Whoever let that appalling production of Cabaret onto a Dublin stage has a lot to answer for. I caught this tacky parody on its last night in the Gaeity and if it wasn't for the songs, I would have legged it from the theatre in disgust.
This production, featuring Wayne Sleep as the M.C., was tacky like the carpet of a suburban pub lounge in the smoking days. None of the original film's underlying themes were evident in any substance; the latent homosexuality and sexual confusion, the racism, the rise of the Nazis, the latent violence, the cutting commentary and parody.
Instead, there was an obsession with whether Wayne Sleep could dance anymore, given his age and then, when he did manage a few faltering steps, the expected gushing applause. It was enough to make me puke.
There was a famous stripper in the United States back in the '70s. Her name was Chesty Morgan and her unsiliconed 70 inch chest was a frightening sight to behold. Chesty became a minor celebrity and made a couple of films as a secret agent who smothered counter agents to death by enveloping them with her massive mammaries. In her latter years, she made guest appearances in tacky nightclubs; her act? she sat in a chair, wriggled about and tried, often failing, to teeter upright and standing. I'd rather watch her than Wayne Sleep.
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