Boffo!

How long has it been since Fiorella's given an all-positive review of a production at Georgetown's Palace Theater?  But it turned out there was a reason she had problems getting tickets four weeks beforehand and had to settle for ones much closer to the stage than she and Husband prefer.

Yes, the miracle has happened.  The show was Cats, and it was uniformly fabulous.  Of course, it started with one leg up because of Andrew Lloyd-Webber's music, exciting from the first screaming seventh.  And the cast didn't hurt--fabulous voices, fabulous dancers, fabulous directing, unbelievable pacing.

Cats is an ensemble show, a series of numbers dramatizing poems from T S Eliot's Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats loosely tied together by a weak plot, but what made it work was the direction and choreography. Fio had seen Cats before, on the big Bass stage, but it was even better when the approximately thirty actors were all crowded together onto the Palace's much smaller stage   

What a catharsis. Fiorella laughed and cried, then applauded and applauded and applauded.