By Ilana Jael Rothman
It definitely isn’t every day that I come across a production so distinctive that it serves to completely upend my initial reaction to a certain show — and, of all shows, Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Cats is one I would’ve judged to be among the least likely to inspire such a 180.
Following my first theatrical encounter with the show via the long-running national tour, I felt nothing but a near-total disdain for it. Though I could admit that said production was expertly performed and technically pristine, these perks couldn’t atone for the show’s cardinal sin of being unrepentantly ridiculous — an inane and vacant spectacle best left to the tourists.
It was easy enough to dismiss the show summarily from my seat near the back of the Kravis’s crowded auditorium, but I had a very different experience at Entr’acte Theatrix’s production of the musical in West Palm Beach’s intimate William G. Skaff Center, starting with the fact that my seat this time around put me a lot closer to the stage and to the action.
Don’t get me wrong — I still think Cats is a thoroughly bizarre show that can rightly be called ridiculous. But, as it turns out, once you replace the sparkly trappings of overproduced spectacle with a grungy stripped-down aesthetic and sub out the perfectly costumed professionals for an earnest cast of local artists, the whole thing starts feeling a lot less empty and ludicrous.
To lead with the aspects of the show that were the most unambiguously impressive as opposed to more serendipitously charged, I’ll lead with how brilliantly costume and wig designer Andres Aguilar realizes director Amber Lebrun’s vision of an “’80s-inspired look” for the “cats.” In mixing flashy ’80s attire with recognizably feline augmentation and styling, Aguilar creates a unique look for this production’s cats that’s arguably more effective than the original production’s uncanny valley of fur-suits or the recent Broadway revival’s approach, which drops the visual cat conceit entirely.
With leopard print, thrifted fur, and big hair blow-outs to go with their fuzzy ears and fashion-forward outfits, the characters get to stay recognizably cats and feel like artsy bohemian outsiders who wouldn’t be out of place in Rent. This gives the show a fun, modern vibe and even seems to ground the show a bit by making the characters more visually recognizable as fellow humans despite their cat-coded dilemmas. Each cat’s crafted look also reflects their individual personality, as in flamboyant Mr. Mistoffelees’ sparkling bowtie and top hat and mischievous pair Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer’s complementary neon wigs.
Director Lebrun also serves as the show’s choreographer, a role in which she creates some of the musical’s most wow-worthy moments. This is especially apparent in numbers where she gives the show’s strongest dancers the chance to showcase their prowess as soloists, among them Tysen Odeh (Mr. Mistoffelees), Averi Cain (Jennyanydots), and a few other ensemble members whose work I remember noticing but who I’m not entirely sure I can recognize well enough to single out.
In terms of sheer dance prowess, though, Shelby Tudor (Rumpleteazer) and Benjamin Helbling (Mungojerrie) surpass even these standouts with the athleticism they display during their extended duet sequence, which was one unmistakable highlight. Another was Desir Dumerjuste’s skilled and charismatic take on his character Rum Tum Tugger’s lively number of the same name, which establishes the performer as one of the cast’s most talented triple threats.
Other performers who make a strong impression in featured roles include Joshua Ewers (Old Deuteronomy), Joseph Farrar (Skimbleshanks), Jacob Perry (Munkustrap), Brianna Taitt (Jellylorum) and Samuel Zilberstein (Bustopher Jones). Though not every member of the ensemble is equally equipped for the full extent of their roles’ demands, most were superlative in at least one major aspect — for instance, some incredible movers proved only serviceable singers or actors, and other cast members who excelled as vocalists or performers seemed less capable of keeping up with the show’s demanding choreography.
In group numbers, the ensemble’s command of that choreography tended to be much more hit and miss than during solo sequences. That some of it had a going-through-the-motions feel in terms of the movement itself as well as its execution is somewhat understandable given just how much choreography the dance-heavy show called Lebrun to create and her cast to master. But at its best, her work is positively delightful, especially in the moments referenced in her director’s note in which she takes inspiration from her actual pets, which I appreciated as a dedicated cat lover.
But am I now a Cats lover? Well, I wouldn’t go that far, especially given that my effort to focus on the positives so far has probably obscured the extent of the show’s often evident lack of polish, which manifested in some noticeable technical glitches as well as in the imprecision of certain performances.
Still, I can honestly say that I enjoyed the show a lot more this time around, maybe because my previous Cats encounter had prepared me to meet the show on its own absurd terms rather than expecting any coherence. This is a reasonable enough explanation of why I found the show more entertaining this time around, but falls short of explaining something even stranger: the fact that there were indeed moments where I actually found myself moved by aspects of the same “plot” that I had once deemed functionally nonexistent.
Perhaps I’ve just become more sensitive to the melancholic themes camouflaging themselves in the show’s silliness, but I think part of my reaction did come down to the particular character of this production, which is something that I risk veering into condescension if I even try to explain. That’s the fact that I think the show worked for me because, rather than in spite of, its rough edges and unflashy minimalism.
After all, insofar as it can be said to be “about” anything, Cats is about a ragtag tribe of stray cats who spend the show struggling to define themselves in the hopes of earning redemption. And frankly, there was something that felt oddly of that spirit in watching the show’s performers putting their heart and soul into this piece to an audience so sparse I think we may have actually been outnumbered by the 18-member ensemble.
The two songs — and two performances — that got to me were those of Anneliese Wolfanger (Grizabella) in “Memory” and Greg Halmos (Asparagus) in “Gus: The Theatre Cat” — and it’s probably no coincidence that both ditties encapsulate a kind of desperate yearning for lost glory days in the face of ever-encroaching decay.
Wolfanger is a soulful singer who made her character’s iconic ballad as poignant as it was lovely, and Halmos, a local actor whom I’ve mostly seen play character parts, totally surprised me with how delicately he handled the pathos of this understated dramatic role. Maybe I’ve finally become the only thing more ridiculous than Cats itself in a theater critic trying to take Cats seriously. But whether you go to escape into lighthearted whimsy or contemplate what your life might actually be like for a stray cat desperate in a dumpster, I seriously encourage you to check out Cats for yourself.
CATS runs through June 28 at the William G. Skaff Center, 500 Spencer Drive, West Palm Beach, with showtimes varying by weekend. Tickets range from $20-$40 if purchased in advance and will also be available at the door for a $5 upcharge per ticket, or for $15 for students with a valid ID. Visit palmbeachtheater.org to reserve or view a full performance schedule, which you can also find along with additional details and contact information for Entr’acte at www.facebook.com/EntrActePB.