A Night at the Black Cat Cabaret

Reviewed by Vanessa Cate
Edgemar Center for the Arts
Through August 6

Michelle Danner’s A Night at the Black Cat Cabaret follows the meandering exploits of cabaret performers and the American soldiers who fall in love with them. The play is set in 1943 — or more accurately a modern/World War II mashup, where historical events that actually did span years here happen over the course of a few days or weeks (but not a single night as the title, a misnomer, suggests).

The plot, which is all over the place, is ultimately inconsequential. The show opens in modernish times, with a grandfather (Len Magnus) telling his pubescent grandson Michael (Nicholas Alexander) about his own youthful foray into love. Flash back to World War II, where Michael, as though by some undefined spell, takes his grandfather’s place in the past and experiences Le Chat Noir (The Black Cat Cabaret) firsthand. This device, which is very Back to the Future when you realize you’re watching a boy fall in love with his own grandmother, is also odd because — while the other two soldiers who attend the cabaret (Rob Batie & Cameron Tagg) are men who could believably serve in the army — Michael is an awkward young teenager who is utterly out of place.

Meanwhile, a conspiracy (that is never explained) is being carried out by the entirety of the cabaret in which they pass among themselves one red envelope, while a menacing Inspector of some sort sniffs around, threatening to find trouble somewhere.

Germany invades France. The bartender Jacques (Armaan Khera) is arrested for, uh, being suspicious? A lot of people shout “Viva la France”. All of the American soldiers stay to fall in love with the Establishment’s performers rather than fight in the war. Germany surrenders. Michael marries his grandmother. It’s all pretty nonsensical.

Danner, who created, directed, and performs as the cabaret’s Madame Germaine, has fashioned a bit of a fluff piece. Timeless cabaret tropes cannot save it. In fact, it is hard to decide which is more problematic — her writing or her direction.  Aside from the terrible plot, there’s the offensively inaccurate portrayal of the time period. For example, one soldier is heard to remark, “What a bunch of hotties!” While I’m pretty sure no one in real life would actually say that nowadays either, they certainly would not in the 1940’s.

The show’s cabaret style performances do bring some delight to the evening. Amanda Ritchie’s choreography, while often cluttered and busy to a fault, is also sexy and sometimes impressive, and marks the strongest aspect of the show. The highlight of the evening was the powerful, albeit baffling, rap number performed by Khera in mash-up to La Vie En Rose. But the disparity of talent among the ensemble really undermines whatever potential this show has. The French accents are horrendous, and the female performers demonstrate little in the way of presence, sexuality, or charisma; rather, they resort to repeatedly yelling “whooo!” as if that would make some sort of seductive impression. It doesn’t, grating on the nerves instead. The tone of the evening, despite corsets and fishnets, is disappointingly virginal.

Edgemar Center for the Arts, 2437 Main Street, Santa Monica; Fri.-Sat. 8 p.m.; through August 6th. (310)399-7327 or www.edgemarcenter.org. Running time: Approximately 1 hour and 40 minutes with no intermission.