‘Cats’ gets Vegas spin

Scarf down your cholesterol meds and brace for it: Direct from the dairy section of that Great Big Entertainment Supermarket comes a massive vat of Vegas Velveeta.

Bite off a hearty chunk and enjoy. They certainly will.

"The Vegas angle makes it a lot more fun," says 18-year-old Philip Cerza, aka Munkustrap, the whiskered ringmaster of the tailored-to-our-town "Cats Las Vegas," running Thursday through Feb. 23 at Las Vegas Academy of International Studies, Performing & Visual Arts. "It gives me the opportunity as this host to kick up the cheese. I tried to think of it as kind of a lounge singer, but not greasy or unlikable. Most of it comes in that cheesy but charming Vegas smile."

Picture it: "Cats," the "now and forever" musical about the Jellicle gang that long ago transcended its perception among naysayers as a can of theatrical Cheez Whiz to become a cornerstone of Broadway legend, reimagined as a Vegas-centric feline fantasia. That's enough affectionate, good-natured cheesiness to clog every artery in the audience of the academy's Performing Arts Center.

These frisky furballs assume traits of Sin City stalwarts past and present to celebrate Vegas old and new. Though they aren't specifically identified -- still carrying their crazy-cat T.S. Eliot nicknames (Skimbleshanks, Rum Tum Tugger, et al.) and tethered to Andrew Lloyd Webber's song titles -- the quirky critters prowl with the personalities of Oscar Goodman, Siegfried & Roy, Danny Gans, Virginia Hill, the Rat Pack, Liberace, the Blue Men, the Chippendales, Cirque du Soleil, sultry showgirls and others.

"A couple of years ago, we talked about doing 'Cats' and none of us were enthused about it -- it's 'Cats' and it's in tights," says director/drama teacher Glenn Edwards, acknowledging why some theatergoers think "Cats" coughs up a musical hairball.

"I saw it on Broadway and loved it, but a lot of people see it as trite, and many productions take this very reverent tone, but we're having fun with it. They're in Vegas-style clothing, and every cat has a Vegas character to keep in their head, but not in any way that's obvious to the audience," he says, recalling the inspiration that unlocked their innovative approach.

"I was driving down Las Vegas Boulevard and I saw the neon sign graveyard," Edwards says. "The script for 'Cats' now encourages schools and community theaters to be creative, to not do it how it was done on Broadway. And where would Las Vegas cats gather? At the neon sign graveyard. Then we got enthused about the concept."

Expensively enthused -- "Cats Las Vegas" is a costly kitty. Budgeted at $100,000, a quarter of that was gobbled up getting rights to the show, the rest poured into costumes, lighting, freelance craftspeople and especially a set reproduction of the final frontier for our flashy relics.

On a cluttered landscape of faux-grime and glitz, discarded neon icons jostle for prominence: A towering martini glass seems ready for sipping -- or in the cats' case, lapping -- alongside a pair of overblown red-and-white dice. A Caesars Palace-style emblem elbows for attention against an imposing "Jumbo Jackpot World" behemoth and an old Stardust marquee. And in this production, their long-dead lights recharge and blaze back to life.

"We took about 300 photographs there, and I picked the best elements for creating levels and shapes and sizes," says guest set designer Tom Bumblauskas. "There was this giant duck we wanted to use, we thought it would be fun -- what's a cat's fantasy? A bird. We couldn't make it work. But we've got the Lady Luck sign, and the 'Sin' sign for 'Casino' with a 'C' tucked next to it on the ground. We were looking for spaces where the cats could hang out onstage. And we've got the girl on the swing for our big finale."

At the initial cast run-through on set as they shift from rehearsal rooms, choreographer Tammy Pessagno coaxes her catty crew to explore all the zigzagging surfaces like curious kittens let loose in a feline's amusement park.

"We've got so many toys we can play with now," she tells them while kicking into the opening number, "Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats." The students strike poses with trademark aloofness and balletic grace, leaping, twirling and bouncing as if unafraid to kill off a few of their nine lives. Pantomiming to the recorded soundtrack as the orchestra -- which will perform onstage behind a scrim -- practices in the band room, cats converge onstage from the wings and slink seductively on all fours down the auditorium aisles.

As Philip breaks into a mellow bop and boogie atop an abandoned sign, a troupe of deft dancers taps out an energetic number, fronted by 16-year-old Tia Konsur as sleek pussycat Jennyanydots.

"She was originally this fat, lazy cat who helps out the cockroaches and the mice, but in ours she's more of a seductress," Konsur says. "That's new for me. I usually play very young, naive characters, but this is fun. And they matched us up with all these different Vegas people to think of as we do the roles, and I'm supposed to be Debbie Reynolds." (We suspect she will not be splitting from an Eddie Fisher tomcat after he cozies up to a Lizzie kitty.)

"We don't go overboard with it, but we get to poke fun with it and enjoy it at the same time. It's a blast."

Warming to his emcee gig, Philip sniffed out a trio of cool-cat influences.

"I tried to think of the Danny Gans type and the classic Wayne Newton," he says. "And there are some jazzy songs where I can emulate Frank a little bit."

Edwards points out that while retaining the outline of the original characters, Vegas liberties are liberally applied.

"When the Bustopher Jones cat comes out with two showgirls on his arm and a martini glass in his hand, it's pretty obvious this is our mayor," he says. "Grizabella (the 'glamour cat') here is an old showgirl who's seen better days. When she sings 'Memory,' showgirls appear as if it's her past, which she's remembering. It works better for me than it ever worked on Broadway."

From a stage milestone that some critics use as a scratching post and elitists deride as a musical-theater litter box, the academy kids are attempting to craft a glitzy chew toy of a show with that unmistakable Vegas vibe.

Meow, baby.

Contact reporter Steve Bornfeld at sbornfeld@reviewjournal.com or (702) 383-0256.