CATSapalooza IV: A Testimony
Christmas, Hanukkah, Diwali, Kwanzaa, even noble Festivus - this wintry season has always been filled with celebrations to stay off the cold dark with feasts and festivals. Whether opening presents, eating with family, or simply spending time with those we care about, 'tis the season for coming together and remembering what is so important in life.
Perhaps no tradition, then, is better at making one care about what they have than CATSapalooza.
In 2019, our faith in the collective goodness of humanity was shaken by the release of the film Cats (2019). With such star-studded cast members as Dame Judi Dench and Sir Ian McKellen, an Academy Award-winning director in Tom Hooper, and a strangely listless, meandering nightmare-premise in a bunch of cats singing to see who gets to die, there was no chance for this to fail.
Then it did.
Hard.
I was blessed to see this film in theaters, right before the global pandemic shut down the United States, presumably as a response to the movie. It haunted me then as to why it was the way it was. I distinctly remember my brother telling me to shut up as I asked, for the third time, “who is this for?” amongst a crowd of heckling moviegoers.
When it released on home video, I, quarantined in my own home, spent twenty fucking dollars to own this film on Amazon Prime. We all were a little bit crazy through those first couple weeks. We may have all watched that movie a couple times, who’s to know? Regardless, over the course of that accursed year, I watched that movie a dozen or so times, making sure that everyone I knew saw it at least once, as I illegally streamed it over Discord. A seed took root.
That December 20th, on the first anniversary of Cats, I watched Cats. I made other people watch Cats. For twelve hours that day, Cats was streamed six times in a row. It was the first of CATSapalooza and only three completed the journey from start to finish. Along with a failed summer spinoff and the few other screenings held by other equally deranged people, it is one of the last places where a movie such as this can truly be honored. It is the only way it can be honored: through suffering. I’ve detailed my relationship to CATSapalooza before, but never have I had the opportunity to catalogue and detail one CATSapalooza, from start to finish, to record the unrecordable, to put voice to an experience that renders its experience-ers voiceless.
With this brand new innovation in giving me a fancy title and letting me write about whatever I want, the suits at Birdbath HQ have granted me that chance. With those indulgences, I am now able to detail to you CATSapalooza IV: The Quest For Peace:
CATSAPALOOZA IV:
THE QUEST FOR PEACE
I
“Human madness is oftentimes a cunning and most feline thing. When you think it fled, it may have but become transfigured into some still subtler form.”
It fucking hit me immediately how much this movie sucks.
Usually, that takes a watch or two before it fully hits you how much you’re in for, but, no, this one hit immediately. I immediately did not want to be watching this movie. That’s not a good notion to have when you’re thirty seconds into a twelve-hour watch. As I actively thought about how much I would rather not be watching this movie, I remembered the sacred oath I took, when I started watching this movie for the first time, sworn only by the fact I did not leave the theater that first five minutes: “I am stronger than this movie.”
This was a sentiment shared among quite a few of those that were attempting to be a Jellicle that year. As soon as any of us saw those cat-things crawling on all fours, we were like sailors on a barnacled whaling ship, hitting the first wave of an autumn storm. This was a beast few of us had managed to endure - I alone was the only multi-time jellicle among the crew, as two of my company had only earned the honor once, and another had never won it at all. The thing that was really bringing me down was the fact that, for Letterboxd statistics, this only counted as watching one movie for the year. Worst of all, I had already watched CATS this year, so it didn’t count whatsoever.
We would need something to deliver us from these waves.
II
“… we came in?”
That deliverance came in the form of Pink Floyd’s The Wall (1979). The originally derisive reception of the album eventually turned into critical darlinghood and a reputation as one of the greatest rock albums of all time. It doesn’t really matter what it is. In the end, all that matters is that this album playing alongside the film brought new interpretations and new ways to understand the mastery behind the film. The fascist ideology inherent to the rule of the Jellicles by Old Deuteronomy come to the forefront with Pink Floyd’s use of fascist symbology to represent honestly I don’t fucking know dude, I don’t really listen to that much music.
