No, wait, I'm wrong: She is Old Deuteronomy, a cat named for the Fifth Book of Moses, who apparently sits in judgement of who is America's Next Top Model. Oh, and here's Judi Dench playing a sentient pile of cheap marmalade-colored fake-fur scraps. He also rudely disappears other cats, who then re-appear on a boat presided over by a cat version of Ray Winstone, who, of all the notable actors corralled into this film, looks the most pained to be there. The Idris Elba cat is also a witch, or a warlock, or has wandered over from the Harry Potter universe, because he frequently disappears into puffs of smoke. For no particular reason, most cats are part-time entertainers - are there no cat waiters, no cat Uber drivers, and significantly, no cat talent agents to stop these cats from signing on to this mess? Jennifer Hudson is a broken-down sad cat, a nightclub nellie leaning on a lamp post. There's the one played by James Corden who brings all his trademark try-hard, we're-having-fun-right! energy to his role as a preening bon vivant cat. There's a tubby tabby played by Rebel Wilson, who has the thankless role of being the chubby girl who gets hit in the face and falls down. The cats are named after bands that played the Fillmore West in 1969 - Mungojerrie, Jennyanydots, Rum Tum Tugger, Rumpleteazer - but they're more easily identified by shtick. In time, Hayward and I learn that it's the night of the big Jellicle talent show, and there are loads of cats clamoring for attention. Released from the bag, Hayward is surrounded by other "cats," who, with no preamble, sing about being Jellicle cats, and for one brief moment, we are all Hayward - cute, lithe and deeply puzzled. Wrapped up in digital cat skin, nobody but their own kin will recognize them, and starting yesterday, they can deny they were ever in this.Īnyhow, the cats. It only accentuates the artifice in ways that are profoundly unsettling, when one suspects the goal was "enchanting." This is the rare movie where the unknown supporting actors have a better lot than the marquee stars. The film is an unholy melange of humans making cat moves - like head-nuzzling - and "cats" doing human things, like doffing top hats, walking upright and agreeing to be in a movie version of Cats. It's as akin to actual cat movement as kids running around in "dance" class flapping their hands to be "butterflies." To further express themselves, the actors arch their backs and point their feet and twist their necks. Eliot (or perhaps, all disrespect), these lyrics are breathtakingly ponderous. In lieu of dialogue, there are songs, and no disrespect to T. And just when you think you've gotten used to it - I'm a grizzled veteran of the Digitally Animated Epoch, I have seen things you people wouldn't believe - something horrifying jolts you back to WTF, like a cat with a human face UNZIPPING its furskin to reveal a SECOND furskin underneath. Many cats wear collars (where are their humans?!) a handful wear shoes, tuxedos or, inexplicably, fur coats. Some cats move on all fours (kind of a monkey thing, really), while others walk upright. (A representation of a representation of a representation feels like a filmmaker risks generating a blackhole.)Īnd speaking of 1s and 0s, the inescapable bonkers thing about this movie is its presentation of the cats - human bodies onto which car fur, whiskers, ears and a tail have been digitally applied, while the actors retain their recognizable human faces and hands. It's nighttime in a digitally recreated version of the already fake-looking inner-city stage set familiar from old Hollywood movies. Cats begins with a bag containing Francesca-Hayward-as-a-cat dumped in an alley.
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