REVIEW: Cats Don't Dance

The 90's was an interesting time for feature-length animation. With the Disney Renaissance beginning with The Little Mermaid in '89, the House of Mouse essentially dominated the era with films like Aladdin and Beauty and the Beast. Due to Disney's widespread popularity, this put other studios in an interesting position; animated musical comedies clearly printed money, yet simply copying the Disney Princess formula rarely resulted in a hit (films like Thumbelina and Quest for Camelot are a testament to this). In order to survive, films that didn't come out of the Disney Animation Studios usually had to provide something different than the standard fairy tale adaptation. This led to a number of notable films that I'll likely take a look at down the line such as The Iron Giant, The Road to El Dorado, and Batman: Mask of the Phantasm. These less-celebrated films have always fascinated me; thanks to Disney's massive marketing machine, the stories and characters of the Disney Renaissance never truly went away. You're much more likely to meet a young child in this day and age who knows who Ariel and Simba are than one who's seen The Swan Princess. Today's Review focuses on one of the more forgotten non-Disney films of that era, Cats Don't Dance.

Determined to make it in the movies, an upbeat and optimistic cat by the name of Danny (Scott Bakula) leaves his home town of Kokomo, Indiana for 1930's Hollywood. Like every story about a wide-eyed dreamer who moves to a big city to make it happen, Danny soon realizes that the motion picture industry isn't nearly as ripe with opportunity for animal actors as he'd hoped. Despite Danny's natural musical talent, he's relegated to simply playing the part of a background animal in the latest vehicle for the diminutive Darla Dimple (Ashley Peldon/Lindsay Ridgeway), a not-so-subtle parody of Shirley Temple with an even less subtle temper. Befriending a beleaguered secretary by the name of Sawyer (Jasmine Guy/Natalie Cole), Danny and his fellow animals try to break free from the mold and prove to the studio that you don't need to be human to make it in the movies.

The first point I have to award in the film's favor is its aesthetic; I will forever be a huge sucker for old Hollywood, and this is a movie that revels in that era. It's no secret that Gene Kelly had a hand in the dance choreography here (coincidentally, this is his last project and is dedicated to his memory), as every Randy Newman-penned musical number is just chock-full of that jazzy, Singin' in the Rain-esque energy. From various Hollywood landmarks to a bundle of cameos from caricatures of the era's biggest stars, this is a film that perfectly captures that optimistic feel of 1930's Hollywood, yet is able to present it through a more contemporary lens. It doesn't hurt either that the story (about a band of talented performers who, despite their skills, are considered second-class citizens, relegated to playing second-banana to an adorable child star) works as an allegory for the issues of racial representation in the motion picture industry around that time. All in all, it's an excellent premise that is unfortunately held back from greatness by that which should reside at the heart of its story; the film's protagonist.

While Scott Bakula has a great voice for the part and the animation on Danny is top-knotch, it doesn't change the fact that, as a character, he's one of the blandest protagonists I've ever seen in a movie like this. There's a point at which your starry-eyed dreamer ends up being just a bit too starry-eyed, and Danny is clearly far past that point. Even when his dreams are crushed, he's back to his usual perpetually smiling self after just one song. He's a static character with absolutely no edge to him; by the end of the movie, he's no different personality-wise than he was at the beginning. You'd expect some lesson to be learned but no; despite things looking grim in Danny's darkest hour, the day is saved simply by trying again. I suppose this is a positive lesson, sure, but it's hardly a dynamic or interesting one.

Sawyer, on the other hand, is a far more interesting character who truly deserves to be the focus of this film. The basis behind her character is that she was once like Danny, hoping to make it big singing and dancing in the pictures. As we find her, her dreams have long since been crushed and she's resigned herself to living the menial life of a secretary for an animal talent agency. There's a deep rooted pessimism to her character that resonates in a much stronger way than Danny's blind, childish optimism. When a protagonist is already humbled, it makes it that much easier for us as an audience to root for and identify with them. Her story of learning to believe in her dreams again is a much more interesting, satisfying one than Danny's story of simply trying really hard until he accomplishes his goals. It even feels as though the movie subconsciously knows that Sawyer is the real protagonist here; not only is she given the best songs, but she's the focal point of the big showstopper that makes up the film's climax. This movie's biggest sin is that we spend more time with Danny than with Sawyer, and that aspect is what keeps it from achieving true greatness.

As I mentioned before, I absolutely love the setting and premise of this movie, but special consideration must also be given to the animation and character design at work here. The film didn't exactly have a Disney-sized budget to work with (and even then, it barely made back 10% of what it cost to produce), but everything still manages to look gorgeous and fluid in motion. The characters all have the feeling of classic Warner Bros cartoons on a more modern theatrical scale; Darla Dimple and her hulking valet, Max (director Mark Dindal, as a perfect parody of Erich von Stroheim's character from Sunset Boulevard) make for wonderful villains, both in terms of visuals and characterization. From Darla's sickeningly pink mansion to the way the frame is often forced to work around Max's titanic scale, this movie is just a joy to look at. The end musical number in particular is a surprisingly strong sequence on its own, managing to get me totally invested and tapping my toes to boot.

Aside from Danny, pretty much nothing about this movie is bland or boring. It's a colorful send up of classic Hollywood tropes with enough catchy songs, lively animation, and clever in-jokes and references to entertain anyone from little kids to aging cinephiles. It's not a perfect movie by any means; frankly, it's understandable why, in 1997, Cats Don't Dance bombed spectacularly while Disney's Hercules made a modest profit and continues to be popular to this day. That said, I don't regret my time spent watching it in the slightest. If you're feeling nostalgic for that time when high-quality, traditionally-animated feature films were a yearly institution, Cats Don't Dance is definitely a flawed but overall enjoyable relic from that magical era.