On September 14, Eddie Redmayne, Gayle Rankin, and Ato Blankson-Wood played their final performances as the Emcee, Sally Bowles, and Cliff Bradshaw in Rebecca Frecknall’s divisive new revival of Cabaret at the Kit Kat Club (a.k.a. the August Wilson Theatre)
Days after this original trio left, Cabaret welcomed new leads: rocker (and former Fiyero) Adam Lambert as the Emcee, Auli’I Cravalho (Janis in the musical Mean Girls movie) as Sally, and Calvin Leon Smith (who played the conflicted queer soldier in Fat Ham) as Cliff.
Story of the Week will appraise the performances of the newcomers and explain how they’ve totally ignited a revival some didn’t care much for when it opened in April.
Adam Lambert (center) as EmceeWhat’s the deal with this revival of Cabaret?
Rebecca Frecknall’s production of the John Kander, Fred Ebb, and Joe Masteroff classic is semi-immersive. Tony-winning scenic designer Tom Scutt gutted the Wilson to seat audience members around a small circular stage, with performers weaving in and out of the aisles. Ticketholders are invited to attend a 75-minute preshow where dancers entertain patrons as they imbibe expensive cocktails from fine glassware.
This Cabaret originated in London’s West End, where it’s still running to packed houses. Redmayne originated his performance there to critical acclaim and an Olivier Award. New York didn’t seem equally keen: While he and Rankin earned Tony nods for their Broadway performances last spring, they went home empty-handed.
When it came to Broadway, most reviews were generally unkind to this high-concept production, and particularly to Redmayne: “Sometimes he dons a blond wig and croons like he’s Kermit the Frog headlining at Nuremberg,” my colleague Zach Stewart wrote. After his performance at the Tony Awards, the vitriol reached a crescendo: “Eddie Redmayne in Cabaret is my new sleep paralysis demon,” someone wrote on X.
But the issues that many critics had were more than just Redmayne’s demon birthday-party clown. I liked Rankin’s performance, but Sally is directed to scream her way through “Don’t Tell Mama” and “Mein Herr,” which doesn’t make for pleasant listening. The arc for Cliff didn’t quite make sense, either: in what world would an avowed Nazi like Ernst Ludwig befriend an African American man? The tempos were adrift, the pacing was off, and none of the choices made any sense. This Cabaret felt like a dirge at a time when the show should feel vital.
Auli’i Cravalho as Sally Bowles(© Julieta Cervantes)
How does replacement casting work on Broadway?
Oftentimes, when new actors enter a long-running production, they’re not given the benefit of much rehearsal. They’ll get maybe two weeks alone with a stage manager, associate director, and a dance captain before being put into the show right before their first performance. It’s a piecemeal process, and in many — though far from all — cases, the replacement performers are tasked with doing their own thing while also hitting all the marks of their predecessors.
I don’t know what the rehearsal process was like for Lambert, Cravalho, and Smith, though I imagine that they had maybe a month in the room with associates Danny Sharron (direction) and Ilia Jessica Castro (choreography). It’s possible they had a week or two with in-demand director Frecknall and choreographer Julia Cheng, but if they didn’t, I wouldn’t be surprised, just given how fast the process usually is.
Where they benefit, though, is that they all went into the production together (along with Michelle Aravena as the new Fraulein Kost), instead of one at a time. That means, they all got to build their characters together, which is especially crucial for Cravalho and Smith, who share an arc as ill-fated semi-lovers Sally and Cliff.
Why has Cabaret benefited from the new casting?
Here’s what you need to know right away: Lambert and Cravalho are excellent. Not only are their vocals technically precise, but they both reach and surpass the demands of Kander and Ebb’s iconic score. This should come as no surprise; he’s the front man of Queen, and she’s Moana.
Lambert sounds especially lush on his big solos, “I Don’t Care Much” and “Tomorrow Belongs to Me,” and in calming down the histrionic twitches that befell Redmayne, the arc for this Emcee becomes much clearer: he’s both a representative of average German complicity and a queer nightclub performer doing what he must to survive, even if that means hiding his true self and becoming a brownshirt.
Cravalho’s Sally is also a survivalist, shacking up with a man she knows is queer, but assumes the American money he gets regularly from his mom back home will keep her safe. She’s a little screamy, but less so than Rankin, and her take on the title song is a testament to a person who will dance as fast as she can until she can’t anymore.
Moreover, her chemistry with Smith is palpable, and they make us root for their relationship, even though we know it isn’t going to work. I’ve always felt that Cliff is virtually an unplayable role — could someone really be that naïve? — but Smith might be the best Cliff I’ve ever seen. Finding the heart in a cypher of a character, his Cliff is taken in by the spell of Berlin, until it’s all pulled away, and you can feel the pain. I should also note that there’s a touchy flirtation between Smith’s Cliff and Henry Gottfried’s Ernst, and their chemistry is palpable, also. It’s the first time I’ve ever wondered if those two were secretly sleeping together.
Auli’i Cravalho as Sally Bowles and Calvin Leon Smith as Clifford Bradshaw(© Julieta Cervantes)
What else has Cabaret benefited from, six months into its run?
A new conductor and musical director in Meg Zervoulis Bate. This is no dig at musical supervisor Jennifer Whyte, but one of my chief complaints about this revival was that the tempos of the score felt so slow. Under Bate’s baton, the orchestra is looser and more liberated. The songs sound and move with the speed that they should. This benefits the pacing of the production too. Cabaret was roughly 10 minutes shorter on a recent Wednesday afternoon than it was when I saw it in April.
All that adds up to a Cabaret that’s worth reappraising, especially if you’ve seen it already. I don’t think I’ve seen this impressive a turnaround since Lea Michele in Funny Girl.
