Review: "Cats" is at Its Best When Nothing Makes Sense

Scene from Cats (2019)

How do you adapt a musical like Cats into the cinematic landscape? That is the question that has been asked for almost 40 years as Andrew Lloyd Webber's hit show has existed in pop culture. It is to Broadway what the Transformers movies were to action cinema: relatively dumb to everyone except those who can appreciate the craft it brings to the medium. Even then, with feline/human Animorphs designs, how was it ever supposed to appeal to a general audience? It couldn't. Director Tom Hooper has made a film that feels as misunderstood as its opening moment when Victoria (Francesca Hayward) is thrown out onto Jellicle row in a bag. Those willing to look at it and see the craft may be able to appreciate what lies inside. Everyone else will give it a Razzie because, let's face it, even if it's a good adaptation of Cats, Cats is still Cats and you can only take a show about dancing cats so seriously. 

One of the most controversial changes between stage and screen is the choice of costume work. Onstage, the performers wear furry leotards with facial make-up that at least feels organic in the performing arts. There's no expectation for them to mutate their nose, remove their lips and eyebrows, and look like a cat. One of the most difficult choices with Hooper's version of Cats is that he forgoes what's worked in favor of, as marketing will tell you, state of the art "digital fur technology" (which, as of opening day, was incomplete and subsequently re-edited for a later release). The dancers' bodies are draped in the familiar patterns of the various Jellicle cats, which would be fine on their own. However, there's an implausibility to their limbs looking like cat libs due to the majesty of dance. As a result, it raises more questions than answers with many fur patterns either looking too slick or incomplete, and the human faces may be the worst part for some. There's no denying that Cats has one of the most singular looks of any major release so far this century. You won't mistake Cats for anything other than Cats, which is both its worst feature and biggest accomplishment.

But this is the fate of entering Webber's world. As a songwriter, he has always had a knack for the campy, and this gives in to all of his worst tendencies. The average song now features interstitial asides from supporting characters (notably Rebel Wilson's Jennyanydots) that serve more as comical beats than necessary plot development. There are some profane choices to make this world into something greater, and they all deserve to be discovered for those wishing to expand their mind organically. For now, just know that Cats is what it is because of Webber's many songs: all rambling introductions to supporting characters who don't factor in any major way to the plot. Then, why have a song about Skimbleshanks where he tap dances on a digital railway track? It's all for show, and the worst part of it all is that Webber is so gifted at the hook that you're bound to get all of the songs stuck in your head. Given that they're all about cats with names like Rumpleteazer and Mungojerry, you're going to feel bad about it. Sure, everyone knows "Memory" and Jennifer Hudson's Grizzebella does a satisfying job belting it from the bottom of her soul here, but you forget that "Bustopher Jones" wasn't that long ago.

For what it's worth, there's something to meeting the film on its terms. Hooper clearly wanted to test himself with making a set design so ambitious that it would dazzle the viewer. Because the performers are people dressed as cats, he makes the human world five feet wider than it usually is, and it creates a warped perspective that pops. This is a world of fantasy, where singing cats wander around on fences and windowsills. There's so much to be taken in by. This is a world that has fun with its absurdity, sticking in so many campy jokes clearly geared at those who know this film's tone. It's absurd that there would be a story about cats singing and dancing, and Hooper knows that this is the only choice to make some of the crazier gags lands, such as Gus the Theater Cat (Ian McKellen) drinking milk. Those who could suspend their disbelief enough will find themselves finding a reason to blush. There's no hiding from it. There will be a moment for you that makes your eyes go wide and you'll be surprised.

