Cats

I recently heard the musical Cats is being revived on Broadway. In all that is good and holy, WHY? Some things should stay dead.

This is a reprint of an August 2013 blogpost about my thoughts on the play.


A television commercial for the musical Cats brought back some memories. Several years ago, my friend, Teague, wanted to take my girlies to the theater for their birthdays and introduce them to the excitement of live theater. I got to tag along, too even though Teague had introduced me to live theater eons ago.

Canvasing friends for suggestions the consensus was we had to go see Cats. They said it was Amazing! Spectacular! A must see! Their kids loved it. Now, I'm not a big fan of musicals, but this one sounded too good to pass up.  Teague got tickets, and we arrived at the theater in anticipation. The house lights came down, stage lights went up. Orchestra started playing and the actors, dressed up as cats, came on stage.

If you haven't seen the play, it's loosely based on T.S. Eliot's The Song of the Jellicles. (I'm not a fan of Eliot, either, though the only poem of his I was forced to read was The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.) The actors with their faces painted like cats and in leotards creeped onto the stage and danced, stretched, brushed their ears with a paw and mimicked other cat-like moves. And this went on ad nauseum for the entire first act. I was squirming in my seat, and I could see my girlies were bored. Even Teague, a lover of musical theater, was trying not to look like the definition of ennui. It was a mercy when the first act ended, and the house lights came up.

The cat make-up was pretty good. Most of the actors were able to pull off wearing spandex which is a very unforgiving fabric. Their cat moves weren't bad. Though none of them really captured the real feline essence. None of the actors stretched a leg straight up in the air for grooming nether regions or contorted and writhed while making death rattles and hawking up a hairball or kibble tube. I never felt as if I was watching cats on stage. Just actors in cat costume.

During intermission, Teague and I debated leaving, but the tickets had cost some geld and it was a long ride up. We might as well finish. The second act had a thin plot as well as Memories, the signature song. When the play ended, none of us could figure out what  everyone had raved about. Obviously, we didn't see the same Cats they did because this emperor was clearly naked.

The play wasn't totally wasted, and it became a benchmark to gauge experiences.

"I'm having a root canal."

"That's not as bad as Cats"

"I got called up for jury duty."

"That's not as bad as Cats."

"The IRS is auditing me."

"Still not as bad as Cats."