CatPile

Allow me to quote myself, standing in the lobby of the Burbank 16 after a screening of Cats last night:

"Did I ever tell you about that time I watched an episode of American Idol on acid?"

Skot, the wise solon who runs this blog, insisted I elaborate so I'll go on. For starters, I was kidding. Anybody who has been around me knows I would never, EVER, go near that stuff. And all other reality shows.

But I'm familiar with American Idol in form, and I think if I ever did watch it on acid it would be no different an experience. Whatever narrative Cats can claim boils down to this: Cats introduce themselves via song and dance, then there is a Judge who listens and decides which of them is the most "jellicle" and worthy of rebirth and ascension to the "heavyside layer". If that judge is Simon Cowell or someone more literally catty, doesn't matter.

Just to add a few other things to the massive library of derisive online comment about this movie: I think they have rolled out the CGI corrections to the theater I saw this at. A lot of early reporting says that Dame Judi Densch's real hand figured prominently in one of the shots near the end of the movie and I don't remember noticing. Though honestly I was pretty stunned at that point and I was just accepting anything they threw at me. (They have cat feet AND they wear taps? Fine!) Also I confess I teared up when Grizabella sang her solo. I may have have just been having a breakdown that coincided with the timing of the song.

I have developed a crush on Francesca Hayward, who plays the kitten Victoria.

The theater was only about a 1/3 full and I am certain that it was all people like me who were seeing it because they'd heard it would melt their brains. Almost everything that happened was accompanied by cries of NO NO and peals of laughter. It's very awfulness is a participation gimmick after only 3 days in release, and that's a kind of record.
Let's close with a joke.

This songwriter is meeting another songwriter for lunch at a bistro right outside the 2nd songwriters 5th floor apartment building. The first songwriter (let's call him AAB) is sitting outside with a glass of water and looks up to see the other songwriter (ABA) waving from his balcony. ABA leans too far and tumbles over the railing, plummeting to the street. But he hits an awning at floor 3, which breaks his fall; however he rolls and arcs off right toward the road. But just as he reaches terminal velocity he strikes a pickup hauling mattresses, and bounces harmlessly to land literally in his chair, right across from AAB.

"Wow! Are you lucky!" says AAB

ABA thinks for a moment. "No," he says. "Andrew Lloyd Webber. HE'S lucky."

The point is, Hollywood had been able to avoid making this movie for over forty years, and it's certainly due to the fact that nobody, NOBODY, understands how it could have been a hit in the first place. The film industry should have not tried to solve that mystery. You know what they say about curiosity.