivers the bitter lyrics in an empathetic rendition, her dulcet, dusty voice is able to make her feel your pain.
Douglas is more popular with theatregoers. Wearing a gorgeous long grey woollen coat and impeccably tailored suit, he starts out as the most dapper ‘starving writer’ I’ve ever seen. I’ll take more of this if it is starvation!
But he brings strength of character to an often sappy role – and gives Buckley a real lift in their scenes together.
The best moments of show-stealing are from Liza Sadovy, Elliot Levey, and the elderly landlady with her gentle, saucy Jewish admirer.
The other paradox in this production about sexual revolution, however, is the surly and sexless chorus dancers. On the stage’s petite podium, they are a set of grumpy drag queens and sullen can-can girls in heels and lederhosen.
It may be a little parsimonious in its pleasures, but this eagerly anticipated new staging of Cabaret certainly looks good, sounds good – and runs like clockwork.