Adam Lambert and Auli‘i Cravalho Are Spitting in the Face of Fascism

There is something so delicious about rage onstage, isn’t there. From Lucia’s mad aria in Lucia di Lammermoor to the vivid breakdown of “Rose’s Turn” in Gypsy, there is an undeniable audience appetite for the unhinged as a contrast to the typically-buttoned-up routines of everyday life. “It's a real joy and blessing to descend into madness every night!” says Cabaret on Broadway’s newest Sally Bowles Auli'i Cravalho laughs, waving a hand in front of her face. “It's not often that I get to play a character that completely loses it.”

Cabaret at the August Wilson Theatre, which envelops audiences into the mysteriously liminal world of the Kit Kat Club, has two new maddeningly compelling stars at its center: Moana’s Cravalho opposite pop star Adam Lambert as the spectral Emcee. Both are making their Broadway debuts.

For the better part of a decade, Cravalho has performed the picture of pristine grace, making her professional debut at 16 as the voice of the Disney princess Moana, a role which she reprised in Moana 2, out November 27. While she has made an effort to showcase her skills outside of the “perfect princess” mold in recent years, most notably as Janis in the movie musical adaptation of Mean Girls, Sally Bowles has offered her a deliciously complicated challenge.

“She can turn herself into almost anyone,” Cravalho reflects. “She can be your manic pixie dream girl. She can be a brat. She can be the baby you want to take care of. She puts on so many different personas, finding the real person underneath them all was a challenge. Sally's an exceptional person to play, because she pulls parts of myself out that I’d usually keep hidden. She doesn’t sand down her sharp edges, so she can be soft for other people, but she has this grit that makes her fascinating.”

Auli'i Cravalho in *Cabaret* Julieta Cervantes

While the song “Maybe This Time” was a part of the Fosse film adaptation, and not the original Broadway production of Cabaret, this revival follows the trend of interpolating it into the score. Cravalho has found a particular feast in the song's vulnerability.

“It’s one of the only times Sally is stripped back completely, free of trying to be someone else. She has this moment of honestly asking, ‘Do I allow this person in? Do I keep this baby?’ The reality of having to get a back alley abortion, of the fear that comes with that…” Cravalho shakes her head, exhaling. “She allows herself to be taken into Cliff's dream of ‘I'd get a job, I'd wash the diapers, I'd write the novel in the nighttime.’ Even though something in Sally's heart of hearts knows that this is not going to be the easy ride the Cliff is making it out to be. She wishes that it was. But she has doubts, even at the height of her hope.”

Since the beginning, Cabaret has illuminated the corners of counter culture that inspire conservative backlash. The reproductive question Sally wrestles with, and the ways in which her pregnancy threatens to stultify her previously vibrant life by enforcing the bounds of traditional motherhood upon her, is placed into stark relief onstage at the Wilson.

“I think any woman who is going through pregnancy has doubts about motherhood, about the person that she is with, and about how it is going to change their lives.” Cravalho smiles softly. “Sally is someone who is very proud in her career, and losing that...There's also this period of sobriety that she has to take, and being off the gin bottle—that's got to suck for her. She’s giving up so much of herself, and Cliff doesn’t see what that costs her.”

Sally’s chameleon nature echoes that of the Emcee who, in this revival, is as much of an idea as he is a flesh-and-blood individual. While both Sally and the Emcee struggle with identity and self-actualization throughout the musical, Lambert has found the Emcee’s ineffable nature to be affirming.

Adam Lambert in *Cabaret* Julieta Cervantes

“This role is so unapologetically queer, in every meaning of the word,” Lambert states. “I'm having an absolute ball playing him. As somebody that’s Jewish and queer, the role of the Emcee really appealed to me, because he’s somebody that I can find myself in, and have a lot of fun being naughty and silly and free and sexy—while also being allowed to really dig into the deeper, darker elements of the second act.”

Lambert’s Jewish identity, which is often overlooked by even his most ardent of fans, colors many of his choices within Cabaret. While the Emcee’s true identity, even his real name, is intentionally unknown, Lambert has infused aspects of his personal identity into his portrayal. One moment in the second act, in particular, moves Lambert with a groundswell of emotion: The moment that he as the Emcee, in a clown costume, breaks a glass following the reprise of the tender love duet, "Married." Not to spoil the production, what starts as tenderness soon turns sour.

“It's a metaphor for Kristallnacht; the Night of the Broken Glass.” The pogrom, which saw members of the Nazi Party ransacking synagogues and Jewish-owned stores, was one of the most violent warning shots of the genocide to come. Admits Lambert: “It feels wrong to say this, but I love that moment. In a second, it demonstrates everything that happened with the Nazi occupation in Europe. It stole joy, it stole hope from people, and it stole life. To take the Jewish tradition of breaking a glass at a wedding and mirroring it in the Night of the Broken Glass…” Lambert pauses, gathering himself. “I think it is brilliant.”

As the production's Master of Ceremonies, Lambert has the ability to directly interact with the audience throughout the show, a trait he particularly puts into action when Nazism starts to creep onstage. In particular, the “If You Could See Her Through My Eyes” sequence allows Lambert to face the seeping prevalence of antisemitism head on.

“I did some research on it, and I know that in the original Broadway production, they actually had to change the final line because it was so controversial.” The final line, “She wouldn’t look Jewish at all,” was changed to “She isn't a meeskite at all”—using the Yiddish term for ugliness to indirectly indicate the antisemitism that Kander and Ebb were pressured to not explicitly depict onstage. This production refuses to pull that punch. “It's a really intense statement to make. It’s a loaded punchline that is meant to illustrate all the double standards and antisemitism that was going on at the time, and sometimes, people actually laugh. That's hard for me, because I know how unfunny it actually is. I tend to find the person in the audience that's laughing and look right at them. I can see everyone in that theatre. It is very confrontational,” Lambert laughs darkly. “If someone laughs, I stare them down until they realize what they’re laughing at.”

“It's really interesting to see how the audience plays off those bits,” Cravalho agrees. “There are times that I want to shout, ‘We caught you! You were complicit! You enjoyed their show! But ‘come taste the wine, come hear the band,’ right? Fuck you, and how dare you. You want a performance? I'll give you a performance. That’s ‘Cabaret’.”

Auli'i Cravalho and Adam Lambert in *Cabaret* Julieta Cervantes

The performance of identity, be it femininity, Jewish-ness, or queerness, is thrust into the white hot spotlight in this interpretation of Cabaret. Director Rebecca Frecknall is fully leaning into aspects of the text that have been left unspoken in other productions, such as Cliff’s queer identity. Cravalho isn’t sure she would have done the show had a man been at the helm. “The things we were able to talk about: abortion, the inherent draw men have toward innocence and virginity, how women learn to dangle it in front of someone and then snatch it away to get what they need…I’m so grateful that she’s who brought me to Sally.”

Frecknell has also opened a compassionate space for Lambert to engage with the Emcee’s descent into fascism. In this production, the Emcee does not become a victim of the Nazis; he becomes a willing participant.

“The Emcee is doing what he has to do to survive, and I cannot judge that,” Lambert shares, his tone heavy. “Everything that he used to express his individuality has been taken away. He's taken off all the makeup, he's taken off the fun outfits, his hair is blonde and combed back. He looks conservative. He looks homogenized. He did what he had to do in order to survive this dark, evil force that was seeping into his city. And he’s upset about it, but he’s going to survive.”

That survive-above-all-costs intention is also infused into the relationship of Cliff and Sally, which calls to mind the lavender marriages of the 20th century.

“Our Cliff is someone who most certainly leans more towards men, and Sally knows that,” Cravalho shares. “Sally will always love Cliff in a way that Cliff will never love her, but he still offers her this stability and friendship that she needs.” For all their bickering, Sally and Cliff share a loving relationship. But when Cliff begins to pressure her toward conforming to traditional motherhood, something inside Sally snaps. “She is forced to make a choice and she chooses herself, over who he thinks she is. Is that a betrayal? I’m not so sure.” Sally leaves, abandoning Cliff's plan to escape Berlin; instead, she embraces what little remains of her bohemian life under the boot of fascism—a choice that makes Sally an antiheroine instead of a typical ingenue.

Auliʻi Cravalho and Adam Lambert Heather Gershonowitz

Lambert and Cravalho share a tense moment in the second act, immediately following the apathetic lament “I Don’t Care Much.” The duo, once vibrantly alive, are now two husks colliding.

“It's during that song that Sally decides to have the abortion,” Cravalho shares. “We’re wearing these suits, playing the part the Nazis want us to play, and I turn around and I see him, and god, he looks so familiar, but so different. Now, he’s just a man, and I’m just a woman. Life has been drained out of Sally, and he’s shut his away. There's a city between the two of them that wipes the slate clean of the past transgressions. Seeing each other broken in that moment, leaning into each other…” Cravalho clears her throat, tilting her face to the sun to obscure the beginning of tears.

“Misery loves company,” Lambert states concisely. “Both the Emcee and Sally are doing what they, in their mind, have to do to survive. They’re commiserating in the abstract with each other. It’s this flash of vulnerability before they push the pain away.”

Though the Emcee has to hide parts of himself to survive, Lambert is no longer doing that. For the popstar, returning to the musical theatre stage has been a remarkably vulnerable act. Originally a stage actor, Lambert found fame when he appeared on American Idol and was a runner-up. But he says he originally left theatre for music after experiencing institutional pressure to fit himself into a more “family friendly” box.

“One of the things that drew me away from theatre 15 years ago was that I wanted to make art and entertain people without having to compromise the unapologetically queer part of myself. I never wanted to have to dial it back or be told how queer to be, or how fabulous to be, or what to wear, or how to do my makeup," Lambert explains. "15 years ago, I felt stifled by who the theatre wanted me to be. But now, I’m wanted as I am. I get to do my own makeup, and wear my own nail polish. Every part of me is wanted in this production, and I love them for that.”