Ok, I’ll drop the Eliotian/Victorian pretense. But in all seriousness, this is going to be a long ramble on the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical Cats, because I saw the recording of the 1998 Broadway performance again for the first time in probably 14 years and it made me Feel Feelings (tm). Plus a comrade of mine expressed similar enthusiasm and it inspired me.
I -- First Viewing
When I was 10 or 11 years old, for a brief period after seeing Cats for the first time at a local dinner theater production, I was enamored in ways I couldn’t put into words. I was not, and have not really ever been a theater queer. I did a few plays up through high school, and stopped doing theater in college when I lost interest and found out it would take time away from gospel choir. But there was something about the way these characters moved, the charisma they carried themselves with that stuck with me. Unlike some of my queer friends, I don’t have the sense that “I always knew” I liked boys as well as other genders. As a tween, I felt very aloof from romantic interest except for one long-lasting crush on a girl in 5th grade that lasted through middle school. But as I continue to look back, I do think I felt a certain stirring in my gut for certain charismatic male figures, almost like an imprinting. Early affection and crushes manifested in a desire to be like the attractive heroes I admired.
I wanted to be Mr Mistofelees, the Original Conjuring Cat. I also wanted to be Munkustrap, the unassuming but brave and suave narrator, unofficial leader of the Jellicle Tribe. Honorable mention goes to the Rum Tum Tugger, whose rock star persona definitely exudes bi energy, but he felt less approachable to me. In any case, though I didn’t realize it at the time, something was very queer about these cats.
II -- On the Naming of Cats -- Munkustrap
Why I felt drawn to this character is hard to sum up. He doesn’t have his own song, his name is only listed in the program. But he does have considerable stage time. Serving as the narrator and Master of Ceremonies for the Jellicle Ball, right-hand man to Old Deuteronomy, and the only cat willing to go toe to toe with Macavity, he had a certain gravitas that I found compelling. He is humble, as I strive to be. Caring and protective of his family, but not overly aggressive. Confident, but not overbearing. He seemed that he would be the perfect gentle lover, someone who could take you to new and unexpected places but would also make sure that you were safe and loved.
On a deeper level, perhaps my identifying with this character was a kind of rehearsal for the years to come. Munkustrap served as both the boy I wanted to meet and the boy I wanted to be. When I came out and became invested in queer community and queer Christian community especially, I found myself slowly falling into the role of psychopomp and threshold guardian for some of my gayby Christian friends who were either newly coming out or newly trying to reconcile their faith and sexuality. I would direct them to apologetics resources, but I think my greater strength was in being a kind of MC who would invite them into a new queer reality, a celebration of the richness of life and a vision of the vastness of both theology and queer vibrancy. In a sense, I invited them to a Jellicle ball.* I would invite them to dance beneath the moon of our shared experience, and show to them that far from being incomplete or broken, they had their own power and beauty, were possessed of “Terpsichorean powers” which would serve as a mysterious gift to the wider world.
The first boy I dated was a Munkustrap. Gentle, but fun-loving. Willing to meet me where I was, but also encouraging me to new heights of intimacy, feeling and adventure. Though we eventually parted ways, we remained good friends, and I will be forever grateful to him for leading me from an abstract appreciation of my queerness to a deeply embodied possession of it that I can now live out for the glory of God and the good of humanity, like a cat has a deep embodied possession of its third and secret name.
III -- On the Naming of Cats -- Mr. Mistoffelees
“Oh, well I never! Was there ever a cat so clever as magical Mr. Mistoffelees?”
Coming in at the eleventh hour to save the day, Mr. Mistoffelees employs his magical powers to rescue Old Deuteronomy when all other help fails. In the production I saw, he literally flies down onto the stage (on a wire) and proceeds to produce phantasmagorical phenomena and easily conjures up the kidnapped patriarch of the Jellicle Tribe from the place he’s been sequestered. He is flashy, elegant, flamboyant, coy, “aloof” but always fun-loving. Perhaps more importantly, in all the performances I’ve seen, he seems elegantly attuned to some deeper sixth sense. Beneath the playful surface is a deep power that manifests in impressive ways. The show relays his power through the metaphor of stage magic, but to me he also seemed to have a touch of something mystical, spiritual. I felt both awe and affection for that sensitive attunement, and how it was packaged in such a playful personality.
