States of Decay: The Twisted Escapism at the Heart of Cabaret (1972) and The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1974)

As America in the 1970’s was being confronted with its own twisted and sordid underbelly, Britain was grappling with being a nation in a gradual state of decay. At a time of civil unrest, financial strife and cultural escapism, two musicals combined the time’s adoration for shock,  gender bending and glamour with a twisted warning to all outsiders.

*Warning - Spoilers Throughout*

In my first post I explored the reaction against the corruption of early 70’s American culture in contemporary exploitation cinema. Though the tension in Europe was different to that experienced in America (which was derived more from America’s decreasing status as a financial and political superpower), tensions still ran high throughout the early 1970’s. In Britain, this was particularly felt – recession, inept governments, civil unrest and the ever-encroaching threat of Cold War loomed over the public consciousness. LikeAmerica, Britain fought in, and embarrassingly lost, several battles and confrontations. If the situation in America was that of a smug super-giant being stripped of its glitzy surface to reveal the squalor underneath, the 1970’s in Britain was just as degrading for the nation – a country still living off the glory of a World War that left it in ruins. No surprise that 70’s saw higher rates of emigration than immigration in Britain, historically unusual for the nation.

Whilst American culture represented this shift towards moral panic through the explosion of gritty, bloody exploitation cinema, British culture went through a similar change, albeit one perhaps more notable for its nuance. Popular music diverted into two strands – though this time also saw the arrival of metal and shock rock (the blasphemous Black Sabbath or the pantomime horror of Alice Cooper), shows like Top of the Pops were also showered in glitter and sparkle – the elvish glamour of T. Rex, the extra-terrestrial oddity of Bowie and the somewhat sleazy pomp of early Roxy Music. But even these supposedly more frivolous acts shared a dark underbelly. Ziggy Stardust was a rock musical detailing apocalypse, Roxy Music sang of men addicted to blow up dolls and loveless sex. Yet all these disparate ideas – glamour and violence, liberation and disaster – were summed up in two British musicals that are erroneously remembered as light-hearted fair. Cabaret (1972) and The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1974) are indeed campy, wacky fun, but each film hides an underlying message of apocalypse and decay. And is in these two films that we find perhaps the most damning indictment of the era in which they were made.

A quick summation of each film makes it clear why they deserve to be considered as cinematic parallels. In Cabaret, Englishman Brian arrives in swinging 1920’s Berlin, befriending and eventually bedding cabaret performer Sally Bowles, becoming embroiled in her life of excess, glamour and bohemia – all whilst the burgeoning threat of the Nazi party increases around them. Rocky Horror depicts two equally naive protagonists – Brad and Janet, newly engaged – who during a storm take refuge at the castle of Frank-N-Furter, a crazed scientific genius and self-described ‘sweet transvestite’. The similarities are already clear – transvestism, sex, taboo, tragedy and the two best musical soundtracks ever conceived (in my opinion). But what is most interesting in relation to the historical context of each film’s dual messages of sexual liberation, escapism and yet the ever-present sense of danger.

The Kit Kat Klub and Frank-N-Furter’s mansion serve as locations of escapism from the evil brewing outside. Both settings are ruptured by the arrival of the ‘Other’, though in these films the concept of the ‘Other’ is reversed. The virginial, clean cut middle class become the ‘Other’, and their presence sets off the chain of events that leads to the demise of our protagonists. This subversion of the protagonist/antagonist role is significant in either film and is it reflects these characters twisted senses of morality. Frank and Sally are the most revered and celebrated characters in each film, but they are self-absorbed, self-obsessed, vain and uncaring (Frank is also a murderer and, let’s be frank, a sexual predator) – hardly the makings of a sympathetic hero. However, at a time of escapism (as the early 70’s very much was) we can relate to their careless rebuttal of societal standards in the pursuit of their own selfish sensory fulfilment.  Conversely, we rebel against the true protagonists of these films – Brian is frankly too sweet, too dull, an ill-fated match up against the glamour and squalor that surrounds him. And Brad and Janet are the textbook definition of white-bread, middle class, Middle America bores. In the quest for true escapism we identify not with the protagonists of these films – though perhaps they reflect the true nature of our lives far more accurately – but with the antagonists, and we cheer as our protagonists are broken down and twisted, excited as their grip on conventional morality is removed.

