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Say what you will about Andrew Lloyd Webber — the composer of Broadway smashes involving magical mystery hippie Jesuses or half-masked pervs who lurk underneath stages — but the man can really name a cat. “McCavity” and “Griddlebone” blow out of the water old favorites such as “Muffy” and “I Can’t Believe You Peed on the Toaster Again.” Perhaps Webber’s talent for naming felines is the key to the eminent appeal of the musical Cats. He has a unique vision of the housecat. Good thing, or we’d be watching men dressed in skintight jumpsuits licking their butts for two hours before falling into a stupor. While we know many hipsters would eat up such a performance, it is not exactly family-friendly.
Webber’s Cats instead sucks in wondrous children and cynical adults alike with elaborate costumes and songs that never stop bouncing merrily about the brain. After the last ovation, you might check your watch and wonder why you just spent hours watching actors slink around the stage in furry costumes, and why you’d do it again.
Dec. 31-Jan. 4, 2008
