Somewhere along the journey of popular cinema, an unholy change of standards occurred. Once upon a time, the artifice of movies was seen as a delightful feature, but it slowly started to be seen as an enemy of quality. The pursuit of "reality" began to preoccupy serious artists and Hollywood hacks alike. The audience’s taste was thus guided in the direction of pseudo-realism. The look of natural reality isn't the point, but the feel of it is. For instance, Lord of the Rings' fantasy isn't close to our reality in any significant way, but there's a sense of material credulity that satisfies modern audience's limited suspension of disbelief.
To speak of such matters in the context of a flimsily plotted musical populated by cat-human hybrids probably sounds preposterous. That said, I firmly believe the movie of the Broadway smash Cats would be altogether less horrifying if it had embraced the artifice and theatricality of its premise...
The sight of actors with painted whiskers on their faces would be preferable to the abomination of digital fur technology. Take the simple matter of a costume change as a synecdoche of all of Cats' worst crimes against art, good taste, and its viewer's sanity…
Traditionally, when Jennyanydots sings "The Old Gumbie Cat", there's a costume change in the middle of the number. On stage, she takes off a quilted contraption and reveals a fringed costume underneath. In Tom Hooper's nightmarish adaptation, when Rebel Wilson first appears she's not dressed in an oversized tea cozy, she's naked. Well, she's covered in digital fur and made to look like a humanoid feline, complete with the hands and face of a person but the tail and ears of a cat. (She's also devoid of any orifices that aren’t on her face but that's a problem for the biologists, not the film critics.)
Even though the character is naked, Hooper has kept the costume reveal in the number. If you think he's hidden the transformation in the editing, you'd be very mistaken. You'd also be a saner individual than whoever decided Rebel Wilson should engage in Saint Bartholomew cosplay. In the film adaptation she produces a zipper from within the fur of her chest and basically skins herself alive. As the folds of skin pool away from her body, we see a slimmer silhouette complete with sparkly star stickers and a glitzy showgirl costume. It's the most bizarre way to accomplish what should have been a bit of theatrical razzle-dazzle if the film was less preoccupied with convincing the audience of the "realism" of its cast of were-kittens.
In many other projects, such a bizarre choice would be a standout moment. In Cats, however, it's the tip of the iceberg of nightmarish imagery. There's a circus of human-mice and human-cockroach hybrids being eaten by human-cats. There's a scene when James Corden weaponizes vomited hairballs. There's the sight of cat-Judi Dench addressing the camera directly and a performance of "Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats" that makes Andrew Lloyd Webber's popular opus look like a horror movie. Despite all this and a plethora of confusing scale issues, the most disconcerting aspect of the endeavor might be the horniness. In other words, Skimbleshanks can get it.
This entire enterprise is bonkers beyond belief.
But look on the bright side. If nothing else, this sort of derranged circus deserves some kind of respect for merely existing. The movie is terminally sincere, making its absurdity campier than I'd anticipated and easier to swallow. The performers, for their part, are obviously committed. That's especially true of the dancers who bring to life some beautiful choreography. (A few of the songs, though, are performed by artists who are better equipped for pop than show tunes and it's evident.)
Still, it's hard to imagine how even the show's greatest fans could ever prefer this furry's wet dream to the 1998 recording for TV with Elaine Paige as Grizabella or the Tonys' performance with the divine Betty Buckley.
Did I also mention the movie is baffling, bonkers, bananas?
Perhaps I should write that a hundred more times because I still can't believe something this weird was actually produced by the Hollywood of 2019. You'll have to see it to believe it. But if you do, you will be haunted by visions of a catnip-infused hellscape that's impossible to forget. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Are you a fan of Cats, the stage show? Tell us if you made it out of the movie without psychological scarring!