Cabaret At The Kit Kat Club

I cannot quite put my finger on why, but this evening’s performance of Cabaret felt unusually gentle. Instead of that familiar sensation of being punched in the gut and made complicit in something truly abhorrent, the evening unfolded with a lightness that left me oddly detached.

The first sign came with “Don’t Tell Mama”. Usually it is rough, cheeky and chaotic, a bullet point introduction to Sally’s contradictions delivered through bravado. Tonight it felt cleaner and softer, almost cautious. From everything I have heard, the early cast change from Eddie Redmayne and Jessie Buckley to Fra Fee and Amy Lennox maintained the same sharp and unsettling tone. Over time, though, each new cast seems to have smoothed the edges. What was once alien and dangerous has gradually softened into something more polished and less volatile. Later, moments that should rupture the atmosphere barely created tension. These beats normally tighten the room like a noose. Tonight they barely shifted it.

Even the pre show immersion felt off. The audio that usually underscores the descent into the Kit Kat Club was missing, and the labyrinthine shuffle to the stalls felt awkwardly silent until arriving in the first bar. In a production built on atmosphere, losing that first layer is noticeable.

Individually, the cast are capable and committed, yet the overall danger, the grit and the exhaustion that should seep through this world, did not fully materialise. Ruthie Henshall’s Fraulein Schneider is beautifully sung, but her chemistry with Robert Hand’s Herr Schultz lacked the weight and history that makes their storyline so devastating. Their scenes felt gentle where they should ache.

Marina Tavolieri’s Sally Bowles leaned into innocence and confusion. It is a thoughtful take, but without the usual unpredictability and bravado, her arc did not quite ignite. Sally has always been a character on the brink, messy and magnetic. Tonight she slipped into Clifford’s arms with surprising ease, and when the point of no return arrived, it felt inevitable rather than agonising.

Interestingly, Clifford Bradshaw was the most dimensional I have ever seen him. The writer was not the engine of his story. He moved through Berlin with desire and connection rather than wide eyed observation. His implied London backstory carried unusual intimacy, which reframed his arrival as someone who already understands the freedoms Berlin offers. He was not shocked by its decadence. He moved through it with confident ease, and perhaps even surprised himself. This gave him depth, so when he finally cracks later on, it lands with surprising force because everything else has been so restrained.

Reeve Carney’s Emcee is a striking shift. Instead of the traditional puppet master dragging everyone into the abyss, he often felt like a projection of Sally’s internal world, glittering and seductive before slowly decaying. It is an intriguing idea and at times it almost works, but the production never quite commits to it. The descent from dream to nightmare should feel seismic. Here it felt more like a drift.

The result is a show that feels looser, lighter and far less dangerous than it once was. The bones of Rebecca Frecknall’s vision are still extraordinary, yet the atmosphere needs sharpening. Softer emotional beats and a lack of tension between key characters accumulate. None of this is the fault of any one performer or choice. The framework is still solid, but the energy felt slightly insecure tonight. The evening becomes pleasant and sometimes intriguing, but the dark electricity that once defined this production feels dimmed.

I had planned for this to be my final visit, yet I am curious to see what Matt Willis might bring to the Emcee. He has a quality that could restore the menace that now feels faded.

It might also say something about me as a theatre goer. I am someone who would far rather be throttled into submission by a production than gently guided toward its historical parallels. What depresses me most is how starkly relevant Cabaret remains, more timely now than ever. I doubt even Rebecca Frecknall could have foreseen how quickly the political landscape would contort or how sharply this story would continue to echo the present. This is simply my experience of tonight’s performance, shaped by seeing previous iterations and knowing how devastating this production can be when every element aligns.