music by Andrew Lloyd Webber
based on the work of T.S. Eliot. Yes really.
Notes: Sometimes, you can fool all of the people all of the time. On the one hand, this show gave Terrence Mann unto the world. On the other hand, it horked up giant, pretentious hairballs all over Broadway for eighteen years. Then again...I'm sure there must be something else good about "CATS"...but...eighteen years.
It was the best of shows, it was the worst of shows. It wore out it's welcome many times over, but finally it went to the big flying tire in the sky.
Still...eight. teen. years.
(Scene: an alley in vaguely-80s-Edwardian England. I believe. Or maybe not.
There are cats.)
CATS: Scratch! Lick! Lick! Purr! Kick! Scratch! Scratch! Lick! Lick! Purr! Kick! Scratch! Scratch! Lick! Lick! Purr! Kick! Scratch!
(There are more cats. Some Thundercat in S&M gear Ricky-Martins his pelvis all over the stage. Also, there is a shoe. And tap-dancing. And possibly a war.)
CATS: That connects with...Purr! Purr! Flick! Flick! Hiss! Scratch! Step! Turn! Lick! Lick! Purr! Kick! Spray!
GRIZABELLA: What am I? A mouse on heroin or something?
CATS: Second verse, same as the first! Spray!
(Stuff happens. It might have been plot, but...can't...remember...brain...hurts...)
GRIZABELLA: Is it feline leukemia? Catnip abuse? Seriously, what the hell's wrong with me?
(Curtain. Garnish with tire.)
© copyright 2005 Musical Decomposition