The "Cats" review was in the paper today: TM version of "Cats" takes on life of its own.
An argument could be made for imitation had we never seen "Cats" before, if this was our initiation into the Tony-winning concept of striped unitards, teased wigs and garish makeup. Meow, baby.
But who hasn't seen this manifestation of "Cats"? Isn't one role of regional theaters to keep theater alive by reinventing it? This is not what our college professors taught us theater should be; art shouldn't imitate art.
Needless to say, seated among those in the opening night audience of "Cats" was a certain Chicken Little, predicting the impending demise of the theater, suspiciously watching the house fill up -- to capacity.
Then the lights went down and the band struck up Webber's stuck-in-yer-head-forever tunes and this homage roared to life with impressive dynamism.
It was a good review. I just got home after singing in the pit for tonight's performance. Had a lot of fun.