However, those in search of pure escapism may be somewhat disappointed. Because in both Cabaret and Rocky Horror, debauchery and personal liberty do not go unpunished. Frank is gunned down by his former servants, and whilst we do not see Sally’s fate, the final scene of Cabaret – where the Kit Kat Klub slowly fills with Nazis - suggests a similarly grim end. Their demise takes on the character of a Greek tragedy – they are undone by their own obsessions and selfish pursuit of personal pleasure. The conflicting attitudes towards the flaunting of social taboos reflects the public attitude towards social progression in Britain at the turn of the 1970’s. Though progress was made at this time, the changes were incremental. Homosexuality was legalised in 1969, yet the law still prohibited sex between men in ‘public; places (which included hotels and your own house if other people were in). Porn landed on corner shop shelves but was hidden on top shelves and in brown paper bags. The British public was willing to accept a certain level of sexual liberation but their acceptance – as evidenced by the aggressive reaction to make-up wearing Bowie and Bolan fans – would only stretch so far. What Sally and Frank fail to do, and what ends in their eventual demise, is not their flaunting of social taboos, but their inability to balance this with any level of larger social awareness. At one-point Sally proclaims, ‘What does it matter if you’re having fun?’ – a sentiment echoed in Frank’s mantra as outlined in ‘Don’t Dream It, Be It’: ‘Give yourself over/To absolute pleasure/Swim the warm waters/Of sins of the flesh’. However, in answer to Sally’s question, it does matter. What Sally and Frank fail to realise is that they’re pursuit of fun blinds them to the ever-rising tensions amongst those around them. The progress made in sexual freedom at this time was balanced by a rise in violence and unrest – the rise of the EDL and the increasing threat of the IRA played heavily on the public consciousness. Though the action is displaced in each film – to middle America and 1920’S Germany – the ever-present danger is equally felt. It’s established in Rocky Horror through the radio broadcast of Richard Nixon’s resignation (a pivotal moment in America’s cultural shift), whilst in Cabaret the ever-growing presence of the Nazi party underpins the action.

The effect of both protagonists’ lifestyles is reflected in the loved ones that surround them – in the end, Frank and Sally lose everyone they love, and more importantly, the people they have dragged into their worlds and corrupted. Little Nell's impassioned confrontation with Frank could be used as a descriptor of the way both he and Sally treat the people in their lives: ‘First you drop me for Eddie - then you throw him off like an old overcoat for Rocky! You just take, take, take and drain others of their love and emotion!’ Contrast this with the social landscape at the time – the ‘Free-Love’ 60’s is long over, and the 70’s is the bitter comedown. The loved ones in the lives of Frank and Sally do not see their polyamorous lifestyles as liberating but as a betrayal. Ironically, it is perhaps this aspect of their personalities that endears these characters most to a queer audience more open and receptive to their alternative approach to sex and romance. Herein lies the heart of the twisted escapism found in both films – an outsider audience identifies with these protagonists and recognise that their failure is brought about by the irruption of the traditional, ‘decent’ world into their reality, and world an outsider audience recognises as inherently violent and grim. It is therefore useful to consider that Frank and Sally’s downfall is not only down to their chosen lifestyle, but by those around them being unable to change their own world view and accept new modes of thinking. True, one could characterise Frank and Sally as vain and selfish, but a more progressive analysis may instead characterise Brad, Janet and Brian as prudish and outdated. Certainly, these characters are as notable for their jealousy as Frank and Sally. Brad and Janet’s relationship falls apart, and Brian – who is certainly more sympathetic in his development – flees Berlin unable to deal with Sally’s lifestyle. Who are these films therefore asking us to sympathise with, then? None of the characters in these films are either wholly reprehensible or entirely sympathetic.

