It’s been 44 years since “Cats” — Andrew Lloyd Webber’s skimpily plotted tale of singing, dancing felines — premiered in London, where it ran for an astounding 21 years. Since then, it’s safe to say that in any given week, somebody somewhere is staging “Cats.” An actual cat’s nine lives have nothing on the ubiquitous seven-time Tony Award winner.
Aurora’s Paramount Theatre last staged the show roughly 11 years ago.
“Cats” is now back at the far west-suburban theater, in a high-flying, circus spectacular of a production. These cats don’t just dance. In director Trent Stork’s engaging staging, the cats are contortionists, acrobats and aerialists who fly netless on trapezes, ropes and swaths of silk suspended from the fly space. It’s a concept that elevates the show to thrilling effect.
The circus setting is apropos: “Cats” has always been about spectacle. The original version had cats rising from the stage, perched on a gigantic tire lit up like a Christmas tree. It paved the way for Webber spectacles to come, famously the crashing chandelier in “The Phantom of the Opera,” and the swimming pool with a dead man floating in it for “Sunset Boulevard.”
Stork’s vision for “Cats,” has spectacle on overdrive. There is a copious amount of razzle-dazzle, from a storm of raining glitter to the release of dozens of red balloons over the audience. With an ensemble of quadruple-threat actors-singers-dancers-circus artists, the hardly-there plot, inspired by T.S. Eliot’s “Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats,” seems almost beside the point.
At the Paramount, a cast of more than three dozen cats slink and strut over the stage, powering through Webber’s easily hummable score (“Memory…all alone in the mooooonlight”) as they embody Jellicle cats. That name is explained in the eye-popping opening number, “Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats.” It sets the tone for a fabulous cirque du surreal.
The Jellicles are gathered to learn who will be summoned to the Heavyside Layer, a place where one cat among them will be gifted with another life. The decision on which cat that will be rests on Old Deuteronomy (Lorenzo Rush Jr.), a sage elder cat whose seven cat wives have borne him dozens of kittens. Most of the show’s clowder of cats are young and energetic, save for Grizabella (Emily Rohm), who has been shunned by the younger cats for reasons never fully explained.
Set within a massive big top (extraordinary work by veteran set designer Jeffrey D. Kmiiec) that lights up like a pinball machine, “Cats” features a series of projections, cat portraits crafted by projection designer Paul Deziel that evoke the posters travelling carnivals once used to advertise “freak shows.”
As for the cats themselves, they do not disappoint. Circus captain Haley Larson has put such a plethora of stunts on stage that it’s hard to know where to look sometimes. “Old Gumbie Cat” features contortionism from Jennyanydots (Kat Hoil). A cyr wheel — basically a massive, light-up hula hoop — sends cats spinning across the stage like tops. Mr. Mistoffelees (Christopher Kelley) brings a magic show to the eponymous and rhythmic “Mr. Mistoffelees.” The elusive Macavity (Matthew Weidenbener) appears and disappears with baffling dexterity.
It falls to Grizabella to deliver the show’s signature song, “Memory,” and Rohm does so with vocals that swell beyond the big top on stage. Rohm makes Grizabella deeply human and unmistakably relatable. And Rush captures the gravitas and wisdom of Old Deuteronomy, and powers the score with a voice of leonine power.
Choreographer Kasey Alfonso fills the stage with complex, cat-like movement that’s a joy to behold. The all-important costume and fur/make-up design (Izumi Inaba and Katie Cordts, respectively) turn the cast into cat-human hybrids.
Conductor Kory Danielson oversees an eight-person orchestra that captures the show’s varied mood, pianissimo to triple forte. “Cats” sounds great, from the dynamic opener “Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats” to the anthemic beauty of the final act’s “Memory.”
When the finale arrives and the chosen cat is sent to the Heavyside Layer, Paramount pulls off a flying trapeze sequence that soars high above the stage and swings out over the length of the 1,885-seat house.
Webber’s lyrics can be objectively dumb (“A cat is not a dog.”). But at the Paramount, “Cats” lands on its feet.