"I Am a Camera". Keble O'Reilly

Before we start, a health and safety announcement. There is one major element of danger in this production - although it may not be deliberate. Before it starts, for reasons that are unclear, the house lights are switched off, so the audience members have to grope to their seats in darkness. On top of that, the crew have inexplicably removed the bottom step of the seating bank. I saw two people stumble off it in the gloom. To be fair, this is an easy fix, but it should be attended to urgently.

 

Now, on with the show.

 

According to urban myth, the New York theatre reviewer Walter Kerr gave the original Broadway production of I Am A Camera a three-word review: ‘Me no Leica’. 75 years later, is Christopher Isherwood’s snapshot of a bisexual Englishman abroad in Weimar Germany a sharply-focused piece of drama or a sepia-tinted remnant? Sony or phony? 

 

Isherwood’s reminiscences of the Berlin of 1930, teetering on the brink of Nazism, have a Russian doll history. He wrote them as separate stories, then turned them into a 1939 book called Goodbye to Berlin. That book was in turn adapted into a 1951 play by John van Druten (I Am a Camera). In 1966 the play was turned into a stage musical called Cabaret by Hal Prince. And in 1972 Bob Fosse turned it into one of the greatest film musicals of all time, with Liza Minnelli cementing her place in history as the dazzling, tragic nightclub singer Sally Bowles.

 

Of all these incarnations, I Am a Camera is the one with the smallest canvas. It takes place entirely in Isherwood’s rented room, and concerns itself almost exclusively with the love lives of its key characters. Isherwood’s inherent English reserve and conventionality get challenged and, ultimately, upended by the charismatic wildness of Sally, the bottomless wealth and fickleness of American playboy Clive, and even the much-admired bosoms of his landlady Fräulein Schneider. The rising wave of antisemitism just outside the door is mentioned, but never seen. Instead, director Rio Moore’s production hints at the street brawls and abuse with anecdotes, comments and the occasional sound effect.

 

Is it enough? Anyone who has seen Tom Tykwer’s Weimar-set TV series Babylon Berlin will be all too familiar with the sight of ordinary Berliners living lives of decadence by night and dodging the brownshirts by day. Compared with the reportage of Goodbye to Berlin and the nightclub routines of Cabaret, this I Am a Camera feels like it’s missing a vital ingredient: Berlin. The characters pursue their own petty interests while the world falls to pieces outside the window. But the problem is, that outside world is barely felt. The set, a basic living room with desk, chaise longue, mirror and hat-stand, could be anywhere. Even with German accents, references to street fights, and the occasional anti-Jewish outburst, the cocoon of Isherwood’s existence feels impervious to what’s really going on outside.

 

This is not for want of trying. In spite of the limitations of Van Druten’s script, the performances are full of energy and dedication. Sally Sheridan (as namesake Sally Bowles) is flouncy and mercurial. Alex Innes as Isherwood channels a Hugh Laurie-esque British nervousness. Rachel Wadie is the sternest head girl in school as heiress Natalia. And Peter Heller is actually convincingly German as Fritz (note to self: perhaps he is German).

 

But the whole (and that whole is just shy of an exhausting three hours) is less than its parts. Moore’s interview in last week’s Oxford Student revealed a number of key elements of the production which sadly just don’t come across to the viewer. Decorating the set in a style reminiscent of the New Objectivity Movement to emphasise a break from German Expressionism is an invisible technique with such limited scenery. Drawing the colour scheme from the German flag is also unnoticeable – but even if it weren’t, what would it be trying to say? Having a ‘soundscape’ of murmuring crowds sounds exciting, but it’s really just a normal sound effect played at the beginning and end. And claiming that the innovative use of mirrors in Fosse’s film has inspired the presence of a mirror in Isherwood’s living room again produces no discernible theatrical effect. Most living rooms have a mirror in them. How are we supposed to know this one is inspired by Cabaret? It’s like saying you’ve written your essay on sheets of paper to draw attention to the flimsiness of existence. You may know that. We don’t. And if the idea has no effect on the audience, what’s the point?

 

There’s also an awkwardness around sex that hampers the show. Student actors today often seem more cautious about depicting sexual intimacy on stage than their predecessors were. It’s hard to be decadent when you know half the audience will be sitting opposite you in Hall tomorrow. That’s understandable, but it presents a particular problem with a play set in 1930 Berlin, where sexual permissiveness is fundamental to the world of the characters. Here, gentle hugs and shoulder strokes take the place of erotic abandon. Sex is at the heart of Sally Bowles’ world. If Liza Minnelli’s Sally laid bare the link between the sexual openness of 1920s Berlin and the hippy culture of the 60s (while dramatizing both societies’ blinkered readiness to ignore the political realities unfolding around them), this Camera seems almost bashful by comparison. What’s lacking is any sense of sexual freedom. It’s prim, not dirty. Isherwood’s same-sex attraction to Fritz is the barest of glances, and Sally’s promiscuity is stated as fact rather than suggested by any seductiveness in her behaviour. This is more Weston-super-Mare than Weimar. Life may be a cabaret, my friends, but it’s not one today’s Christopher Isherwoods are frequenting.