I would propose that the overarching theme of both films, and something that connects all these protagonists, is their moral stagnation. This applies to the ‘liberated’ Frank and Sally as much as the ‘conditioned’ Brad, Janet and Brian, and though the effects this has on both parties is quite different, the results are much the same. Frank and Sally are doomed by their inability to look beyond their own experience, but the innocents around them are not corrupted by their brief indulgences, but their inability to let go of their own social conditioning. Brad and Janet briefly indulge in sexual freedom but though they are both unfaithful to the other, neither of them able to forgive the other for being seduced by Frank or Rocky. Similarly, Brian seems to make a erroneous judgement of his relationship with Sally as evidenced by his shock at her aborting their child together – suggesting that the woman he fell in love with for her carefree, whimsical lifestyle would settle down and start a family with him, at the expense of her fulfilling her dreams of stardom. Frank and Sally are too self-centred to understand why these people are unable to enjoy their lifestyle, and their lovers unable to let go of their own repression. What results is a story where nobody succeeds, and things go back to being a little bit worse than they were before. In either case, each set of characters sits at one end of a moral divide, representative of the transitional state at the beginning of the 1970’s – a willingness to hold onto tradition, or a need to blow it apart.

It may seem like a stretch to interpret either of these films as contemporary political allegories - and indeed both are based on source material that predates the social unrest characteristic of the early 1970’s. But it is how these film revisions are framed that we can see how a conscious choice has been made to imbue these films with a more modern philosophy. Another central character in both films are the narrators – the Emcee in Cabaret and the ‘Criminologist’ in Rocky Horror. Both of these characters alter the films style from straight forward musicals into a quasi-Brechtian play, framed within a world of fiction. By eliciting the style of Brecht in Cabaret, by having all songs be performed within the Kit Kat Klub separate from the main story, they become comments on the story rather than a means to push it forward. The songs are used to underpin or juxtapose, and the only time we see a song happen ‘out in the world’ is the stirring ‘Tomorrow Belongs to Me’, which ends in a Nazi rally (again showing the barriers being broken down between safe naivete and the very present and tangible threat outside). Similarly, the Criminologist in Rocky Horror serves to frame the events of the film as a police case study, immediately suggesting a moral purpose to the inclusion of his character. In either case, the Criminologist and the Emcee (leader of the Kit Kat Klub, a sleazy Pierrot who is equal parts camp and creepy) serve to frame each film as cautionary fables. Their conclusions are damning – the Criminologist compares humans to insects, crawling across the face of the planet. Whereas the Emcee sings a knowingly pointed reprise of his opening number, and given the moral and ethical collapse we have just witnessed, his words – ‘where are your troubles now? Forgotten! I told you so’ – take on a sarcastically sardonic edge.

The actions of these characters are routinely portrayed as performances, shallow reflections of real life once again contrasted against the very real threat mounting outside. The climax of each film reflects this motif, via the ‘Floor Show’ in Rocky Horror and the eponymous final number in Cabaret. Both denouements are devastating in their underlying message. The vulgar excess of the floor show – the swimming pool the RKO radio tower, the costumes – signifies just how far Frank has spiralled away from reality. Similarly, though Liza Minelli breathes bittersweet life into Sally’s last performance, there is something so tragic about her sweet, wide-eyed ode to not taking life too seriously, given that we (the audience) know that she has lost yet another man she loved to that very ethos. And in the running tradition of all camp having a heart of tragedy, the ending of each film in incredibly sombre – for all their transgressions, Frank’s death and Sally’s misguided defiance are both incredibly moving endings.  For though their approaches were selfish, and their lifestyles unsustainable, an audience is still angered that these two spirits, as free and unperturbed as they appeared, are not only undone by the world they tried to transgress, but also by the revelation that their downfall was inevitable all along.

When analysed in this way, it is perhaps just as surprising to consider that these films may have a dark undercurrent as it is to believe that glam rock hid a similarly pessimistic agenda. But the same traits are all there – flaunting of social taboos (gender-bending, sex, drugs etc.), themes such as alienation and apocalypse, all presented in a package where the glitz and glamour masks the teeth hiding underneath. It is perhaps this that has sold these films to a queer, cult audience: the protagonists attempt to escape the restriction of conventional morality are worthy of our applause, and there failure so reminiscent of our own struggles. But it is their failure that we find the moral tale at the heart of each film – we all deserve to live a life of freedom, autonomy and fulfilment. But when one is surrounded by violence and corruption – as queer people often are – naivete is deadly. Therefore, both Cabaret and Rocky Horror Picture Show represent a twisted form of escapism: there is a world out there, of people like you, away from the troubles of your everyday life. But if you allow yourself to fall to far into a world of absolute pleasure, the real world will come knocking for you soon enough.