Tag: Oh well I never was there a cat so clever

“Mew mew mew” Means “Must-See”

Coma Community Players Score A Smash Hit With “Cats”

By Matthew Lampwick

Everybody loves cats. They are fun, furry, highly intelligent and very clean animals. They are one of the top two most common house pets, and they are beloved all around the world. In fact, they were once worshipped as gods in ancient Egypt for their proud stance and soulful little eyes. Even those people who take it upon themselves to drown kittens must recognize that cats have a very special spirit. Now the Coma Community Players have brought us a new play that captures the magic and majesty of cats, titled, appropriately Cats.

Cats celebrates the humor and deep emotional connections that exist between cats and their owners. That is what I assume from the poster. I was not able to attend the opening night performance for which I had free tickets. My neighbor’s cockatiel Hercules had diarrhea, so I was unable to make it out on opening night. I tried to get Hercules admitted to the hospital, but the hospital staff told me that Hercules was fine and that bird poop is naturally runny. Puh-leese. I know diarrhea when I see it.

It came as quite a disappointment to me to miss the show as both a cat lover and theatre buff. Director Shane Wilhelm Darvish, a regular at the old-fashioned ice cream shoppe where I work, is an exciting new voice on the stage, a visionary young artist. The script is by Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, with whom I am not familiar. I think he works at the tire store.

I was first struck by the stunning visual design of the poster hanging outside the lobby of the theatre. I meant to take a picture of it with my phone so I could post it here, but I forgot. The poster seemed to depict two magical creatures, half human, half cat. The two figures seemed to be modeling a pose or perhaps breaking into dance. There were lots of very interesting colors. I wish you could see it. I did my best to recreate it here on this sheet of loose-leaf paper.

Scan 2

The cast includes a few familiar faces. Cecily Applebaum stars as Skimbleshanks according to the program. If her acting is as good as her quilt-making, then her performance must be truly stunning. The quilt she made for my mother’s funeral was so nice I just couldn’t bury her with it. So now it stays in my downstairs closet, and I take it out and put it on the sofa when I have company. It’s gorgeous. Tommy Lincomb makes his stage debut as Rum Tum Tugger. Now, a lot of people been talking about Tommy lately at the ice cream shoppe, saying he’s too old to be a paperboy. But if it’s okay with old Mr. Turtle who prints the newspapers, then it’s none of our business how Tommy earns a living. He’s a good kid, and, I don’t know about you, but my papers end up on my porch most mornings, and that should be all that matters.


Cats is already generating buzz around town. Drama teacher Craig Robusto claimed Cats is “as good or better” than a high school production. Director Shane Darvis is reeling from the early success of the production.

“A lot of people said if was insane to mount a production of Cats at a small community theatre,” said Darvish. “Especially because we couldn’t afford the rights to do any of the original songs. But in the end none of that mattered. Everybody came out to support us, and everybody loved it.”

If you have not yet been out to see the Coma Community Players’ Cats at the George K. Sieghard Memorial Theatre and Yoga Studio, reserve a seat now. I’m hoping to go tonight, and I will need a ride.

This Kitty Needs To Be Put To Sleep

Coma Community Players’ Latest Production is a Cat-tastrophe

by Michael Mason McMiller


Before you plunk down your hard-earned $15 on the Coma Community Player’s latest disaster, an anemic and misguided adaptation of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Cats, you might want to take a few precautions. First, claw your eyes out so to won’t have to see the tortured sets, sloppy costumes and ugly, ugly actor’s stupid faces. Don’t forget to stick long needles down into your ears far enough to perforate your eardrums so you won’t have to hear any of the stilted, insipid dialogue or off-key warbling that passes for singing in this production. You might also want to drink a big bottle of poison and drown your children so the miserable stink of this total abortion cannot haunt your dreams or those of your loved ones.

In case it isn’t clear, I did not like this play. I do not like the director. I have nothing but disdain for the cast. Every single member of the Coma Community Players should be dragged into the street and shot in the back of the head. Cecily Applebaum’s Skimbleshanks is as garish and ridiculous as those hideous quilts she sells online. Tommy Lincomb seems even more lost here as Rum Tum Tugger than he does feebly trying to deliver my morning paper. Let’s be frank. 27 is too old to be a paperboy. Can’t they make him a paperman or something? It’s unsettling.

At this point, I must disclose that between March of 2008 and December of 2013, I was the director-in-residence at the Coma Community Players Gang-Up Improv and Comedy Sportz Arena. If you saw a play, ballet, opera, skit, sketch, puppet show or a traditional Japanese kabuki dance-drama in the last six years, what you saw on stage was me, baring my soul.

 

The stage is my life. Or at least it was until last winter when I was struck by a drunk driver. I was in the hospital for six weeks with a shattered pelvis. They put sixteen pins into my hip and replaced part of my tailbone with a titanium rod. Four painful surgeries later, I still have not recovered full mobility. Doctors say I may never be able to do high kicks again.

The Coma Community Players decided to replace me as director against my wishes. In their infinite wisdom, they chose as my successor the drunken derelict whose wanton recklessness cost me my livelihood and the use of my pelvis.

This maniac, this Shane Darvish, has committed quite the rare feat, a unique achievement on the American stage. He has taken a classic work of whimsy and enchantment and turned it into a piece of stagecraft that is literally less interesting to watch for two and a half hours than a bowl of human shit. Yes, this play lacks the nuance of a shit bowl. If one had to, for whatever reason, sit in a room and stare at a bowl of shit for two and a half hours, one may find oneself marginally interested, if for a mere moment, at the shapes, contours or colors of the shit. One may, in fact, muse momentarily on how a shit of these precise dimensions may have come to rest in such a bowl. Questions may dance through one’s head, however ephemeral. Whose shit is this? What had they been eating? Are those bits of carrots I see? Darvish’s Cats fails to inspire even a fraction of this level of engagement from its audience.

If you happen to find yourself at the theatre, and you suspect that they may be about to begin a performance of Shane Darvish’ Cats at the George K. Sieghard Memorial Theatre and Yoga Studio, run, do not walk to the nearest exit. Leave behind any valuables you may have brought with you into the theatre. They will only slow you down. If you inadvertently witness even a moment of this performance, if you hear even a single note of the overture, if you happen to hear one of the actors backstage clearing their throat, you must immediately set fire to your own head and fling yourself from the highest structure you can gain access to. This should help ease the anguish of experiencing this show as an audience member.

 

Cats is playing Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays at 8 PM at the George K. Sieghard Memorial Theatre and Yoga Studio. 632 S Pine Blvd. Street parking available after 7 PM.