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Stop the snickering, all you jaded jackanapes. There's a reason this is the longest-running production in Broadway history.
It's not the story -- there isn't one really, just largely-disconnected descriptions of a buncha cat personalities. Sure, at the end one ratty feline rises on a big Frisbee, but other than that it's strictly character skits. Even then, the characters are only featured in single pieces, too briefly to feel any real familiarity.
And the lyrics by T.S. Eliot are pedestrian and frequently infantile, a Dr. Seuss-ian romp through nonsensical syllables and fabricated landscapes.
So without a story, meaningful lyrics and character development, this gets an "A"? Have I lost my mind?
There are three reasons why Cats is superlative: music, costumes and choreography. It's Andrew Lloyd Webber's best work. Listen to the absolutely soaring Deuteronomy theme which recurs throughout both scenes; the poignant melody of Gus as he recalls Firefaw Fiddle, the Fiend of the Fell; the eclectic time signatures (11/8?) of Mungo Jerry and Rumpleteaser; the rising bassoon counterpoint melody in the overture; indeed, pick any musical phrase from the entire three hours and be treated to melodic perfection from a master composer at the very pinnacle of his game.
The costumes and makeup are unlike anything in musical theatre, until perhaps the creation of the Lion King (which, by the way, is still considered "hip," unlike the long-in-the-tooth but vaguely-similar Cats). Everybody on stage is just so damn sexy in their big cat hair and body suits.
And the choreography � only Bob Fosse has done it better. The energy, the complex dynamism of its intricate movement, serves to both exalt feline exuberance and recall our own youthful invincibility.
"Memories" has become a lounge singer chestnut, and Cats long ago became a punching bag for Broadway's worst saccharine tendencies. But get over it. This is as good as theatre gets.
NOTE: This is a PBS "Great Performances" feature - may not be available at all video outlets.