Silver Lining (CATS Reviews) (Off-Topic)

by INSANEdrive, ಥ_ಥ | f(ಠ‿↼)z | ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ| \[T]/, Wednesday, December 18, 2019, 21:08 (645 days ago) @ Cody Miller
edited by INSANEdrive, Wednesday, December 18, 2019, 21:49


Uh oh.

Well. On the upside, it's better than CATS rating wise. https://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/cats_2019

I've been reading some of the reviews and, aw man, the schadenfreude in some of these have been simply fantastic.


When I was 13, my parents started breeding cats. Birmans. Seal point Birmans, to be precise. I would wake and be surrounded by cats and all that the cat life entailed. Kitten cats, male cats, female cats. Cat cages, cat shows, cat breeding. Always the breeding, the eternal lifecycle of the cat burned into my retinas. The yowling, the prowling, the fucking.

When I was 25, I hung out with some Furries in Hamilton. Charming folk, I really liked them. Loved Disney films. Adored My Little Pony. They got turned on by putting on dog suits, fox suits, cat suits. Adults - all yowling, prowling, fucking.

I'm 37 now, I've just seen Cats the movie. I've never seen the stage show, but I know the songs. I get the gist. Big songs, big numbers. This film is something else. I am 13 again, I am 25 again. I'm at my parents house, hearing cats fuck. I'm watching a Furry put on a catsuit. I'm watching Idris Elba, nude, as a cat. His ass is sticking out. I am watching all the cats, legs constantly spread, gyrating, grinding, growling. Yowling, prowling, fucking.

This is the worst thing I've ever seen. This is what death feels like. This is the worst ketamine trip. This is the CGI from Scorpion King. I don't know if I'm five minutes in or five hours. Nothing matters anymore. This is the death of all things. Fuck it.


[Little White Lies]I felt the light inside me slowly fading.

...The stage show of Cats works because of its inherent simplicity. There is a single set, a single premise. Each cat sings their song, and that’s that. The physicality works in close quarters because you can see every twitch, every pirouette, every stitch on the costumes and flash of colour in the face paint. Hooper’s adaption is ugly, rendered in half-cooked CGI, and crucially it fails to remember that the focus should be the performers. Pervasive handheld camerawork and distracting angles pulls focus from the technical impressiveness of the dance choreography; ballet, jazz and tap routines are lost to a director who never seems to know where he should be focusing his lens. ...

[filmmixtape]The ultimate effect of the neon and glitter-drenched CGI extravaganza is Hellraiser 2 by way of Roald Dahl, a family entertainment spectacularly drunk on its own supply of batshit.

...But even a read on the film fully embracing of its world has its limits: without warning, Hooper breaks the fourth wall and has Dench stare into the unprepared soul of the camera and the audience to address them directly. Suddenly, the absurdity of a hairy Judi Dench singing about how to talk to cats while parading as an anthropomorphized cat herself comes blindingly into focus. ...

[The Playlist]Once Tom Hooper's 110 minutes of Cats are over, theater is dead. And we unchosen ones are left, tragically, to continue living.

... The problem is not that “Cats” makes no sense (a plot has been strung together from the incomprehensible stage production) nor that the performances are mediocre (most of them are quite good). The murder weapon is the galling CGI intended to cover the actors in head-to-toe feline fur. Instead, the animation detracts from the film’s capable performers and inventive surroundings, drawing the eye reluctantly in like the sight of a person vomiting in the middle of an amusement park. It makes for a slow death, so overwhelmingly grotesque that it ceases to be interesting at all. ... Regardless if “Cats” is a good musical or not, it is certainly a successful one, with nearly 7,500 Broadway performances stretching from 1982 to 2000. This is not because “Cats” is a work of unfiltered genius, it is because “Cats” hinges on the spectacle of live performance. The cast interacts with the audience, and its minutes-long dance breaks enthrall up close. The film adaptation, by unnecessarily applying the cinema-only art of CGI to its every pore, denies the audience this magic.

[The Guardian]Of the thought, of the thought, of what on earth to do now. "Pretend to be cats!" says a director. They reply ... "Me? How?"

(This one is fun with the delivery.)

[Boston Globe] My eyes are burning. Oh God, my eyes.

When I saw “Cats” at a preview screening the other night, something happened toward the end that I’ve never actually experienced at a movie before. It came as the legendary British actress Judi Dench, digitally pixelated into a giant orange tabby named Old Deuteronomy, spoke-sung the lyrics of the final number, “The Ad-dressing of Cats.” As Dame Judi carefully enunciated each verse, then paused, then started a new verse, the audience began to titter. Then laugh. Then roar. Because each pause seemed to signal — at long last — the film’s end, each new verse became a fresh source of hilarity. It was that rare occurrence: a packed theater going the full “Springtime for Hitler” and giving release to blessed, hard-earned mockery.

[RTE Ireland]First off, full disclosure - I am not a cat person. Second off - after watching this frankly mortifying film adaptation of Andrew Lloyd Webber's Cats, I'm not altogether sure I am a movie person anymore either.

So remember, when you're in the theater - should you choose to do so - and going, "How did we get here?", remember... you didn't see Cats.

With that said... the Trailer shall forevermore be burned into my nightmares. ._.

(Edit: Added some Twitters. Oh... my sides. It's been a long time since I've cried laughing. Aw man, it's just fantastic.)

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