Liars and Saints

  Thinking about "Hadestown," I feel it's hard not to see a debt to "Cabaret." (In fact, the leading lady of "Hadestown" went on to become the leading lady in the recent revival of "Cabaret.") Kander and Ebb took the Rodgers and Hammerstein template--two braided stories of romance--and did something disturbing. In an R&H show, we expect at least one romantic storyline (Maria/Georg, Forbush/Emile) to work out. Kander and Ebb asked, What if *both* storylines are just brutally sad? It's a grand tradition to let the supporting players upstage the leads. Persephone is more interesting than Eurydice. We fall for Ado Annie; we are less captivated by Laurey. For me, the heart of "Cabaret" is Fraulein Schneider. She is more moving than Sally Bowles. This is because--for Fraulein Schneider--love is more of a surprise. Her plainspoken words are impressive: The old despair that was often there-- Suddenly ceases to be. For you wake--one ...

  Another song I admire in "Spider Woman" is "Gabriel's Letter," which tells a full story in a few lines. I'm sorry to hear they've taken you away-- I'm sure you're innocent. You're such a good man. You must be innocent. These are loaded lines--if the "crime" is being gay, then Molina is not innocent. Gabriel is indicating that he isn't willing to think deeply, to challenge the system. And I'm sorry if I've never told you How grateful I am... For the movies, the talks, and the books-- The gifts to my wife and newborn child-- I'm truly sorry. Now things get tense. Is Gabriel really grateful? Or was Molina being overbearing--was the relationship uncomfortable? And finally I'm sorry for any pain I may have caused you-- I know what you wanted of me, but I'm just not that way. What a strange thing to be sorry for-- But that's the way it is, isn't it? I'm sorry. Simply sorry. These evasive, watery lines...

 I have been listening to Tim Rice's shoddy work on "Chess." "I see my present partner in the imperfect tense!" By contrast, it's nice to remember Fred Ebb's crisp, clean writing for "Kiss of the Spider Woman." There's a cobblestone street And a little red door-- And three flights up is Marta... Waiting there is Marta... The speaker--Valentin--has limited access to his emotions. The only clue to the depth of his feeling is his choice to repeat a name: "Marta." And I still can see us lying together-- Laughing, smoking, lying together-- And that thought of being together Helps me through... Valentin's slightly awkward repetition of "lying together" mimics actual speech. He is fumbling for words. So I close my eyes And I hear her step And I know she's come to hold me-- So my senses stir... But it's never, ever her. It's just a dream of her. Having worked with Kander for many, many years, Ebb knows how to fit...

 One thing Fred Ebb does really well is to add dimensions to a character; even as he is pushing the plot forward, he is also thinking about how a specific person would speak, choose evasions, rely on hyperbole. In "Chicago," Velma's solo "needs" to be just a sales pitch; we need to see her courting Roxie Hart. But Ebb's tiny details show us Velma's pride and desperation; we see a person at war with herself; we see doubt between the lines. My sister and I had an act that couldn't flop. My sister and I were headed straight for the top. My sister and I earned a THOU' a week--at least--OH SURE... But my sister is now--unfortunately--deceased. The "at least" is just too much. We immediately imagine that Velma and her sister were having trouble booking gigs. She'd say, what's your sister like? I'd say, MEN. (Yuk! Yuk! Yuk!) She'd say, you're the cat's meow... Then we'd wow the crowd AGAIN.... This is pretty bad--an...

 In childhood, I didn't connect "Cabaret" with "Follies"--but that's all I can think about now. Both shows use a "stage" in an odd way; a performer does a novelty number, and it's entertainment, but it's also a comment on the psychology of various characters. Additionally, both shows are interested in the Divided Self. In "Follies," Phyllis famously turns herself into two (warring) people: juicy Lucy and dressy Jessie, who can't quite "combine." Something like this occurs in "Cabaret," when Cliff agrees to make room for Sally. It's like Cliff is taking on "two ladies." I've thought and thought about what this means. "Two Ladies" is partly just about thumbing your nose at the rules: It can be fun to be in a throuple, and it can be fun to arrange an unorthodox pseudo-marriage with a bisexual stranger. But I also think that "Two Ladies" has a more sinister meaning. Cliff m...

 Sometimes, a musical asks us to cheer for the protagonist; we want what the hero wants, and it's enjoyable to walk in the hero's shoes. Alexander Hamilton wants freedom from oppression. ("When you're living on your knees, you rise up.") Yes! It's easy to sign on! The Little Mermaid has intellectual hunger. ("I want to know what the people know....") Three cheers for that! Young Maria would like to be a dutiful surrogate mother. ("To show them I'm worthy...and while I show them, I'll show me!") Hooray! In this context, I'm especially thrilled by the bleakness of Kander/Ebb's "Chicago." This show has one of the canonical "I Want" songs--and the wish isn't for anything admirable. The wish is just for fame. The show's hero wants to be a Kardashian. The name on everybody's lips is gonna be....Roxie! The lady raking in the chips is gonna be....Roxie! I'm gonna be a celebrity.... That means some...

 The song "Cabaret" is like "And I'm Telling You...." People sometimes miss the meaning. "Cabaret" is not actually a triumphant invitation to "love life." It's the desperate half-protest of a bad actress, a bad singer, who is "giving up." Sally Bowles understands that the Nazis are about to take over Germany, but she is opting not to resist. "No use permitting some prophet of doom--to wipe every smile away!" This is how Sally is asking to be remembered; it's uncomfortable for everyone in the audience. I think "Cabaret" has one of the great bridges in musical-theater history, and it's meant to be an instructive story: I used to have a girlfriend known as Elsie.... With whom I shared four sordid rooms in Chelsea. She wasn't what you'd call a blushing flower. As a matter of fact, she rented by the hour! The day she died, the neighbors came to snicker. Well, that's what comes of too much pills...