‘You must have been quite an odd duck as a boy,’ I said to Barry Humphries, as the entertainer described his unusual devotion to Berlin cabaret artists, fostered in stuffy suburban Melbourne. ‘Yes, I was,’ he replied. He gave me a look. ‘I expect you were too.’ Guilty as charged: part of my duckery was also an interest in the sauce and swoon of Weimar performance – from Cabaret to Brecht/Weill … [Read more...]