I attended Cabaret at the Kit Kat Club the day before the cast change. At the entrance, staff inspected phones and sealed the cameras with stickers—no photos were allowed. Audience seating was arranged where the backstage once stood, forming a 360-degree view around the central stage. To reach my seat, I followed a narrow alley lined with small pre-show performances, creating the atmosphere of a smoky, old cabaret club.

From the start, the tone was clear: dark, sarcastic, and laced with black humor. This wasn’t entertainment for comfort—it was a show built to unsettle.

Orville Peck played the Emcee, commanding the stage with an eerie stillness and twisted, angular movements. His sleeveless shirt, leather pants, and conical hat added to the grotesque edge. His welcome number, “Willkommen,” earned cheers from the audience, but always with an undercurrent of unease. Every song he performed carried irony and discomfort, never offering simple fun.

Eva Noblezada’s Sally Bowles carried a different energy than I had seen in her previous roles. Her performances of “Don’t Tell Mama” and “Mein Herr” revealed her depth as an actor, with every gesture and expression serving the character’s vulnerability. Unlike her turns as Eurydice in Hadestown or Daisy in The Great Gatsby, which emphasized her strong vocals, this role demanded a rawness that she embraced fully. Her final number, “Cabaret,” made my jaw drop. Unlike Liza Minnelli’s iconic, tailored version, Noblezada’s rendition was a burst of desperation—a scream to survive, the only thing she could cling to in order to show herself. Every breath and grunt felt deliberate, her performance breaking free from polish to reveal something frighteningly human.

Clifford Bradshaw, played by Pedro Garza, spent much of the show as an observer. His romance with Sally felt circumstantial, reflecting the survival instincts of the time. In contrast, the love between Herr Schultz (Price Waldman) and Fräulein Schneider (Elena Harvey) was tender and sincere, though fragile. Their duet, “It Couldn’t Please Me More,” with Schultz offering a pineapple, was one of the warmest moments in the show—but it was warmth surrounded by the growing chill of 1930s Germany. Later, Fräulein Schneider’s solo “What Would You Do?” was met with big applause. Her formidable performance made the song haunting, as it captured how ordinary people accepted the rise of Nazism by avoiding open opposition. When Schneider broke off her engagement under pressure, the heartbreak was devastating. Schultz’s final line, “I know German because I am a German,” while being sent away, was quietly shattering—dignified, yet hopeless. His quiet optimism reminded me of the father in Life Is Beautiful—smiling against inevitable darkness.

The ensemble amplified this sinister backdrop. The dancers—Jada Simone Clark (Helga), Colin Cunliffe (Hans/Gorilla), Marty Lauter (Victor), Julian Ramos (Bobby), and others—each brought individuality to the stage, their movements seductive yet haunting. The gorilla sequence, grotesque and absurd, made the audience laugh nervously while pointing directly at the antisemitism that would soon engulf everyone. The choreography leaned heavily on sexualized movements, not as titillation, but as a shield—a survival mechanism for a world on the brink.

Sound and music were integral. The orchestra performed from two balconies visible to the audience. Its brass-heavy tone captured the Weimar nightclub soundscape perfectly—tight, raw, and biting.

Technically, the venue was less than ideal. The added seating left no legroom, and the air conditioning was insufficient for a packed house on a hot day. The discomfort wasn’t symbolic—it was simply hot and cramped, and better ventilation would have helped.

The historical weight of the story hit harder as the show progressed. The Kit Kat Club’s hedonism was a façade covering social decay and the rise of cruelty. Cliff saw the danger clearly, warning Sally and Schultz, but like many at the time, they underestimated how far hatred could go. The themes of discrimination and mass complicity felt frighteningly relevant, recalling my visit to the Holocaust Museum in Israel.

The final number, “Willkommen (Reprise),” was haunting. The Emcee faced all directions of the audience, repeating the opening song now stripped of warmth—just cold theater. In this production, the traditional symbols of oppression (yellow star or pink triangle on the Emcee’s costume) weren’t shown, but the implication hung in the air. That omission felt deliberate and chilling

Every exaggerated movement and every controlled gesture built an atmosphere that was chilling and unforgettable. This production externalized the pain of the era rather than offering the sudden shocks of other versions. It was sinister and dark from beginning to end.

In the end, Cabaret didn’t ask for applause—it pressed on you. It left me unsettled long after the curtain call. What stayed with me most were two things: Herr Schultz’s quiet dignity in the face of betrayal and loss, and Eva Noblezada’s fearless performance as Sally Bowles. If I were an actor, I would dream of playing either Sally or the Emcee—roles that demand true triple-threat talent. On this night, both roles were performed to perfection.