The Strange Allure of 'Cats': A Reflection on Silliness, Spectacle, and Primal Appeal
There’s something undeniably bizarre about Cats. I mean, really, what other musical demands you suspend disbelief to watch a troupe of humans in spandex and fur pretend to be felines? Yet, here we are, decades after its debut, still talking about it. The recent revival at Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre has reignited the debate: is Cats a masterpiece of theatrical ingenuity or just a deeply, deeply silly spectacle? Personally, I think it’s both—and that’s precisely what makes it fascinating.
The Primal Pull of Anthropomorphic Cats
One thing that immediately stands out is how Cats taps into something primal. The stalking, preening, and high-stepping movements of the cast aren’t just choreography; they’re a mirror to our own fascination with the feline form. What many people don’t realize is that this isn’t just about entertainment—it’s about tapping into a collective unconscious. Cats, after all, have been both revered and feared across cultures for millennia. Watching these performers embody that duality is oddly hypnotic, even if it veers into the infantile.
The Jellicle Ball: A Framework for Chaos
The Jellicle Ball, with its resurrection/redemption narrative, is essentially a thin veneer for what’s really going on: a parade of character sketches. From Grizabella’s haunting ‘Memory’ to the roguish Rum Tum Tugger, each cat is a caricature, a snapshot of human behavior filtered through a feline lens. What this really suggests is that Cats isn’t just about cats—it’s about us. The haughty, the sybaritic, the vicious—these are all reflections of our own complexities.
T.S. Eliot’s Quaint Verses in a Modern World
Eliot’s poems, written for his godchildren, feel like relics of a bygone era. References to steam trains, forgotten boozers, and Ealing comedy cockneys transport us to a world that’s both quaint and alien. What makes this particularly fascinating is how Lloyd Webber managed to take these verses and turn them into a global phenomenon. It’s a testament to the power of adaptation—and, let’s be honest, to the public’s appetite for the absurd.
The Choreography: A Sinewy Grace
Drew McOnie’s direction and choreography deserve credit. The way the cast winds around each other, blending acrobatics with ballet, is nothing short of mesmerizing. A detail that I find especially interesting is the breakdancing interlude by Mistoffelees—it’s unexpected, yet it works. It’s these moments that remind you why Cats has endured. Even in its silliest moments, there’s a craftsmanship that’s hard to ignore.
The Spectacle vs. the Substance
Here’s where things get tricky. Cats is undeniably a spectacle, but does it have substance? In my opinion, it doesn’t need to. The show isn’t trying to be profound—it’s trying to be entertaining. And on that front, it succeeds wildly. The circular stage, the illuminated moon, the smoke and lighting—it’s all designed to create an atmosphere that’s both magical and surreal. If you take a step back and think about it, Cats is the theatrical equivalent of a dream: disjointed, bizarre, but utterly captivating.
The Legacy of Lloyd Webber
You’ve got to admire Andrew Lloyd Webber’s audacity. Partnering with a dead poet? Stripping back the set and costumes? Breaking the fourth wall with feline disdain? It was radical in 1981, and it still feels bold today. What this really suggests is that Lloyd Webber understood something fundamental about audiences: we crave the unexpected. Even after the disastrous 2019 film adaptation—which, let’s be honest, was a masterclass in how not to bring Cats to the screen—the show’s core appeal remains intact.
The Silliness Factor: A Double-Edged Sword
Let’s not sugarcoat it: Cats is silly. Deeply, deeply silly. But here’s the thing—that’s part of its charm. In a world that often takes itself too seriously, there’s something liberating about embracing the absurd. This raises a deeper question: why do we feel the need to justify our love for something that’s unapologetically ridiculous? Maybe, just maybe, silliness is its own form of art.
Final Thoughts: Why Cats Endures
As I reflect on this revival, I’m struck by how Cats continues to defy expectations. It’s not perfect—far from it. The songs are uneven, the plot is flimsy, and the costumes are, well, something else. But that’s not the point. Cats endures because it taps into something universal: our love for spectacle, our fascination with the primal, and our willingness to embrace the absurd.
Personally, I think Cats is a reminder that theater doesn’t always have to be profound to be meaningful. Sometimes, it’s enough to be unforgettable. And in that, Cats is a masterpiece—silliness and all.
