Berlin, 1931. The Weimar republic and the fragile post-war political system are crumbling. The Great Depression has struck at the vast economic structure. A new political party capitalizes on the yearning for stability and order and turn people's thoughts to the old dreams of mighty nations and vast empires, to the old hatreds of Jews, to the old tradition of totalitarian control and fascism. For those that refuse to buy such rhetoric, the atmosphere is intensely existentialist. The pillars of society are meaningless, life is absurd -- so "come to the cabaret, my friend" and drink in pure, simple hedonism. As shown in the 1972 film Cabaret, Berlin is filled with cabarets such as the Kit Kat Klub that cater to the disillusioned, who have nothing to live for but their own pleasure, who live up the day and care not one whit for the country at large, or the future, because both loom too large and ominously for one to face alone.

As if to emphasize that the old political divisions have become meaningless, Cabaret's theme song greets in three languages: "Wilkommen, bienvenue, welcome." The old social and moral taboos also fail to hold within the cabaret scene: dress how you like, sleep with whomever, act like a crazed fool if you want: we are all in this crazy world together, so what does it matter? Existence takes precedence over essence, and the existence of the cabarets is a whirlwind of ridiculous, sleazy shows with garishly dressed dancing "girls", and a tawdry glorification of sex, alcohol, and money as the troika of happiness, or at least the means to drown out some of the unhappiness of a world going mad. The absurd play fighting of the cabaret shows is alternated with the absurd but chillingly real fighting of the Nazi street thugs to show that life imitates art in its insanity.

The people in Cabaret further show the retreat from rational thoughts of a rational society into the wild and lonely world of self-indulgence. Sally Bowles is the lost little American who seeks to make up for her lack of family by chasing a career in that ultimate shallow, hedonistic society, the movie business. She is also a spoiled selfish child who can hardly think of others sometimes and rarely seems to stop and think about what she is doing, most likely because it is too terrifying. She spurns the offer of marriage and life in England and trades her fur coat for an abortion; in her view, there is no sense letting anything come in the way of individual wants and desires, because if everybody does not look out for themselves they can hardly expect this vast uncaring world to see to it that they suddenly become happy. It is far better in her estimation to concentrate on the glamour and excitement of the cabaret, however illusory it may be, than to live a serious, meaningless life.

What shall we say of the others? of the young German dilettante who toys with both Sally and Bryan? or of Bryan, the English intellectual who gets caught up in the maddening crowd of the cabarets before realizing that he can take a stand against the Nazi party, which is merely another facet of the existential horror they were trying to laugh away? or of the only two reasonably normal people in the movie, the young Jewish lovers who undoubtedly will be persecuted if they do not run away from it all? or of the plain, decent German Volk who wanted so badly a future to believe in, a hope for escape from the existentialist funk strangling the continent, that they eagerly embraced the fair-haired fascist singing glorious garbage about "tomorrow"? All sensed with trepidation the inadequacy of society, the isolation of each individual in a senseless universe, the terrifying nothingness that their lives had become -- and reacted.

Cabaret catches a glimpse of the depths and desperation behind their reactions.

Watching Cabaret, for the first time I almost understood how an ordinary person could feel driven to join the Nazi party. The decadent hedonism of the early thirties was disconcerting, repellant -- but then, so were the violent tactics of the Nazis, the beatings, the death of the little dog. Perhaps more chilling, though, were the insidious traces of a decaying society: the crazy older roomers who truly believed the Jews to be behind their problems, the anonymous crowd at the restaurant that cheered the prototypical model of an "ideal" Aryan youth, the subtly but inexorably increasing number of Nazis on the streets and within the cabarets themselves. I could also almost see why someone could retreat into the world of the cabarets, could live and drink and breathe the existentialist mantra of "eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow...", because tomorrow belongs to the Nazis.

Life is a cabaret, my friend. But even the master of ceremonies knows when to simply say "good-bye" -- and flee.