Gary heard Cats was a train-wreck, cringe-worthy, an abomination. My only guess is that the makers of Cats have publicized its flaws virally so rubberneckers like my husband want to see it out of morbid curiosity.
“I’m not spending money to see a bad movie,” I said. Yet still, he wore me down and two tickets were purchased, because I will spend money to avoid an argument.
We agreed to nudge each other if we saw anything really bad. There was a lot of nudging.
We couldn’t get lost in the movie because some graphic artists hadn't been given enough time to perfect their work. The artist who made Ian McClellan into a cat had enough time.
The whole thing culminates in a reprise of Memory, and of course when the music began to build my eyes began to leak, but at the same time I began to laugh. I laughed at two things: first, it was sung by a CAT with a FACE and second, said cat chewed that scenery like Meow Mix. Way over the top.
I felt a little bad for having criticized the young man at Little Women who did not share the feelings of the rest of the audience. People around me were still sniffling when the same CAT flies off in a HOT AIR BALLOON (spoilers). I just clamped my hand over my mouth so no one could tell I was simultaneously laughing and crying. I hope it looked like I was just quietly sobbing.
Afterward I did my usual post-movie research. The musical was a second draft of a song-writing exercise based partly on first drafts of unpublished poems (so I suppose it’s right that the movie was still in draft form when it got to the theaters). I wondered why Judi Dench allowed herself to be filmed in a cat costume and then read the history of the stage musical and found she had been slated to be Grisabella until she had an injury.
Elbow-nudging now forgotten, Gary has decided he loved it, partly because he has a crush on the cat-human hybrid above.