"CATS" may not be every cat person's fancy. It's not for the
sentimental. It's a series of feline vignettes based on "Old
Possum's Book of Practical Cats," a collection of poems by T.S.
Eliot. In structure it is a collection of profiles similar to "A
Chorus Line". But unlike that show, "CATS," is remarkably short
on sense, even for a musical. There is no dazzling display of
technical wizardry in the show. No revolving stage props. No dry
ice. And throughout most of the show, there is only one set. It
is instead rich in the real meat of musical theatre: song and
dance.
The show's lack of meaningful coherence can't be blamed on
its concept. T.S. Eliot's poems are entertaining. They make good
bedtime reading for small children, though you probably wouldn't
choose to read them all at one sitting. The trouble is that in the
the Shubert's production Eliot's witticisms are often lost in all
the commotion. It was hard to tell whether the problem was the
orchestration, the acoustics, or poor enunciation, but no one saw
to it that the songs' verses -- the verses that underpin the
entire production -- could be understood. Since there isn't a word
of spoken dialogue, that is a shame. Because there is so little
plot and so many lyrics are hard to hear, some members of the
audience -- our party included -- were stifling yawns by the
second number in Part Two.
The show's real strength is in dance. Watching dancers leap,
stretch, or simply recline in cat-like ways, you not only
recognize feline traits you may never have picked up before, but
marvel at the versatility of the human body. Were those really
human beings hanging from the props in those convoluted,
unmistakably feline positions? What about that one lying on its
back, draped over the sloping trunk of a junkyard Buick, head
reaching down toward the stage? Was he attached with velcro?
Sure, a cat can make a position like that look comfortable. (And
if you've ever been nine months pregnant, you've probably been
tempted to contort yourself into a similar pose in a desperate
attempt to get some sleep.) But how does a mere human being,
blood flooding his head, manage to look at home that way for any
length of time?
A few felines in "CATS" stand out from the caterwaul. The
most sparkling personality to make an appearance in Part One is
Rum Tum Tugger, a contrary sort who will only "do as he do do" and
is "always on the wrong side of every door." No self-effacing
closet kitty, Rum is a leather-and-chain, gay blade of a tomcat,
flamboyantly played and danced by J. Robert Spencer.
One stand-out in Part Two is Skimbleshanks (Blair Bybee), a
cat who lives to ride the rails --- a radiant personality,
outstanding dancer, and all-around crowd pleaser. But the most
spectacular dance number went to North Shore native Joe Favalora,
who played Mr. Mistoffelees, The Original Conjuring Cat. Favalora
was indefatigable, sailing effortlessly through multiple leaps and
pirouettes. For sheer musical theatre energy, he stole the show.
Most of us in the Western hemisphere has heard the song
"Memories" and seen clips of "CATS" on T.V., so the plight of the
aging glamour cat Grizabella should be moving. But since there was
no attempt at character development in Jeri Sager's performance,
it wasn't. Still, her final rendition of "Memories" was
phenomenal. For a moment the theater seemed to levitate. Singer
and song were one, and we in the audience clung achingly to that
voice, suspended with longing somewhere above the stage. The
moment, though brief, was arguably worth the astronomical price of
admission.