What really matters is that it was something else happening so we didn’t have to watch Cats raw again. Usually, we wait until the third or fourth showing to start doing gimmicks to keep people alive, but this year was particularly rough. If it wasn’t for the suggestion of an able hand, who didn’t have a Jellicle role of his own, we may have been lost.
We didn’t find too much relationship between the lyrics of the songs and whatever hell was currently happening on screen at the moment, but I do remember us actively furious when James Corden appeared on screen. This happened last showing, too, but I feel like the hatred really metastasized this time around. We would begin actively rooting for his death every time he appeared on screen. This was not fulfilled this time.
The second watch of CATSapalooza IV was a rough one, but it showed to us that we could get through it, with a little ingenuity and a lot of bravery. We are stronger than we think and we can make it through. If there’s anything the second screening showed us, it’s that the path ahead had to be easier.
III
“Isn’t this where…?”
Never mind, we were wrong. It got worse. It just repeats and repeats, trapping us in the downward spiral until it drives us mad or kills us. This time we used a nifty little tool Amazon Prime had that boosts the dialogue and lowers the volume of anything else. It completely ruined the film and was the only thing that kept me sane.
It botched music, made lyrics into terrible one-liners, and was a generally disconcerting experience. This was noticeable immediately. Every song being a capella was a complete disaster, but really made it feel like we were killing the movie just as much as it was killing us. The only song that made it relatively unscathed was Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat, which was some relief, as his song is one of the few bright lights in the cold, uncaring universe that is Cats, though the new context really put into perspective how terrible that song even is. For example, the way the “cats” shrink when they’re teleported onto railway tracks, or the way the background tapping does not match the actual motion of the scene whatsoever. Thankfully, any incongruity was quickly resolved by Skimble quickly twirling off into the sky and vanishing into dust.
Also, at the very end, Macavity does the highest-pitch, most poorly-recorded “meow” in history before vanishing from the movie, which none of us had ever noticed before this time. We rewound it four times. It was hilarious. Onto the next one.
IV
“But the subjects of the kingdom will be thrown outside, into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”
I don’t remember the fourth one. I don’t think it went well.
V
“Why do I watch this fucking movie every year?”
If there is any time that could be agreed to be the worst screening of the entirety of CATSapalooza, this fifth screening may every well be the one. We were all tired and, after whatever occurred in the fourth showing, I don’t think anyone wanted to be there. We were down to two potential Jellicles, in addition to myself, and, even then, we were barely making it through.
There’s a part of myself there that regretted ever doing this. This CATSapalooza had shaken my resolve. Even I had doubts, so close to the end, as to whether I should have ever endeavored forward on this. This was my twenty-third showing of Cats since I had started numbering them. I had spent more than two days of my life showing this film to people. Was it worth it? Was anything?
I don’t think I can answer that in the affirmative. I don’t think anyone can, but I know this: We stood tall. We would look Dame Judi Dench one last time in the eyes as she monologued for twenty minutes. We would get through this fucking movie, one more time, and become a Jellicle cat.
Become, in fact, a dear little cat.
We all agreed James Corden died this time. His head was crushed and he was killed. Unfortunately, the movie continued on, and so must we.
VI
“A cat is not a dog”
There are parades at the end of wars, but are they to honor victory or to cover up the shame? Do we celebrate the winning wars because it means there will be no more deaths or because it allows us to pretend that our dead had not already died in vain? These are questions for philosophers, not I, not a Jellicle. We had won and we felt like we won, no matter how ridiculous that seems.
Three of us emerged as Jellicle, but we remember those that did not make it. At least we can be content with the fact that we have scrounged some meaningless victory out of a lifetime of toil and suffering. We are Sisyphus. Or maybe Skimbleshanks. Or maybe somewhere in between. In the end, it repeats, it repeats, and it repeats.
Anyway, we had the Jellicle cats fight in a wrestling game and Jennyanydots was the Jellicle Choice. It was awesome.
