It’s always a wonderful experience to watch a well-known classic for the first time. Of the innumerable cinematic blindspots I readily admit to never having watched, Cabaret was one that was burgeoning for my attention, which was resolved recently. The danger with such a classic is that expectations will always be astronomically high, and the threat of disappointment is also very present. Cabaret is a great film, but one that I did feel has been slightly overblown by praise and its position in the artistic zeitgeist. Bob Fosse was certainly a great director (even if Lenny exists), and the film reminds us exactly why he was such a beloved and influential entertainment figures, whose intricate understanding of the human condition always manifested in his exuberant stage and film work. Cabaret is best enjoyed not with the mindset that this is a film that represented a seismic shift in the production of musical films, taking them towards a darker, more subversive set of ideas that could cover more serious material without making light of more grave material. As a groundbreaking classic it may not always stand up to other better films in the genre (which we can chalk up to Fosse’s difficulty with the storyline, often being distracted by the excess of the execution rather than paying close enough attention to the narrative), and it may be more scattered than it should’ve been, but it is still undeniably a tremendously entertaining film that does what it does exceptionally well, even if it doesn’t feel like it deserves the reputation its amassed in subsequent years.

One of the reasons Cabaret seems to be so beloved is because it’s very unique, especially for its time. Based on a moderately successful stage production, Fosse’s interpretation was always going to be something special – he was a director who was known for his ability to effortlessly stage musicals in a way that were subversive but still highly entertaining, where their stories could be darker, but the final result being as captivating as even the most cheerful classic musicals. There were an array of musicals produced in the preceding decades that focused on the war in some way, and Cabaret is not an exception, finding its footing within Berlin in 1931, where Germany (and Europe as a whole) stood on the precipice of an entity they did not anticipate would become one of the most vicious groups in history, the Nazi Party. The Second World War is less than a decade away, yet that isn’t really our concern here, as the film situates us within the smoke-filled nightclubs and quaint boarding houses frequented by our protagonists, British writer Brian (Michael York) and American singer, Sally Bowles (Liza Minnelli), who fall somewhere between lovers and friends, being at the side of the other as they live as foreigners in a city that is brimming with diversity and energy, even if the looming threat of something sinister is impossible for them to ignore.

Cabaret is at its most effective when it isn’t trying too hard to be profound – the film opens with Joel Grey’s implike Master of Ceremonies performing the now-iconic “Willkommen”, which obviously serves a double purpose as both the start of the film and the show that bookends it. Kander and Ebb were notoriously brilliant songwriters, and taking the skeleton of the stage production, Fosse works in conjunction with them to create a musical landscape of pre-war Berlin, where music is in the air, and a song sits in the minds of every individual making their way through the remarkably modern city. It isn’t surprising that the most impressive moments in this film are the musical sequences, which is logically solely the result of the marvellous creative symbiosis between the director and the songwriters tasked with reinventing this story through their music. Highlights of the film include the titular song (which occurs towards the end of the film), as well as “Maybe This Time”, performed with such fierce intensity by Minnelli, it instantly becomes a moment etched in musical history, purely because of the sheer impact it makes. Cabaret earns its acclaim entirely on the strength of the musical sequences, which are also sparingly used, with less than a dozen songs being performed throughout the film – Fosse understood audiences don’t want a film that overwhelms them with music, where each performance ultimately becomes homogenous with the rest, but rather one where each sequence is unique and stands on its own, being entirely welcome, especially when it breaks the tension caused by more grim moments.

Therefore, it stands to reason that if Cabaret succeeds on its musical performances, then it unfortunately falters when it comes to the story. Famously adapted from three sources, this film becomes an embarrassment of riches when it comes to how it represents Berlin at a particular moment in time, both social and psychologically, as well as its portrayal of the migrant experience, with the two main characters in the film being outsiders in a city that purports to be welcome to newcomers. The problem is that the film tries to juggle so many narrative concepts and to explore so many themes, it begins to lose track of all of them. Fosse may have been a remarkable visual stylist in addition to his talent at musical performances, but when it comes to the story, it doesn’t always work in his favour, especially when Cabaret would succeed most when occurring at the intersections between style and substance. It doesn’t ruin the film, nor does it detract from the merits that more than compensate for the few shortcomings, but when we’re talking about a film that was equally a drama as it was a musical, it’s bewildering that the story unfortunately falls by the wayside a bit too much for it to be entirely passable.

