The Cast Photo by Dan Norman

If the above sounds like a description of our current condition, it also describes the state of affairs in Cabaret's Berlin setting in the waning days of the Weimer Republic as Nazism began to gather unstoppable momentum. These were sober topics for a musical to tackle when Cabaret premiered in 1966. It succeeded by means of an impeccably crafted book by Joe Masteroff, an astonishingly witty and tuneful score by composer John Kander and lyricist Fred Ebb, and the vision of the show's original director, Harold Prince.

The narrative, based on John van Druten's play I Am a Camera, which itself was based on Christopher Isherwood's "Berlin Stories," about is about an American writer, Cliff, in need of inspiration for a follow up to his first novel. After failing to find it in London and Paris, he heads for Berlin and soon connects with a man named Ernst who smuggles documents between Paris and Berlin for the burgeoning Nazis; rents a room from Fräulein Schneider, a world-weary landlady whose only joy is in the company of Herr Schulz, a genial Jewish widower; and becomes an habitué of a deliriously decadent cabaret called The Kit Kat Klub presided over by a leering and cynical Emcee whose gender identity is up for grabs.

Most significant of all, on his very first night in Berlin, Cliff falls into an affair with the Kit Kat Klub's outrageous chanteuse, an Englishwoman named Sally Bowles. Sally could be described either as a narcissistic hedonist or a hedonistic narcissist–just the thing to inspire Cliff's literary juices, one would think. For a number of reasons, Cliff is reluctant to take up with Sally, but there is no resisting her and he falls into a trance that nearly blinds him to the descent into political hell going on around them.

These book scenes alternate with performances on the Kit Kat Klub stage featuring the Emcee and the scantily clad Kit Kat Klub girls and boys (who are less interested in the girls than they are in one another). These numbers are bawdily, robustly entertaining while offering jaundiced commentary on developments in the narrative. This starts with the extravagant "Willkommen," introducing us to the club's loose-limbed ethos and by extension, that of the world Cliff is about to be submerged in.

In the club, Sally performs "Don't Tell Mama," a high-spirited declaration of casting off all restraint, and "Mein Herr," depicting herself as a man-eater who chews up men and spits them out. There are other numbers for the Emcee, the girls, and the boys: "Two Ladies," "Money," and "If You Could See Her," each becoming progressively darker, leading to the final Kit Kat Klub performance, as Sally, without any backing ensemble, sings "Cabaret." Standing alone, she sings an anthem to living large and seizing every pleasure that comes along, but marinates the joy it exalts in a pool of heartbreak, as we see the emptiness in her declarations, knowing what she has willfully lost, and the gathering storm she willfully ignores.

What a cast Joe Haj has assembled to deliver this giddy and devastating show! Mary Kate Moore, with New York and national tour credentials (if you caught the touring company of MJ last year, you saw her as the intrepid reporter, Rachel), is everything a Sally Bowles should be. She conveys the spark and sexual energy that make her relentless appeal for Cliff to let her stay with him feel irresistible, so that when we see Cliff, played with charm and conviction by Jason Forbach, begin to grin at her appeal, in spite of himself, we get it because we are responding to Moore's Sally the same way. Moore sings beautifully, bubbling with likeability in "Perfectly Marvelous," conveying the slim ray of hope to be found in "Maybe This Time," and smashing the house apart with her electrifying "Cabaret." Moore also looks smashing in the luscious costumes designed by Jen Caprio.

As for Forbach (fresh from work on Broadway and national tours), his earnest portrayal of Cliff, with his muted response to questions about his sexual preferences, his boyish enthusiasm for the fun he and Sally have together, and the agony that strikes at him when reality overtakes the illusions, makes for a gripping performance. He sounds great joining in the second verse of "Perfectly Marvelous" with Sally, and I wish he had more occasions to sing.

Jo Lampert, as the Emcee, in her Minnesota debut following a host of Off-Broadway, television, and film work, is fantastic in capturing the sly decadence, informed cynicism, and intentionality with which the Emcee lures us into the complacency of the Kit Kat Klub. She doesn't so much move as slouch across the stage, with an androgyny that makes comers of all gender orientations prey to her lure. This is the first time I have seen the Emcee played by a woman, and in Lampert's hands, it makes not a whit of difference, which is perfect. Her singing conveys the sense of danger inherent in all of the Emcee's songs, though, at the performance I attended, it was hampered by inconsistent sound projection–whether a function of a problem with her mic, or Lampert's own delivery, I couldn't tell.

Michelle Barber is devastating as Fräulein Schneider, forcefully delivering her fatalistic approach to life in "So What?" and her resignation to losing her only chance of happiness in "What Would You Do," in the latter case, drawing tears in recognition of this eternal human dilemma that can crush the hopes of one who dares to believe. Barber scores just as well tapping into Schneider's deeply submerged romantic nature in "It Couldn't Please Me More" and "Married," both shared with Remy Auberjonois giving a winning performance as Herr Schultz, whose kindness and optimism is all the more painful to those of us who know what awaits him. And catch, if you can, the girlish smile peeking out of Fräulein Schneider's lips when Herr Shultz sweeps her up in a waltz during "Married."

