In this episode, we turn our attention to Cabaret (1972), Bob Fosse’s masterful film set in the final days of the Weimar Republic. At first glance, it’s a dazzling musical about performers in a Berlin nightclub. What keeps it relevant is the way it depicts the slow, almost invisible rise of fascism in the background of everyday life.

The film is famous for its contrasts — the seductive chaos of the cabaret versus the brutal order forming in the streets outside. Fosse employs editing, choreography, music, and irony as a form of spectacle that critiques the role of entertainment in resisting fascism. The film poses challenging questions about satire, parody, and what constitutes resistance, particularly when it’s presented through performance.

One of the most striking aspects of Cabaret is how easy it is for the characters to miss what’s happening around them. That’s what fascinates—and unsettles—us. The story unfolds in the early stages of fascism, what Robert Paxton calls the “rooting” phase, where ideology and aesthetics move from the fringe into mainstream culture, language, and behavior. And yet for Sally Bowles, Brian, and the others, life mostly goes on.

We also cover the infamous scene in a countryside beer garden—when a young voice begins singing “Tomorrow Belongs to Me”—and how that moment captures the emotional seduction of fascist mythmaking.

Watching Cabaret today, it’s impossible not to see echoes of our own moment: the creeping normalization of hate, the numbing effect of spectacle, and the desire to keep the show going no matter what. For us, this episode isn’t just about a great film—it’s about how fascism becomes visible only when we’re willing to look past the stage lights.