'Jellicle Ball' will convert even the biggest ‘Cats’ haters – Review

Patrick Ryan, USA TODAYWed, April 8, 2026 at 1:00 AM UTC

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NEW YORK – The cat’s finally out of the bag.

Nearly two years after “Cats: The Jellicle Ball” cast its miraculous spell off-Broadway, the bold and buzzy reimagining of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s divisive phenomenon has pounced uptown to the Broadhurst Theatre with feather boas and kitten heels sublimely in tow. And even on a slightly shorter runway, this remains a galvanic, gag-worthy production that dares to think outside the litter box.

Based on a series of 1939 poems by T.S. Eliot, “Cats” has always been somewhat of a head-scratcher, unspooling a loose yarn about a group of junkyard tabbies competing for a spot in the Heaviside Layer (essentially feline heaven).

The show is gloriously nonsensical: a vague excuse to watch a revolving door of spotlight-hungry pussycats prancing their paws to Webber’s waggish earworms. For that very reason, the musical has long had a clowder of detractors, who gleefully kept their claws out for the 2019 big-screen abomination featuring Taylor Swift.

Robert "Silk" Mason is a captivating scene-stealer as the Magical Mister Mistoffelees.

Tremendously reconceived by Zhailon Levingston and Bill Rauch, “Jellicle Ball” transports the action to New York’s vibrant queer ballroom scene, immortalized in the 1990 documentary “Paris is Burning” and Emmy-winning FX series “Pose.”

Here, a lively litter of contestants spin, strut and duckwalk for the chance to clinch golden trophies, as well as a place in the annals of ballroom history. With this sparkling new framing device, the ethos of “Cats” instantly clicks into place: becoming an enormously affecting story about an ostracized community that finds belonging and redemption through their art.

“Tempress” Chasity Moore, a trans woman and ballroom icon, uncovers staggering new shades of fallen star Grizabella, who’s desperate for compassion in a world that affords her none. She imbues the show’s signature anthem, “Memory,” with palpable yearning and hard-fought resilience that handily summons the waterworks.

Junior LaBeija, a member of the famed House of LaBeija, gives grace and gravitas to the wistful Gus the Theatre Cat, who looks back on the changing times with both gruff disdain and fondness. And the ever-regal yet playful André De Shields helps bridge the gap between generations as Old Deuteronomy, making the crowd erupt with every deliriously deployed swivel of his hips during an infectious, drawn-out dance break mid-show.

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The cast of "Cats: The Jellicle Ball."

The production is lovingly reverent to its history: It begins with a DJ (Ken Ard) sifting through Beyoncé and Diana Ross records, before blowing the glitter off an old “Cats” vinyl. “The Moments of Happiness,” too, becomes a heart-rending tribute to queer rebellion, as Old Deut extols the importance of passed-down history to a kind-hearted kitten (Teddy Wilson Jr.), all while images of real-world ballroom trailblazers are projected in the background.

But what is impossible to fully articulate is the amount of sheer euphoria that bursts off the stage. At the cavernous Perelman Performing Arts Center off-Broadway, “Jellicle Ball” was done in the round on a narrow runway that stretched across the venue. The performers are somewhat limited in how much they can stunt down the runway in the more intimate Broadhurst, but the narrative has also come into sharper focus in a smaller setting.

Skimbleshanks (Emma Sofia) is a Bronx subway conductor in the reimagined production.

The cozier digs allow you to sit in the beautiful chaos of the ballroom: dancers touching up their lipstick and hot-glueing garments before the show, or hugging and laughing between challenges. The whimsical tomfoolery of the gazelle-like Magical Mister Mistoffelees (the impossibly striking Robert “Silk” Mason) is more clearly rendered, as are the mischievous antics of the shoplifting Macavity (Leiomy, bringing fierce hilarity and unexpected pathos to the show’s ostensible, outrageous “villain”).

Choreographers Omari Wiles and Arturo Lyons have breathed dazzling new life into each and every number: “Bustopher Jones,” typically a groaner, is now a giddy celebration of bodies big and small, while “Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer” is revamped as a vivacious voguing challenge between dueling pairs. (Dava Huesca, one of the felonious felines, is a jaw-dropping knockout who commands your attention whenever she takes the runway.)

Every character – from MTA conductor Skimbleshanks (Emma Sofia) to vocal powerhouse Demeter (Bebe Nicole Johnson) – is etched with so much scintillating personality that it seems like a Macavity-level crime to single out any one person. The entire cast is dressed to the gods by costume designer Qween Jean, and with an assist from beats arranger Trevor Holder, Webber’s score has been given a dizzying, club-ready facelift that’s firmly planted in disco and house music.

“Cats: The Jellicle Ball” is overflowing with so much unbridled joy that you may sometimes catch yourself shedding tears, for no other reason than you simply don’t want it to end. It’s a transcendent, glitter-drenched revival that breaks all the rules of what Broadway can be – and in turn, creates something that is utterly extraordinary.

“Cats: The Jellicle Ball” is now playing at the Broadhurst Theatre (235 W. 44th Street).

This article originally appeared on USA TODAY: 'Cats: The Jellicle Ball’ is the show we need right now – Review

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