Monet Sabel is excellent as Fräulein Kost, another boarder, who makes her living "entertaining" sailors, for which Fräulein Scheider is forever condemning her, and Sasha Andreev is powerful as Ernst, whose ingratiating good nature so effortlessly slides into the hatred spawned by Nazism. Brian Bose makes an impression as Bobby, one of the Kit Kat boys who had a past history with Cliff, and Jon Andrew Hegge, though given little to do, is effective as Max, the Kit Kat Klub's bullying owner. The rest of the cast, playing the various Kit Kat boys and girls, and Fräulein Kost's visiting sailors, are outstanding, each creating a unique character, rather than merely blending into the ensemble.

That brings me to Casey Sams' choreography, which has an abundance of style and invention. In the first act, the numbers at the Kit Kat Klub are a coordinated cluster of individuals, sometimes paired up, but other times each with individualized moves, attesting to the fierce release of individual freedom that the club represents. This is reenforced by Jen Caprio's unique costumes for each of them. The effect is not at all chaotic, for the movement is rhythmic and well-spaced, so that the cumulative effect of the dancers form engrossing stage pictures. Moving into the second act, with "Money" and the Kit Kat Klub "Kickline," the dancers are dressed alike, and their movements are synchronized as a whole unit–well, what else is a kickline? Is it reading too much into this shift to equate it with the encroaching group think and forced conformity casting its shadow on the land?

When the show first appeared on Broadway in 1966, startled audiences entered the theater with the proscenium curtain fully raised, gazing at nothing but a large mirror, suspended above the full length of the stage, angled to catch the reflections of audience members, at least those in the front rows. Today this would be clever, in 1966 it was radical. Still, the Cabaret that won the 1967 Tony Award for Best Musical was mild in many ways compared to subsequent revivals that have altered the staging, added and subtracted songs, and added a more visible gay presence to the story (the original had Kit Kat girls and waiters; now we have Kit Kat girls and Kit Kat boys). Cabaret has been molded with the times, as Haj has done that with this production, starting with the stage design.

The set designed by Marion Williams is exceedingly spare, comprising two massive four-sided frames, with their angles askew and unaligned with each other, as backdrops to both the cabaret and the book scenes, as if neither of these are in sync in a world where reality is being split into different angles. The 11-member orchestra, complete with accordion to insert a German music hall sound when needed, is on stage behind these two set pieces, sounding marvelous as conducted by music director Mark Harman. The set has another, crucial element: a line of cubicles melded together in front of a catwalk from stage right to stage left, overseeing the thrust stage. Each cubicle is framed in light bulbs so that one section or another can be lit to draw our attention to it. In the first scene, one cubicle is the railroad car bringing Cliff to Germany. Here, Cliff meets Ernst, who steers him into the lair that becomes his stay in Berlin. Later, these cubicles become rooms where the Kit Kat Klub performers can be variously seen between numbers, occasionally playing out a book scene in that confined space. This linear array of chambers is put to full and devastating use in the closing minutes of the show, underscoring in the starkest way the grim reality with which Cabaret has always concluded.

Of course, we know what that reality will be well before then. The song and dance, the jokes, the decadence all aim to distract us, but that inevitable conclusion hangs over everything like the sword of Damocles, daring us to breathe too hard and force its inevitable descent. And yet the imagery, bringing in Josh Epstein's dynamic lighting and Mikaal Sulaiman's excellent sound design in league with the set, proves to be shocking. The gaiety, the bawdiness, the witty lyrics, tuneful songs, and sensual dance dissolve into horror.

Cabaret is musical theatre at its vastly entertaining best, but it refuses to let us off without paying the price for succumbing to a good time. It is brilliant showmanship, but be prepared to feel the burn.

Cabaret runs through August 24, 2025, at Guthrie Theater, Wurtele Thrust Stage, 618 South 2nd Street, Minneapolis MN. For tickets and information, please call 612-377-2224 or visit GuthrieTheater.org.

Book: Joe Masteroff, based on the play by John Van Druten and stories by Christopher Isherwood; Music: John Kander; Lyrics: Fred Ebb; Director: Joseph Haj; Choreographer: Casey Sams; Music director: Mark Hartman; Scenic Design: Marion Williams; Costume Design: Jen Caprio; Lighting Design: Josh Epstein; Sound Design: Mikaal Sulaiman; Assistant Music Director: Joshua Burniece; Fight Director/Intimacy: Annie Enneking; Vocal Coach: Keely Wolter; Gender Consultant: Jay Owen Eisenberg; Resident Casting Director: Jennifer Liestman; NYC Casting Consultant: McCorkle Casting, Ltd.; Assistant Director: Zeina Salame; Stage Manager: Jason Clusman; Assistant Stage Managers: Karl Alphonso, Lyndsey R. Harter, and Laura Topham.

Cast: Sasha Andreev (Ernst Ludwig), Remy Auberjonois (Herr Schultz), Michelle Barber (Fräulein Schneider), Stephanie Anne Bertumen (Rosie), Joe Bigelow (Sailor/Herman), Vie Boheme (Texas), Berto Borroto (Sailor/Victor), Brian Bose (Bobby), Dorian Brooke (swing), Jason Forbach (Clifford Bradshaw), Jon Andrew Hegge (Max), Nathan Huberty (Rudy/Hans), Jo Lampert (Customs Official/Emcee), Abby Magalee (swing), Joey Miller (swing), Andrea Mislan (Frenchie), Mary Kate Moore (Sally Bowles), Janely Rodriguez(Lulu), Monet Sabel (Fräulein Fritzie Kost), Elly Stahlke (Helga), Jon Michael Stiff (swing).