Wednesday, October 26, 2005
I love cats. I have two of them, in fact. They're my boon companions. But my cats cannot do tricks. Most cats cannot do tricks. Most cats are not a part of the Moscow Cats Theatre. The Moscow Cats Theatre is best described thus: a smallish group of clowns enticing a larger group of cats (and one dog) to do tricks of varying difficulty and impressiveness. It's more of a Cat Circus. I imagine they call it theater (okay, "Theatre") so that they can charge $50 for it.
I would like to say a thing or two about the Moscow Cats Theatre. First, if you are into psychotropic drugs, it might be advisable to take some before attending this particular theater. Though, I must counsel caution: the experience itself was tantamount to a tab or two of acid, so if you walk into the joint packed full of rum and mescaline, you are headed for a five-alarm, Hunter Thompson-style freakout. The kind that ends with evil fear, large bills, and a confrontation with law enforcement.
But I digress. On to my second thought regarding the Cats Theatre. While I admit I laughed my ass off several times, and that it was far better than much of the real theater I've attended, I can't say that it was really worth $50. Yes, the cats did some pretty nifty things, but the magical clown storyteller/painter in search of love beset by nightmare elephant-clown cat stealers and aided by a fairy catmother storyline felt a bit artificial.
And the "tricks" would be better termed "impressive demonstrations of normal cat behavior." Cats climb things. We saw them climb very high things. They jump. We saw em do that as well. They squeeze themselves into improbable places. Uh huh. They get trussed up in dresses by pathetic clowns. No doubt about it. They hang on with those devlish claws for dear life when something they are on is moved. Yep. That's cat behavior all right. They do handstands. They walk along parallell bars with two feet, as the other two dangle below. Okay, the last two I'll admit into the record as "tricks." But really, wouldn't some quaint square in an aging European capital dotted with unwashed hippies and tourists be a more appropriate venue for this busking act?
And here's the coup de grace: the kids just would not shut up. All the little urchins did was holler and bellow and howl like it was Christmas day. It's like they'd never been to the theater before. theatre that is. Theatre.