A stage full of cats, an unexpected detour into piracy and a performance of Memory that left me with tears rolling down my cheeks. Andrew Lloyd Webber’s famously peculiar musical is at Birmingham Hippodrome, and while I’m still trying to make sense of some of it, there’s no questioning the talent on that stage.
There’s a point in Cats when a stage full of people behaving like felines begins to seem entirely reasonable. Then they become pirates, and you have to recalibrate all over again. Such is the peculiar appeal of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical, a show whose eccentricities are as much a part of its identity as its celebrated score. Drew McOnie’s production embraces that strangeness with confidence, bringing remarkable physical energy and an eye for character to a musical that asks its audience to abandon most expectations of conventional storytelling.
Based on T.S. Eliot’s Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats, it follows a tribe gathering for the Jellicle Ball, where the sage Old Deuteronomy (Kalisha Amaris) will choose one of them for a new life. This provides the framework for a succession of introductions, each cat stepping forward to reveal their particular history, talents or misdemeanours. The narrative connections are slender, and you do have to surrender a little to the logic of it all, but the individual encounters offer ample compensation, with Matthew Caputo’s Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat and Elliot Broadfoot’s Gus the Theatre Cat among the memorable personalities taking their turn in the spotlight.
As both director and choreographer, McOnie gives the evening a strong sense of movement and purpose. Ballet and contemporary dance flow through choreography that makes formidable demands on a cast who must also deliver vocally. The stamina is impressive, but so is the precision: a tilted head, an arched back or a moment of watchful stillness can establish a character as effectively as the larger ensemble sequences. Crucially, the feline behaviour continues beyond the principal action. At the edges of a scene, performers stretch, preen and prowl, sustaining the illusion even when another cat has the floor. Sami Fendall’s sets and costumes give the production a contemporary identity, allowing each one to emerge without relying on the familiar abundance of fur, while Jessica Hung Han Yun’s lighting brings a dreamlike atmosphere to this curious world.
Since opening in London in 1981, where its original run lasted 21 years and 8,950 performances, Cats has acquired the sort of reputation that can precede the experience itself. That is particularly true of Memory, the song made famous by Elaine Paige as the original Grizabella. It arrives carrying decades of associations and considerable expectations, yet Louise Dearman in the role makes it feel immediate. As the faded glamour puss, now on the margins of the group, she gives the song an emotional force that makes its familiarity almost irrelevant. Hers is one of the strongest voices I have heard on stage, but the impact goes beyond its power. Grizabella’s longing to be accepted cuts through the spectacle, and is the show’s most affecting expression of vulnerability. I cried, as did plenty of people around me. And while the theatre reviewer in me might wish to offer a more measured assessment, my overwhelming response was the urge to stand up and shout: “Please, sing that again.”
For all its oddities, this version of Cats makes a persuasive case for its enduring appeal. The characters are vividly drawn, the dancing is exhilarating, and beneath the elaborate mythology lies a recognisable need to belong. You might struggle to explain the plot to someone afterwards, and I’m still not entirely sure how an evening involving pirate cats left me so emotionally undone, but I’d go back for Dearman’s voice alone.
Cats runs at Birmingham Hippodrome until Saturday November 7. Full details and tickets available here.
