The CATS (2019) Post

This film shouldn’t exist. Not for its nightmarish uncanny valley furry bodies imposed over recorded human flesh. But because different media, even those of the visual variety can create works that play to their chosen form’s strengths so well that they become almost impossible to adapt.

CATS (2019) is a film adapted from a theatre musical adapted from a T.S. Elliot poem that simply describes various cats. It doesn’t tell their stories. It just lays out their gimmicks. Andrew Lloyd Weber’s musical isn’t a story set to song. It’s a Wikipedia article with backing vocals and interpretive dance. It’s an experience that works in a theater because you are seeing physical bodies moving in a single, limited space. It’s a visual work that’s inherently going to be presenting locations and ideas with a great deal of abstraction. In a musical a character like Les Miserable’s Fernadier can serve as a representative of the entire bourgeosies. In its film adaptation he becomes a singular, unique grifter. A psychological phenomenon instead of sociological.

While there’s always rooms for exceptions, live action film is more interested in Realism. The camera can capture entire locations and groups. The actors can move to new ones when needed or use sets to create a more convincing simulation of the same. It is from here that the adaptation process begins its descent into madness. A desire to have realistic sized cats causes most of the film to rely on green screen hiding digital matte paintings. Any camera shot from a distance highlights the disconfortingly small relative size of the cast to the world they live in. The ability to digitally paint fur on human bodies changes the theater’s thick, beastial costumes to skin-tight bodysuits that turn everyone into sexless dolls. These are Jellicle cats, not Genital cats. Yet the camera, seeking to capture that theatrical sense of Carnivale insists of presenting a sexuality that cannot be acted upon. CATS the musical is too frivolous to fuck. CATS (2019) has been neutered, yet like Jason Derulo’s Rum Tum Tugger still cannot decide whether to spray milk or not.

The film’s editing craves a narrative. Extended takes showcasing dancers and singers are constantly cutting away to Francesca’s Hayward’s doe-eyed stare. If the camera tells you she’s the audience surrogate, surely you too will understand the plight of the jellicles. It works. Every film review has the same combination of confusion and dull surprise that Hayward taught them to view this world with.

In theater, dancing is a secondary action to accentuate both the story’s themes and the tone of the music. In film, tempo editing often plays this role. In this film, neither communicates with the other and both strive to hide the most expensive actors. This saves the production money by requiring said expensive actors for less days of shooting. It still won’t save this film. Its hundred million dollar budget is set to be one of the greatest box office bombs of the year. Yet over a week into release, my cinema was still full. 85% were seniors pursuing a familar name. 5% were my queer peers. 5% were mothers taking their children to the only G-rated film they thought might teach culture. And the final row of the cinema was entirely irony podcasters. The bulk of this audience can only be fooled into their seats so many times. This final category is what will keep this film in midnight screenings for years to come.