In my own life as queer clergy, I have sought to develop that kind of attunement. Though spirituality is a bit slower and more messy than conjuring, I have received compliments from colleagues queer and straight that I often speak the exact right prayer for the needs of a given moment. I write poems and try to breathe new life into the life-giving stories of my spiritual tradition, my life and the lives of my queer tribes. I’m always eager to come up with an impromptu liturgical service when circumstance dictates, and I draw on vocabulary from the saints and mystics as well as my own love of language and poetry. Playfulness is, to me, a spiritual virtue, and I love to offer inspiring surprises from the depths of the wisdom I have inherited from those who have gone before. When friends (especially queer Christian friends) are stuck in demoralizing binaries and limited horizons of purity culture, toxic theology, or other spiritual burdens, I will often pull a shimmering anecdote from the lives of the saints, or an ancient word of curiosity that opens up a new way of seeing the world. In a way, I’m pulling kittens out of hats.
Ironically but also fittingly, when I kept my queerness under wraps, my poetry was vivid but strained. Overwrought, often melancholy but rarely insightful. And I would pray when someone asked me to, but it generally consisted of generic requests that didn’t really mean much to me. I had to become fabulous and be willing to be in touch with the queer wonder of both my loves and my experiences before I began to really tap into that spiritual current that I am still learning how to channel for the life of the world. I’m still a beginner, and in my day to day life I’m fairly quiet and introspective. Aloof, perhaps. But I feel that my openness to queer joy, queer eros and queer vibrancy have begun to throw open a way to my own wholeness and the invigorating and revival of many of my communities. I don’t do this alone, and I am still learning from my many queer elders and forerunners. As I study and practice and bring forth vision, I continue to learn “from Mr. Mistofelees’ conjuring turn.”
At Pride a year or two ago, I met a Mr. Mistofelees of sorts. A pagan boy, playful and flashy, with a golden voice. He ended up being a bit too flighty for me, but he helped me find a bit more of my flamboyant side by getting me to do karaoke, and introducing me to the queer night life in a new city. In our own separate ways, we both helped each other I think be deeper attuned to that electric queer energy that flows into creativity, presence, wonder and resilience like lightning flows from Mistofelees’ fingertips. We pranced about our respective stages and conjured beauty for one another.
IV -- Memory (Some Thoughts on the Queerness of the Musical, and Some Final Reflections)
To me, it has an energy to it that resonates very deeply with queer experience. It delights in elevated pageantry, but it takes its own internal logic and way of being seriously. There is something about the mystery and spectacle of it that feels like a queer way of being. Despite the charge leveled against us by demagogues and queerphobes that we’re simply decadent, queer experience to me has always been about experiencing a heightened sense of reality, be that in adventure, sensuality, joy, beauty, celebration or pleasure. As the meme goes, before you say we’re too much, ask yourself, are you even enough?
Furthermore, the show is sensual and embodied in a way that many more conventional Broadway musicals aren’t. It delights in being just a little bit bawdy, while at the same time showcasing an excellence in the choreography and visuals that requires a good deal of skill and physical effort. In coming out and coming to know queer community, I began to listen better to my body and to be more comfortable in my own skin. To delight in the magic of touch and sensory beauty.
Finally, the sensuousness that undergirds the show also displays a very free flowing romantic and affectional subtext between different characters. Two cats may flirt or make eyes at each other, but there’s no expectation that they might not also catch the eye of a completely different cat in the next scene. They perform with a subtle erotic undertone that suggests both tenderness and hedonism, but all in the context of a tight-knit community that cares for its own. The fanfiction community for Cats presents a rainbow of different romantic pairings for various characters, and the lack of consensus as to which ones are “canon” speaks to the show’s affectational fluidity and dynamism.
In the end, the Jellicle cats all present a world within the everyday that is deeply queer and fluid, a “thin space” where personalities are larger than life and anything is possible. In this gay and mystifying romp, I was moved to a consideration in the years since I saw it of my own “secret names” as a future queer seminarian and priest (though I didn’t know it then). While it may seem bewildering to some, I continue to cherish it as a tribute to the great mysteries of queer existence, love and community. And that’s how you address us cats.
*Props to my comrade for extending on and fleshing out this metaphor in his blog post.
