Cats: The Jellicle Ball – 31 March 2026

I am the target audience for this reimagined Cats revival: young, transgender, musician, theatre enthusiast, queer historian… so it may shock some of my readers to know that my strong feelings about the show were, by and large, negative. Though admittedly built on a bedrock of dislike for the source material, the excessive opulence of the aesthetic also repulsed me. The redeeming qualities were the choreography (Omari Wiles & Arturo Lyons) and dance, which were quite impressive feats that seemed to, in the words of Wicked, defy gravity and the laws of physics. A high level of athleticism, dance, and movement skill was demonstrated by the entirety of the cast. There was also a deeply touching tribute to the queer revolutionaries on whom today’s movement is built at the start of act two. Overall, though, this musical remains plotless and pointless, full of made up words, built upon unceasing earworms, lacking good songs, devoid of harmony, and difficult to watch.

There is not enough glitter in the world to cover up how inane Cats truly is. Jellicle Ball or not, every number looks and feels the same, and nothing is happening on stage except dance numbers—even at the extreme height of what a human body can physically do, after a few numbers my brain is hungry for a story, which it won’t be finding. Act two does a better job of making a story out of some of the moments with Grizabella (“Tempress” Chastity Moore), but it’s too little too late—two hours in. Above all, I felt the sanctity of the theatre was somewhat violated. Yes, it’s always been a place of butts and busts, but to make an entire show where nice butts and busts are all there is going for it is rather sad.

My least favorite aspect of Cats: The Jellicle Ball is the encouragement of the audience to behave badly. Theatre etiquette is fragile at best right now. Since COVID-19, there has been a massive upsurge in audience members talking to the characters, singing along, having conversations with each other, refusing to silence their phones, shamelessly texting or checking social media during the show, crunching on food, giving standing ovations at inappropriate moments, leaving before the orchestra has finished playing the exit music (which was written to be part of the show), and, my least favorite of my least favorites—clapping and cheering every time someone hits a high note long before that person has finished their note such that the audience cannot hear the performers over their rowdy neighbors who are enthusiastically cheering over what just might be the most vocally impressive part of the show. Cats: The Jellicle Ball practically begs the audience to be uncouth. I found it hard to have a good theatre experience when the audience was encouraged to drown out half the show.

I will say this—my views are in the minority. Audiences are loving this show. It opens up drag and ballroom culture to people who may not have known of its existence. Many people celebrate that. Not me. I am a killjoy who misses how these iconic queer experiences were before they became commercialized and exaggerated to market them to people outside of the queer community. It’s too big and too bold and, frankly, it’s off-putting. This show works in New York, but if it were to embark on a national tour, people without loved ones in the queer community might make generalizations—specifically that queer people are as garish as this representation of our culture. Some of us want to live dignified lives where who we are is accepted into the fabric of society. Shows like this are part of why coming out can be hard. Shows like this magnify stereotypes and make having a queer person in the family feel dauntingly unimaginable—all of this is too much for most people to hold space for outside of a fun evening. Art like Cats: The Jellicle Ball has a complex impact: it’s big enough to amaze the queer community, which means it’s sensory overload for those who are heteronormative. It also encourages co-opting queer culture to make it for everyone, when it was once treasured by an in-group. It’s a party with a price. Who are we empowering, and who are we scaring away? How would you feel watching this show as a Republican mother with a child who just came out as gay? Probably terrified.

Above all, in my primary capacity as a theatre critic, I really can’t get past Cats: The Jellicle Ball being completely pointless. Extravagance for the sake of extravagance is not my cup of tea. When I go to the theatre, I like to hear words that matter and see a story that moves me. Cats: The Jellicle Ball is not written, directed, or performed, with that intention. “Jellicle” is a made up word, as are all of the cat names which comprise such a high percentage of the lyrics of these songs. But queer identities are not make believe. The words that define our lives are important to us. I’d prefer to interact with these concepts with less opulence, no nonsense, and fewer fans.

I did not attend this performance on a press pass.