I experienced all five stages of grief watching the latest Cats trailer. First came the denial and isolation, which set in right as Dame Judi Dench-cat intoned “Tonight is a magical night, where I choose the cat that deserves a new life.” No, it’s not even 7.30am on a Wednesday morning, and I am alone, under harsh fluorescents, writing about a CGI war crime. But go off.
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Then the anger. That set in halfway between seeing Idris Elba-cat and Rebel Wilson-cat. It is a simple emotion which does not bear further explanation, nor justification. It just is.
“But what if Cats could be good, in an self-hating ironic way?” I thought to myself, watching three cats suffer myxomatosis around the 30-second mark. Could I drag a handful of friends to the local cineplex, hand some dinero to the kind kiosk attendant, and perchance have a mirthful evening? Hmmm?
That bargaining gave way to depression, coincidentally at the precise moment James Corden-cat emerged. Then I accepted it: Cats is certainly going to be a movie for someone, but it’s probably not the movie for me. And that’s fine. Everything is fine! Normal morning, normal movie.
Anyway, here it is. Cats hits Australian cinema screens on Boxing Day.
