Cats: The Jellicle Ball review – new revival is the biggest party on Broadway

I sincerely hope that theatregoers buy tickets to Cats: The Jellicle Ball already knowing the world-famous Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, but nothing about the rich tradition of ballroom drag competitions implied in the subtitle. Oh, but they will know it intimately by the time they emerge from Broadway’s Broadhurst Theatre, snapping fans and voguing into the night. This irresistible revival isn’t your grandma’s Cats; but in many ways, it is the truest version of the musical yet.

Lloyd Webber’s musicalisation of T S Eliot’s Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats has always invited audiences into a secret society with its own lore. In the classic version, this is the world of Jellicle cats, felines portrayed by human dancers in Lycra cat suits, who have gathered for a ritual to determine which kitty will ascend to the Heaviside Layer to be reborn. Here, they are queer Black and brown New Yorkers competing in a drag ball with categories like “Realness,” “Body,” and “Runway.” The grand prize is once again a trip to the Heaviside Layer and a chance at redemption.

No one needs it more than Grizabella (“Tempress” Chasity Moore), mother of the House of Glamour. When she first appears onstage pushing a collapsible shopping cart, her makeup clownishly plastered on her face, the other kitties shun her – all except Sillabub (Teddy Wilson Jr, delivering a performance that makes me verklempt just thinking about it). She knows there’s a great queen hiding beneath the ratty fur and Picasso face, if only we would truly see her.

Grizabella will have to impress the judges (two celebrity guests at each performance), especially the Jellicle leader Old Deuteronomy (André De Shields, still astounding at age 80 by twerking through a six-minute dance break). And the competition is fierce.

As DJ Griddlebone (the adorably enthusiastic Ken Ard, the original Macavity) spins, Munkstrap (Dudney Joseph Jr convincing us he’s the greatest emcee in New York) calls out the categories. Baby Byrne sets a high bar for feline agility as Victoria, but the “Virgin Vogue” trophy goes to her little sister from the House of Dots, Cassandra (Emma Sofia, fabulous). Their mother, Jennyanydots (Xavier Reyes giving Mommy Warbucks), beams with pride.

Jonathan Burke and Dava Huesca perform a memorable double act as Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer, their outsize Jersey accents almost as impressive as their dance moves. Sofia brings the hometown pride as Skimbleshanks, an MTA conductor by day who struts the catwalk by night in the “New Way vs Old Way” category. I absolutely love her tiger stripe Alysa Liu wig (Nikiya Mathis consistently sets the standard for hair design).

There has never been a sexier Rum Tum Tugger than Sydney James Harcourt. But Bustopher Jones (Nora Schell, the life of the party) easily walks away with the “Body” category. The sticky-fingered Macavity (Leiomy, making larceny look fun) walks away with everything else in the “labels” category – a win that temporarily imperils the ball.

But the Magical Mister Mistoffelees (Robert “Silk” Mason, with legs for days and flexibility that defies everything we think we know about human anatomy) sets everything right, paving the way for the 11 o’clock number we’ve all been waiting for.

Moore’s rendition of “Memory” is neither the most vocally powerful nor the most arrestingly beautiful version I’ve heard. But the sincerity with which she delivers it, pining for lost days and refusing to abandon hope, sends chills through my body and makes me understand the song with fresh ears. It is an anthem for the dark days ahead and how we must meet them. You keep going.

Directors Zhailon Levingston and Bill Rauch have successfully transferred the energy and unbound creativity of the 2024 PAC NYC run to Broadway, with Omari Wiles and Arturo Lyons’s choreography leaving our jaws on the floor as the performers duck-walk and death-drop the house down. Not a word nor musical note has been changed from the original score and libretto, though several have been added.

The truncated runway is slightly disappointing (off-Broadway, it extended the length of the space), but scenic designer Rachel Hauck compensates by adding onstage seating. It embellishes the thrust, ensures the people upstairs can see everything, and makes the producers happy by adding seats rather than subtracting them.

Kai Harada’s sound design is a jolt of adrenaline, although the balance still favours the music over the lyrics. Adam Honoré lights the drag ball of the century with an explosion of moving spots and bold hues.

The star of the show is Qween Jean’s costume design, a monumental collection of stunning looks that beautifully synthesize the worlds of ballroom and Cats. From Rum Tum Tugger’s Bengal-striped fur over skin-tight mesh to Macavity’s opulent orange coat and leopard handbag, these costumes are purrfectly tailored to each performer and character, pulling the whole concept together.

Most wonderfully, Cats: The Jellicle Ball exudes deep reverence for ballroom and the pioneers who built it. The second act opens with a heartfelt tribute to “the founding mothers” who faced social and legal consequences for their art (tasteful projections by Brittany Bland). Genuine ballroom veteran Junior LaBeija plays Gus the “theatre cat,” and seems to be having a ball overseeing the show from a house right box. When he finally comes down to the stage, the young kitties gather round to listen.

This is a culture steeped in tradition and history. The chosen family is its bedrock, and elders hold a place of high esteem, though there are too few. This is not the story about queer people our detractors want told, but it is the truth and it’s live on Broadway eight times a week. This is how you do a revival.

This review initially ran on our US sibling site.