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So. I did it. I saw The Cats. (I will always call it The Cats in reverence to George Carlin.)
And it was...a movie. A movie that I saw with mine own eyes and experienced like one experiences food poisoning or that thing where Sudafed combines weirdly with your antidepressants. It was an incredible combination of the two and I. Am. Different now. Quite honestly the whole film is resplendant with Chosens Ones of the Days and I could round out January using The Cats and The Cats alone, but one The Cat rises to the top, like the cream that they get at that weird Milk Bar that seems to be only for cats but is human-sized. And that is Munkustrap, the narrator cat, guide to our heroine Victoria, and incredibly intense being gazing into our souls and sending us all into the Heaviside Layer with his withering stare.
In the stage production, he looks like this.
In the movie, he looks like the last thing you see before you go win the privilege of dying thanks to your very good personal essay. Played by Tony nominee and ballet dancer Robbie Fairchild, you better Munku-strap yourself in because you will get lost in his eyes and stay there. It's a lot. It's uncomfortable.