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"Cats" - Відгуки


Добірка відгуків критиків на "Кішок" заслуговує на окрему публікацію)

Cats is what you’d see if your third eye suddenly opened

Cats is a fever dream, a hallucination, an approximation of what would happen if your third eye actually opened and you could suddenly see into the astral plane. The cats all look like larger versions of the cat Jemaine Clement turns himself into in What We Do in the Shadows — he says he “always gets the faces wrong” when he transforms, which is why he comes out as a cat with a human face superimposed on it. In the case of Cats, CGI fur, ears, and tails are superimposed on human actors, but the effect is so uncanny that it seems as though things were done the other way around. The faces have wills of their own. [...]
The facts are these: Cats undermines itself in both editing and musical arrangement, barely has a plot to hang its hat on, and is CGI-ed into oblivion. Yet there’s something weirdly wonderful about just how committed Hooper is to his vision, which feels like it should have been audience-tested into something less phantasmagorical. (It’s a little like Welcome to Marwen in that sense — the movie isn’t great, but it’s certainly memorable, and the result of someone seeing a startling and unorthodox vision through until the bitter end.) Cats also serves as a fitting end to 2019, as a death knell to irony. There’s not a drip of it to be found amongst these felines, and it’s impossible to hang onto it in the face of such total Cats conviction, either.

Cats review: a sinister, all-time disaster from which no one emerges unscathed

Claws out, in ‘Cats’

It’s the musical, the movie, the disaster.

When I saw “Cats” at a preview screening the other night, something happened toward the end that I’ve never actually experienced at a movie before. It came as the legendary British actress Judi Dench, digitally pixelated into a giant orange tabby named Old Deuteronomy, spoke-sung the lyrics of the final number, “The Ad-dressing of Cats.” As Dame Judi carefully enunciated each verse, then paused, then started a new verse, the audience began to titter. Then laugh. Then roar. Because each pause seemed to signal — at long last — the film’s end, each new verse became a fresh source of hilarity. It was that rare occurrence: a packed theater going the full “Springtime for Hitler” and giving release to blessed, hard-earned mockery.
I truly believe our divided nation can be healed and brought together as one by “Cats” — the musical, the movie, the disaster. In other news, my eyes are burning. Oh God, my eyes. [...]
In fact, there are moments in “Cats” I would gladly pay to unsee, including the baby mice with faces of young girls and the tiny chorus line of cockroach Rockettes — again, with human faces — that Jennyanydots gleefully swallows with a crunch. Anyone who takes small children to this movie is setting them up for winged-monkey levels of night terrors.
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