Review of ‘CATS’ (2026, Regent’s Open Air Theatre): “Impurrfect production passes by a whisker”

Let’s be honest — this musical has never been a masterpiece. If you think my claws are showing, I will clarify that I do think there’s an element of genius to it. But that doesn’t make it flawless. Or great. Yet, there is a reason why Andrew Lloyd Webber’s feline-driven folly became the cultural phenomenon that dominated the musical theatre scene for at least a couple of decades, alongside some of his other- and considerably better -creations.

Many outstanding elements came together in the first production, turning it into the icon it remains today (the fact that several guests attended last night’s performances wearing pointy-eared tiaras should mean something — and perhaps serve as a warning for what fashion could become). Some of them have remained in this latest revival. Many, however, have vanished. And that’s what makes Regent’s Park’s Open Air Theatre’s production passable in every sense of the word — it has a pass, but you can also pass on it.

If we must start with the positives, Webber’s score exhibits the same sparkle, tunefulness, and intricacy of its salad days. There’s no question about the composer’s transcendence, but preserving David Cullen’s original orchestrations is a key contributor to such timelessness. From the rippling synthesised chords during the Overture’s chromatic fugue to the operatic lushness of its signature song, Cullen’s arrangements elevate Webber’s eclectic pastiche — honouring the diversity of styles while also building a sense of cohesiveness.

As a result, the work maintains its lavish sound combined with a streetwise aftertaste. And the orchestra brings it to life with absolute command. Every line flows, every ornament soars. And the whole thing brims with colour and spiritedness. The level of precision is truly refreshing — to the point that I must express my gratitude for bringing back the accidental 10/8 bar in Memory’s main section. It’s a tiny detail, but the kind that keeps the material true to its essence, as irregular bars are one of the most distinctive traits of Webber’s oeuvre.

Those are the moments of happiness. But as the old thespian cat laments while reflecting on his glory days, “the theatre is certainly not what it was.” And this production is no doubt a fair example. The issue is not that it doesn’t look like its initial incarnation. The issue is that it doesn’t deliver even half of what its predecessor did. And that concerns the design, choreography, and performances.

Director and choreographer Drew McOnie doesn’t demonstrate the intelligence and inspiration that defined Trevor Nunn and Gillian Lynne’s work. Neither can Sami Fendall compare to John Napier’s consummate staging. Both are affected by the same problem: the show’s soul is severely lacking.

You wouldn’t come to see CATS for the story, though I will acknowledge Nunn’s efforts to compile the numbers through a thin yet somewhat effective narrative thread. You come for the spectacle. But not any kind of spectacle. One of its most remarkable aspects is the merging of human and feline attributes. As such, Lynne’s choreography blended dance of every sort with cats’ mannerisms. And it was exceptional.

The same applied to Napier, albeit differently. The dump set served as a framing device for actors to create new pieces of scenery and props — a teaspoon would be repurposed as a cane for Bustopher Jones, and discarded bicycle wheels and a dustbin would be turned into a locomotive for Skimbleshanks’s track.

Sadly, this isn’t the case. There are hints, but none of them is enough. A giant oxidised semicircle stands at the back of a rusty deck, around which a few giant roots and patches of grass sprout. Behind it, a mechanical pendulum-like moon swings around to mark the start of the Jellicle gathering.

So far, it seems like the right idea. But it doesn’t go anywhere beyond. Unlike Napier’s approach, all the additional elements are brought from the wings, already in full form. There’s no impression of improvisation. And the concept of seeing the world through a cat’s eye, which was the sign of identity that made the original production both transporting and captivating, is completely lost. And so is its sense of theatricality.

The costumes aren’t any better. Some of them display strange giraffe-like patterns — hardly to be found in any felid breed. And some of the others come across as if snatched directly from a Cirque du Soleil show. The latter isn’t necessarily bad. But the fact that, except for Gus- whose design is noticeably inconsistent with the rest of the company, as it’s the only one dressed by John Napier- and perhaps Old Deuteronomy and Jennyanydots (with a bit of a strange), none of them evoke a cat too well.

Once again, it’s a case of not knowing how to balance the duality between both worlds. These are human actors playing cats. And both realities should be present. Wistfully, their anthropomorphism is given too much protagonism, to the extent that some of them look like attendees to a furry party. There are some interesting references- Mr Mistoffelee’s outfit, for instance, appropriately resembles the antagonist in Faust. Yet, they can’t make up for this shortcoming, which is too crucial and too severe to ignore.

The company is generally competent, especially the dancing sections, which are often immaculately done — apart from The Jellicle Ball, where precision has left the building. The singing is decent and occasionally impressive. Danny Nattrass and Briana Craig deliver a show-stealing performance as the comic burglar duo Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer, and Charlotta Riby teems with electrifying stamina as The Gumbie Cat.

On the other hand, Jaydon Vijn flaunts great command of movement as the cheeky Rum Tum Tugger, but his acting is extremely poor, and the character’s playful sexiness is totally missing. Melanie La Barrie is charming as Old Deuteronomy, but her portrayal doesn’t convey the sage warmth the personage is supposed to represent. Her range is also limited. And when she’s singing The Addressing of Cats, she keeps changing octaves to avoid the high operatic notes, which are pivotal to the melody’s lyricism.

I’m a big Andrew Lloyd Webber fan. And although Cats has never made it to the top of my list, I can see how the show’s accessibility did make it a long-lasting phenomenon. But the piece is what it is, and it can’t survive without the right vision. And for this one, it can only be an extravaganza, as despite Webber’s elaborate score and T. S. Eliot’s excellent lyrics, the writing, in terms of storytelling, isn’t that solid. Consequently, this new London revival doesn’t feel as sharp, as many of its strengths come off as declawed. It’s not that fur-midable. And certainly not very memorable.

All pictures credit to Mark Senior.

CATS plays at London’s Regent’s Park’s Open Air Theatre until 19 September. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara