If you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, that surely does not apply to Cats. Perelman Performing Arts Center’s revival of Andrew Lloyd Webber, Trevor Nunn, and T.S. Eliot’s record-breaking musical arrives back in New York completely repackaged. Gone are the ‘80s legwarmers and bodysuits, gone is the verging-on-Kabuki makeup and faux fur headpieces.
Directors Zhailon Levingston and Bill Rauch reinterpret the cats as competitors in a ballroom competition and populate the runway with a cast of stunningly talented queer people of color. Lloyd Webber’s score remains untouched, aside from some added club beats by Trevor Holder. Otherwise, even the orchestrations sound the same, down to the iconic synthesizer.
Levingston and Rauch’s new setting actually throws respect toward the musical, a much-maligned relic of the British megapop era. Like Jamie Lloyd’s incisive revival (and elevation) of Lloyd Webber’s Sunset Boulevard, Cats: The Jellicle Ball, as this version is dubbed, proves that there’s more substance behind the spectacle than is usually attributed. It can withstand a complete overhaul of its design aesthetic and character dynamics.
In Trevor Nunn’s original production, the various cats stand apart from one another, each competing separately for the trip to the Heaviside Layer where they will be reborn. Now, they are grouped into Houses and even their vogue battles have a light-hearted one-big-family vibe that doesn’t so much strip it of tension, but unite the full ensemble even when they are at cross purposes. The stakes exist within the individual battles, but it’s all going to be okay for them if they don’t win. There’s always next week’s ball.
Levingston and Rauch’s framework allows the individuals to make more of an impact on the audience, even the tertiary characters who don’t have their own introductory number. Combined with Qween Jean’s drop-dead costume design, Rania Zohny’s makeup, and the Nikiya Mathis’ incomparable hair and wigs, each character stands out as their own person. Arturo Lyons and Omari Wiles’ choreography also creates unique movement that works individually and as a whole. The ensemble blends together as a group of distinct people rather than one anonymous blob of fur.
X Casting has outdone themselves, though. A New York Times article recently noted that Cats is notoriously hard to cast, due to the physical and vocal demands on its actors. Now, it requires the added skills of ballroom performance, not something easily faked. Victor Vasquez and Sujotta R. Pace of X have found the perfect performers for each of the roles. Ballroom star “Tempress” Chasity Moore achieves Grizabella’s arc with only the yearning in her voice and a commanding walk; her pain is palpable. Junior LaBeija, one of the stars of Paris is Burning, is immensely moving as Gus the Theatre Cat, suffusing the whole history of his performance life into a song about a cat onstage. Dudney Joseph Jr. is warmth and charm personified as the evening’s MC, Munkustrap.
From the Broadway/dance world, of course André De Shields can only be described as FATHER in his role of Old Deuteronomy, enlivening a part that usually calls for a nap. Jonathan Burke and Dava Huesca are delightful as those rapscallions Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer. Antwayn Hopper also stuns with a fabulous spin on the mystery cat, Macavity. The three women who sing his introductory number don’t want to fuck him as much as join him in his mischief.
But speaking of fucking: Sydney James Harcourt as Rum Tum Tugger fuuuucks. As the trade of the group, Harcourt appears in a sheer top and his Tugger resorts to flashing his abs to anyone who will look. He later competes in a body competition against Bustopher Jones and let’s just say the body is bodying. (The production objectifies him, so I feel okay objectifying him, too.) But there’s more to his Tugger: later, he introduces Mister Mistoffelees (a magnetic Robert “Silk” Mason) and you feel genuine love and astonishment towards Mistoffelees in Harcourt’s smooth vocals.
The major standout of the production is an absolutely turn-the-lights-off-and-go-home performance from Emma Sofia as Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat. Decked out as a yassified MTA subway conductor, Sofia shuts everyone the fuck down as she struts around Rachel Hauck’s runway set. Never has the flick of a Metrocard received so much cheering from an audience. I was unfamiliar with Sofia before this performance, but I will never forget her now.
Cats: The Jellicle Ball pays loving tribute to the material while repurposing it for a new audience. But in the crowd around me were many people wearing vintage Cats merch and cheering at the introductions of songs. The center still holds for the show’s diehard fans. I grew up watching the filmed staging on a VHS at my grandparents’ house and loved how bizarre and grand and silly a musical it is. Those adjectives are also a perfect fit for the ballroom setting and make for a really fun night at the theatre.