There is a lot that Cabaret does very well, such as the pitch-perfect performances from a wonderful cast. Liza Minnelli saw a meteoric rise in fame after this film was released, and no longer having to live in the shadow of her iconic mother, she could be seen as the multifaceted performer she truly was. Her Sally Bowles is deservedly one of the most iconic characters in film history, and the blend of authenticity and exuberance she employs in playing the character is astounding. She commands the screen and proves herself to be adept at every element the performance needed to succeed – singing, dancing, sincerity in serious moments, charisma in lighter ones. She’s exceptional, and if there was ever a star-making performance, Cabaret certainly was just that. Joel Grey, who has become almost as iconic in the role as Minnelli, is very good as the Master of Ceremonies, a role that lacks depth, as a result of the choice to keep him extremely vague, never giving him anything close to an arc, or even situating him outside of the Kit-Kat Club, which was clearly an intentional choice, as the character works best when remaining mysterious. Michael York is serviceable as the reserved but quietly passionate Brian, who finds himself lost in life and benefiting greatly from the unique energy of Sally, whose joie de vivre is a welcome remedy for his more subtle performance. These three elevate Cabaret past its narrative weaknesses, and whether in the musical sequences (mainly featuring Minnelli and Grey), or those of life outside the club, they’re good enough for the flaws underpinning the film to be mostly forgotten.

The element of Cabaret that serves to be its most significant merit is its immense heart – the film itself may be imperfect (it dashed around with a ferocious speed that muddles the film at times, and it does feature far too many subplots for a coherent story to be formed), but we can’t deny that when this film works, it is extraordinary to witness. The best moments are those that are more intimate and heartfelt – Fosse always knew how to derive every bit of emotion out of a scene, to the point where the story itself doesn’t matter, nor does the explicit content of the songs, but rather the tension and subsequent catharsis that pulsate throughout the film. It’s impossible to not be utterly enthralled by the Master of Ceremonies’ delightfully irreverent opening number, or by Sally’s passionate, melancholy rendition of a song written to both lament and celebrate an individual’s independence to love and be loved. This is where it tends towards being a really terrific film, because when you have the sheer might of these lyrics working alongside the beautiful orchestrations and the intricate stylistic flourishes of a director who prioritized the theatricality of a piece to the point where it bordered on obsession, you have a film that leaves the audience utterly mesmerized. The emotional core of Cabaret is rarely ever discussed, and while it is incredibly stylish and gorgeously-made, these kinds of productions are a dime-a-dozen, with the difference here being that its melancholy beauty and understated approach to honest representation of the human condition being unique to this film, and precisely where it works the most – simple but effective, Cabaret didn’t need to be excessive to be brilliant.

Whether one looks at Cabaret as simply just another iconic film from the formative years of New Hollywood, or a throwback to classic musicals that combines the exuberance of bygone pieces with a sense of downbeat cynicism that doesn’t distract from the joy, but rather rationalizes it as something authentic, where upbeat extravagance can occur in the same environments as more serious, dour matters. The film is understandably a well-loved piece, and it has aged extremely well, remaining as gripping as it was nearly half a century ago. It is a lot of fun, which sometimes means that it loses a bit of its impact through the often flippant dismissals of some narrative avenues that could’ve been beneficial to the film, missing out on many opportunities to develop the story further, turning it into something with a lot more depth. There is a certain elegance to this film, which it finds in its nostalgic gravitas and emotional sophistication (which often devolves into something extraordinarily devastating, beautiful in how raw and genuine it appears), and while my experience with the film was somewhat less intense, whereby I’d be hesitant to christen this the masterpiece, most see it to be, it isn’t very difficult to see why this is such a beloved film – its fun, thought-provoking and has a lot to say about certain issues that most musicals at the time where far too hesitant to venture into, and ultimately, while the flaws in this film’s narrative are too significant to entirely ignore, the film (for the most part) is a unique, entertaining snapshot of post-war Germany, where every moment of joy carries the footnote that something sinister is about to occur, without actually needing to venture into such difficult discussion, which is perfect for a film like Cabaret, which is a buoyant and energetic production that works the most when it at its most quiet and intimate.