At the core of the show is what made the Broadway show an essential experience, even as this side stage freak show. Cats was created as an experimental show dedicated to the wonders of dance. To watch these colorfully named characters twirl and spin across the stage makes the absurdity more tolerable, adding to the camp is a sense of talent that these dancers have worked hard to put on a show. It's silly and kinky, capturing a show transcendent of logic and goes for a pure heart. The good news is that Hooper's film manages to capture the heart of the performers, though his camera may be the one who seems disinterested. With the nonstop clip of songs, one would expect the choreography to be something extravagant. It kind of is, but Hooper doesn't allow numbers like "The Rum Tum Tugger" to be as alive as they clearly are. The performers can thankfully sing and give into the flamboyancy, but the camera cuts to a new angle or perspective before the average twirl is done. The few times that the film allows the camera to remains stagnant long enough ("The Jellicle Ball"), Cats actually makes sense. There is something to watching these creatures move. You can forgive the character design in those moments because it's pure dance. These moments come often enough, but Hooper missed the chance to just set the camera down and let long takes define this work. Then again, he's also obsessed with cramming ongoing plot in between the ensemble dances in a way that makes the viewer impatient.

Probably the biggest sin of Cats will always be that it's a pointless story when you think too hard about it. Yes, there's the dance choreography that shines when it is allowed to breathe. However, there is something to be said when 80% of the songs could be edited out and the story still remains comprehensive. Those who can't put up with Webber's whimsy or the digital fur technology will find a lot to be annoyed by. The ending is surreal and feels like it ends both abruptly and too soon. Nothing really happens, or at least anything resembling rational thought. The aforementioned Grizzabella pretty much has two scenes, and even those feel inconsequential despite factoring into the finale. Even the choice to have villain cat Macavity (Idris Elba) send kitties to exile on a barge in the Thames is silly and more for the show (his scene exits are particularly goofy). In a show that's geared towards asking why cats have relevance in society, so many of the songs lack substance or plot. Sure, one could argue that it's about a cross-section of society expressing themselves, but is that enough to forgive a lack of music that tells a story? Not really.

To discredit Cats is to deny that this is a solid adaptation of a weak show. Many aspects could've been better. Hooper could've been replaced by anyone who lives movie musicals (which unfortunately aren't too many directors these days). The dancers could've worn physical costumes to say every one the visual effects hassle. However, Cats was always about how humans and cats are similar in nature and there are many types. As an encyclopedia of whatever Webber thinks cats are, it's actually an entertaining roster of sloths, the wealthy, the rebels, the troublemakers, and... the railway cats (yes, some of these are hard to classify logically). Every last performer is so dedicated to their role that it's almost infectious to see someone buy into the delusion of starring in a movie with someone named Munkustrap. If you buy into this kind of mentality, Cats makes sense. It's the silly show that works more as an edgy way to expose your kids to the theater. More than anything, it's so singular in its passion that for all its faults, it's far and away a better film than modern live-action Disney remakes like Beauty and the Beast or Aladdin which exist more to pay for a third private island than to give the audience something new and exciting. Sure, Cats can't help but provide visceral reactions, but it still is unashamed in its theatricality. Even the new song, "Beautiful Ghosts" can't help but only add a cognitive dissonance of emotion as Hayward sings it in the film. It's breathtaking, even if it undercuts other scenes within the story.

For what it's worth, Cats is a musical that is going to be remembered for decades. It will be around on home video as a feature-length YouTube reaction candidate for unsuspecting kids. It will be delightful to see how people feel something when seeing the film. For the general audience, it will be misunderstandings and vitriol. Fair enough. However, it's a show that's so proud of being a musical about dancing cats that it becomes a mesmerizing look into the imagination. It dazzles. It creates a kitschy new form of entertainment that will likely never be matched. This was too ridiculed to have another film look like Cats at the risk of bombing at the box office. Maybe there will be a better cinematic interpretation of this film one day. For now, it's one of the gaudiest experiences one can undertake, and for those who like the experience of watching a spectacle full of catchy songs and imagery that pops with a unique personality, there's nothing else like this. It goes to some very weird places and, for those who love reveling in the nonsense, this is one of the greatest thrill rides from a studio in years. It was foolish to think that any production of this magnitude could actually work, and yet it's delightful anyways.