![]() The key to enjoying it, I’ve found, is to allow your mind to be at play. Whether this staging is as bang-for-your-buck as other imports, the easy answer is yes. It’s just a little too real when the narrative climax involves a gigantic rubber tire floating to the sky. This isn’t an indictment of Ampil’s performance, on the contrary when she sings the impassioned “Touch me!” in Memory’s reprise, the visceral pain of being shunned and cast away as an aging cat was actually pretty astonishing. The infrequent in and out of Grizabella the fallen Glamour Cat does harsh the vibe a bit. Joanna Ampil as Grizabella photo by Jaypee Maristaza It’s part of its allure, I think, this gentle and benign breaking of the fourth wall like a cat who rubs up on you before going on its merry way. It’s mostly a romp, and even a smattering of audience interaction as though we, too, are jellicle cats, or perhaps other sorts of cats invited to the proceedings. Varied as though the staging of each song may be, the musical does wear thin by the second act, with yet another cat being introduced three quarters into the show. The musical is sung-through, but each song is as different as the cats that sing them, from “Mungojerrie and Rumpelteaser’s” tag-team acrobatics to this clowder of cats conjuring a train in “Skimbleshanks”. The set (John Napier) this time looks a little more landfill than junkyard, laden with dirty indistinguishable rubbish that didn’t quite convey scope which would have helped pull audiences completely into this world of fabulous cats with personalities far more glittering than humans. It is predominantly a dance musical (choreography by Gillian Lynne) whose main draw is the ability of sinewy theater actors to move cat-like, in clinging costumes of leotard and fur, moving about a supersized world to make them look like small, lithe felines in contrast. I don’t need to explain it to you, it’s Cats ! The international touring cast of Cats photo by Jaypee Maristaza An anthropomorphic reimagination of when you see a clump of cats sit around together like they’re having a meeting. Eliot’s collection of poems, Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats, about feline behavior, apparently. In case you’re not privy to the plot, (there is one–don’t believe the memes!) it’s a portentous night at a junkyard where ‘Jellicle cats’ come together in a Jellicle Ball where each cat is given their moment before head honcho Old Deuteronomy picks who gets to go to the great litter box in the sky.
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