“Life is a Cabaret, old chum ,Come to the Cabaret”
Every time I go to a Broadway show, my family makes a comment about how touristy it is. I used to agree. When I first moved to the city, I had never been to a live theater performance outside of my high school’s spring musical, and I had no desire to go out of my way to see one. But the years went by and finally, in the summer of my freshman year of college I went to my first show. The reason I went was less about actually seeing a show and more because I am a Sagittarius and someone I didn’t know but knew of aka my dad’s old college roommate’s daughter had posted an Instagram story inviting anyone to go. I had no reason to say yes, but I also had no reason to say no, and because of pure curiosity of an adventure of meeting someone I sort of kind of knew, I agreed to go to a show.
We saw Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, which at the time, I thought was insane how they accomplished the magic in real life, but now have seen far more impressive, non-four-hour long shows. But what came out of it, was one of the closest friends I have in my life…and a live theater obsession.
After seeing probably one of the most touristy Broadway shows, it was still enough to convince me to give live theater a shot. And I did. A lot. So much so, I probably spent more on theater tickets than anything else, until I discovered the lovely art of long rush lines, the ever-elusive digital lottery, and the rare student discounts.
Just last week, early on a Tuesday morning, I dressed head to toe in layers, walked up the few blocks to the Lunt-Fontanne Theatre, and stood in line for rush tickets. When I walked up, a fellow theater lover silently nodded at my presence, and I fell into line behind her. Even though it was no more than 20 degrees outside, I bounced with excitement to stay warm. I even brought a book with me and a pen to take notes.
Growing up, I never would have thought that my shy and timid self would become a theater lover, but then I saw what I now call my comfort show for the first time. It’s a running joke with all my friends that if I post a Moulin Rouge Playbill story, someone should make sure that I’m okay. I’ve seen the show more times than I should admit, but I will say that I’ve seen it enough times to memorize the whole thing. And it’s not the best show that I’ve seen–that title is currently held by Merrily We Roll Along–but there is something special to me about it. Moulin Rouge is like a comfort TV show, except that it’s live theater so it’s easier to allow my mind for two hours and forty-five minutes to believe that it is real. But other than that, I don’t know if I can fully explain why it has come to mean so much to me. Part of me believes it is the tragic yet eerily beautiful ending that isn’t like the stereotypical love story. It reminds me of the depressing ending of my favorite book, The Great Gatsby. Now, the Broadway version of Moulin Rouge is a little too upbeat at the end, I will admit, since the encore comes out with another round of the can-can and it seems all happy and cheery, which many people have critiqued. I had originally agreed with this criticism too, because why not just end with the devastation and send everyone on their way? But then I watched Cabaret and then Moulin Rouge a few more times after that, and I thought about the perky ending perhaps being a signifier for continuing on despite our deepest regrets, our hardest goodbyes, and the dark sadness that lives inside of us. This is why I also prefer the show over the movie because once the whole show is over and I’ve watched the overly happy encore, I must leave the theater and walk home and process how Satine sings Firework by Katy Perry as the most brilliant and heartfelt ballad. But, in all seriousness, art is a powerfully comforting thing, and that’s how I view Broadway now. It’s no longer only a tourist attraction to me, but an escape and welcome into a world of creatives.
