‘Cabaret’ Broadway review: Revival with Eddie Redmayne is luxe — and bleak

Walking into the August Wilson Theatre, which has been gutted and impressively transformed into a sexy nightspot called the Kit Kat Club, my immediate reaction was, “Wow. This is cool!”

The audience enters, not through the main doors, but via a seedy alleyway that’s bathed in green light, and each ticket buyer is handed a shot of schnapps. Not my first choice, but come taste the wine, come hear the band, come drink the schnapps.

We then wade around three lobbies, which are normally a bland means to a blander pinot grigio and a bathroom break, but have been turned into fabulous bars peppered with eclectic performers and seemingly stocked with France’s entire supply of Champagne.

Enjoy the buzz, because it wears off quickly. Once seated inside the similarly reconfigured theater space, the revival of John Kander and Fred Ebb’s classic musical “Cabaret, which opened Sunday night on Broadway, begins, and our response shifts a tad.

“Ow. This is cold.”

Director Rebecca Frecknall’s pitch-black production, starring Oscar-winner Eddie Redmayne as the Master of Ceremonies, has made the trip from London where it was rapturously received by critics (except for me).

And, thanks to the intoxicating atmosphere created by designer Tom Scutt and Redmayne’s meticulous and freakish performance, the show does not make for an unsatisfying night out in New York. There’s plenty to admire.

Yet the pricey bells and whistles distract from what is a so-so, overly dreary staging that is often undermined by its own overwrought machinations. Undeniably slick and handsome, this two-hour-and-forty-five-minute musical feels much longer than it should.

That’s because, bizarrely for a production that is so determined to get its audience wasted, it’s hesitant to have too much fun itself.

For instance, in this corroded vision of the show that’s set in 1930s Berlin, the Emcee and Kit Kat Club boys and girls appear to be complicit with the Nazis.  

That depressing scenario, however plausible, presents a major structural problem: If we fly directly into hell, where, then, does that give American writer Cliff Bradshaw (Ato Blankson-Wood) and quirky English songstress Sally Bowles (Gayle Rankin) to go?

Exactly nowhere.

Life is certainly a cabaret during the iconic opener “Willkommen,” exuberantly choreographed by Julia Cheng and giddily performed by Redmayne and the boisterous ensemble. For five minutes, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

After that winner, all of Kander and Ebb’s delectable numbers in the first half, such as “Don’t Tell Mama,” “Mein Herr” and “Two Ladies,” lean sinister and without much comedy. They’re downers.

We are lucky, though, to have a wonderful Fraulein Schneider, Cliff’s no-nonsense landlady, and Herr Schultz, the Jewish fruit vendor who woos her, in Bebe Neuwirth and Steven Skybell.  

Neuwirth’s “What Would You Do?” destroys us, as it should.

Unlike our Cliff and Sally, Neuwirth and Skybell create a perceivable romance.

Sally is a notoriously tough part that’s open to myriad interpretations. If anybody else behaved like her, they’d be annoying, but she gets by on blinding charm and a pipe dream of a better life that will never happen. 

Rankin overflows with charisma, but her character is not fully formed yet. Right now, she’s all eccentricity and no depth. Although the Scottish actress sings the title number well, it’s a puzzle to figure out what she’s trying to say with it.

Rankin and Blankson-Wood, whose performance is textureless, have no chemistry. They’re a pair of acquaintances who might chat over vodka sodas at Barracuda in Chelsea. And our feelings toward the frightful disintegration of their lives echo the title of a famous song from this show: “I Don’t Care Much.”

Redmayne’s Emcee is sure to divide opinion. Just as New York audiences will have trouble shaking their love of Sam Mendes’ ingenious revival that ran on Broadway for years, so too will they struggle to forget Alan Cumming in the role. Not to mention Joel Grey in the film.

But, dressed like a demon clown, Redmayne — long an excellent stage actor — makes the part very much his own. He’s creepy and has the smiling stalker stare of a horror movie serial killer. And still we’re pleased whenever he’s around.

If only he was in a better “Cabaret.”

All Frecknall needed to do was pay attention to the two most telling lines the Emcee says that bookend the show.

“So, life is disappointing? Forget it,” he gleefully proclaims during “Willkommen.” We have no troubles here!”

Then, at the end while the world is on fire, the man solemnly asks, “Where are your troubles now? Forgotten? I told you so.”

At this “Cabaret,” nobody ever forgets their troubles, onstage or off.