My overall impression
RICHARD ADAMS, The World Socialist Website (to be posted soon)
To be honest, I saw this show by accident. With so many performances in so many venues with variable curtain times, it’s easy to make a mistake. I arrived at Six for a show that was slotted for Seven. Carpe Noctem, a retro revue that the Cabaret Versatile dance company billed as “authentic French cabaret” was about to start in the same theatre. I could either hang out on a sidewalk suddenly chilled by an onshore breeze or head inside and joined the crammed forty-eight seat house.
I’m neither qualified to judge dance or measure the authenticity of the music or the dance numbers, but two things about this production struck me: the music by Max Raabe, Juliette Greco, Enoch Light and others may have been authentic but the Underground’s sound system was simply too under-watted to envelop the audience; and transitional scenes, while obviously needed to cover the five dancers’ wardrobe changes, sabotaged any chance the show had to maintain a dynamic pace. That said, I found myself grinning and gawking for nearly the whole hour.
The volume issue was significant because this is a show without voices (outside of a few yelps and squeals of delight): the cabaret performers lip-synch along to the recorded music. The husky whispering song, “Déshabillez-moi,” performed by director, choreographer, and creator of the show, Lola OhLaLa, to the music of Juliette Greco, fit the muted sound well, and, given its “Hannibal Lector” element (Ms. OhLaLa was wheeled onstage, restrained in her chair by ribbons, her face masked to prevent her biting), was eerily fascinating.
For me, at least, the high point was the number performed by Annie Gaia dancing the role of Clumsy Lili, a comic Ballet a Trois in which the already struggling Lili is forced to use blue masking tape to tie on her left slipper before joining the two tall, gorgeous, graceful corps, danced by Julianne Kuzmierczyk and Mme. Lola. With a nod to the late 20th century, the company gave a sinuous version of “Lady Marmalade” with its now all-too-familiar refrain of “voulez-vous coucher avec moi.”
Of course, the show climaxed with an extended display of the notorious CanCan, that 19th century dance-hall number that once scandalized polite Parisian society. Here the CanCan is given a cheeky twist – with the names of the dancers embroidered on their almost chaste tidy-whities – ironic, given the sleek, tight thong-like costumes worn by these women for nearly every other number. One might ponder the role of titillation in bourgeois society and contemplate what conditions brought these women to this work (one can only wonder at the cause of Mme. Marlene’s unshakeable dead-pan), but not until after the house lights rise and the cabaret doors open. Carpe Noctem marks the debut of this unique company.
