More about the Cabaret of the Nameless

An article by the writer Erich Kästner about the Cabaret of the Nameless:

Kästner compares this cabaret (not to be confused with one with the same name which exists today in Berlin) to a Roman circus, where one goes to satisfy one's lowest instincts. Here, it is not gladiators who kill each other, nor Christians who are massacred. No, what one sees are amateurs who dream of being discovered and to make a career in the real cabarets, in the revue theaters. But their talents are completely absent, and that's exactly why they were invited to Kabarett der Namenlosen. This place would be better named "Cabaret of the Zero-Talented".

The Cabaret of the Nameless designates the craziest institution one could possible conceive. Naturally it makes its home in Berlin and represents, as the producer of the cabaret (who is not inclined to embellish) boasts, one of the city's typical instances of tastelessness. He answers to the pseudonym Elow (his real name was Erich Lowinsky) and his leisure palace is only open Mondays. The rest of the week the space is given over to real cabaret performances. Only once a week do the artists seat themselves among the audience, contributing considerably to the "beautification" of the evening.

The first-time guest is in for a surprise. He expects to make the acquaintance of young talents who want to be discovered and to whom Elow has given the chance to try out their act on the boards. Whoever thinks that, discovers himself to be profoundly mistaken. The Cabaret of the Nameless serves a completely different purpose.

The more incompetent and ignorant the poor artist-to-be is, the more welcome he is to the producer. And the more hospitably Elow's public accepts him. For the whole point here in the Cabaret of the Nameless is to laugh oneself silly at stupid and pathological human beings.

The newcomer is seized with extravagant horror at this malicious amusement put on by a resourceful businessman for unhesitating enthusiasts. Sadists find ample nourishment here! Everyone wants to feed on the helpless imbecility of arrogant idiots. Here the public indulges the instincts it otherwise gratifies by visiting insane asylums and attending executions and bullfights. Nothing has changed since Roman gladiators took the field against slaves and Christians. Human beings are astonishingly constant when it comes to vices. The arena has become a cabaret. Armed conflict has turned into recitations. The bulls have become—oxen. Much changes. but the greed for sensation remains the same.

A single extenuating circumstance for this modern form of entertainment can be noted. And it nearly suffices to excuse the tastelessness of this undertaking: the nameless are for the most part such pig-headed beings that they are completely impervious to the ridicule and laughter of the audience. The reason for their immunity borders on the incomprehensible. Whoever has not been there cannot imagine the psychic lives of these victims. They are so occupied by their need to appear on the stage that they notice nothing of what is happening all around them. They recite the saddest stories one could possibly conceive and take no offense at the howling laughter from the audience because they quite simply do not hear it! They achieve a state of rapture that would cause every serious performer to envy them. With utterly vacant smiles playing on their lips they let the merriment of the others completely pass them by, speak their nonsense or hop their dance steadfastly to the end, and are not even disturbed when Elow leaps onto the stage, bids them to pause, and lets the audience vote whether the “performer” should keep dancing or talking, or whether they have had enough. The ancient Romans turned their thumbs down when the vanquished was to be dealt the death blow. Here they scream: "Keep him up there, Elow! He's sooo good! Let him start over from the beginning!”

The less talented the artist in question. the more “natural” it is for the audience to press energetically for his performance to go on. While his face—in truth !—glows with happiness because he’ll have the opportunity to be ridiculed again from the start.

Elow takes the stage to supply a kind of compensatory justice by reviling the audience in a fashion that would suffice anywhere else to sow mayhem and murder. Since those he honors with such insults are mostly regulars, no serious discord erupts. That is. unless there is a Bavarian in the audience who takes off his coat and threatens to pay Elow a visit on the stage. But peace is quickly restored—the guests after all are free to abuse the performers. which they do with impressive diligence.

The guests treat Elow roughly. Elow treats his guests roughly. Together they treat the "artists" roughly and take no offense whatever when the latter deliver extremely uninhibited responses. In short, people come here to pull out all the stops and let themselves go, to exempt themselves from internal constraints and behave as impossibly as possible.

People unconsciously subject themselves to a psychoanalytic cure here. They are cured of the usual base instincts by allowing them free rein in safe surroundings. Elow is therefore a modern physician attending to Berlin's nervous disorders. . . . To hear him suddenly call oneself an “idiot” means nothing. It is already lucky that it was not much worse. The small room lined with tables from which wine and champagne are being drunk resounds with jokes. insults, and insolence of all sorts. People grow fangs by using them to bite, then return pacified to human society. This is a padded cell for the metropolis! One can rage, claw, and pound without hurting either oneself or others.

The metropolis in its natural form is an inhumane place to be and inhumane means are required for it to be endured. The main thing is that the nameless are as invulnerable as a sword swallower. So it is probably possible after all to absolve this cabaret. just like one excuses dreams in which murderous and shameful acts occur. Such dreams purify people for their doings by the light of day.

From « The Weimar Republic sourcebook », Anton Kaes, Martin Jay, Edward Dimendberg, University of California Press. Originally published at the Magdeburger General-Anzeiger, April 7, 1929