No longer the mad, 24-hour carnival of vice-seeking oddballs it used to be, New York CityÕs Times Square has successfully been Disneyfied by the powers that be. Over the past decade, massive chain stores, aggressively family-friendly restaurant franchises and herds of slow moving tourists have replaced freak shows, porno establishments, cheap smoke shops and their respective clientele. But on West 44^th Street, just half a block east of the new Times Square, a curious yellow sign hangs from the weather beaten Lambs Theater awning. It reads: Moscow Cats Theatre. Unbeknownst to this Russian import, they are doing their small part to help restore Times Square to its bygone glory days.

 

The Moscow Cats Theatre is in its 7^th month of performing the surreal 20 cat, 1 dog, 5 human spectacle. From afar, it may appear to be just another show for the current edge-free Times Square, tickets are purchased through the behemoth Telecharge and prices are the equivalent of 25£ or 36£, average for off Broadway. But when theatergoers step into the rundown Lambs Theater, they will experience an altogether different kind of show, putting any type of performance art happening in the nether regions of Williamsburg to shame.

 

On a recent Saturday night, as the audience of suburban families, stereotypical theater types in fur coats and a sprinkling of hipsters settle into their seats, the house goes dark. Deafening Russian disco blares from speakers as a spotlight follows a nonchalant tabby cat lying atop a remotely operated model Hummer as it zigzags its way across the stage, causing riotous shrieks of laughter from the audienceÕs younger members. An elfin clown makes his grand entrance perched on a little cart being ÒpushedÓ from stage left by a cat on his hind legs, a discrete wire helping. This clown in a red top hat is Yuri Kuklachev, the mastermind behind The Moscow Cats Theatre. With a backdrop of primitive, homemade sets, 1 of 20 straight faced cats proceeds, among other tricks to: push a dog in a pram, pounce and cling onto KuklachevÕs chest, emerge from a samovar, or stand patiently on hind legs atop a disco ball while itÕs adorned with a cat-sized Russian gown and headpiece. Several ÒpawstandsÓ are performed and cats glide across the stage in intervals, calmly resting on mini trams hanging from cables. At one point a siamese shimmies its way forward on a set of cat-proportioned parallel bars using only his armpits as his hind legs dangle.

 

In between the cat acrobatics, Kuklachev and his 4-person troupe that includes his wife Elena, perform their own dreamy, non-verbal, human dramas, making the cat acts pedestrian by comparison. The music is composed of standard, synthesized drumbeats, and blasts ear damagingly loud. There is a WhoÕs The Father of the Illegitimate Baby scenario that ends with a dog springing out of the swaddling, a faux-dead cat bit, and a curious scene that involves 2 actors sporting metallic jumpsuits and creepy lime-green, crocheted, alien-elephant heads. After Mr. and Mrs. KuklachevÕs courting scene with biomorphic dancing to New Age music, KuklachevÕs wife rides her adult sized tricycle around the stage, looking like a wedding cake on wheels as her puffy fairy princess dress is somehow one unit with her tricycle that also has 4 cats on platforms grafted onto the back. The homespun show is jarringly captivating, bizarre, and the lack of technology is so noticeable that it could make the most cynical, luddite New Yorker realize how much theyÕve acclimated to todayÕs world of slick entertainment.

 

The house lights brighten after the show and the visibly jazzed children bounce around the aisles while the adults silently collect their coats. ÒThat was like a bizarre dream,Ó comments Jenny Pfister, slightly shaken, despite being a self diagnosed cat person, Òbut it was real.Ó Audience member Jean Borrie is overheard saying, ÒI want to do something normal now. Like go see a Sandra Bullock movie or something.Ó

 

Yuri Kuklachev, 57, is a household name in Moscow. Sitting in one of the Lambs TheaterÕs empty seats before a matinee in his clown tux, pancake make-up and lipstick, Kuklachev explains through an interpreter about his life as a cat-wielding clown. Cats have been part his clown repertoire since 1975, the year he joined The Moscow Circus. He toured the world with his felines, winning prizes from Canada to Monte Carlo, always accompanied by KGB agents during Soviet times. ÒThey had to let me go,Ó says Kuklachev of the Soviet government allowing him to travel, ÒI was the only one who could do what I do with cats in the world.Ó In 1989, Kuklachev broke off from the circus and created his own theater in Moscow devoted exclusively to cat-centric productions. ÒEverybody was searching for their own thing at that time,Ó he says, as the USSR was breaking up, ÒI found my way with cats.Ó

 

The obvious question, posed countless times to Kuklechev, is how does he train the notoriously independent and uncontrollable cat? KuklachevÕs method, the one heÕs used with the 300 cats that have passed through his life: love. ÒIf you truly love the cat, they feel it,Ó says Kuklachev, Òand they trust you with their 9 lives.Ó Kuklachev seems heÕd rather be doing some last minute rehearsing than talk about himself, but continues, ÒI donÕt train them per say, I observe them. I see their natural inclinations and figure out how I can utilize it into a trick on stage.Ó He gives the example of one cat who simply enjoyed being inside a cooking pot in his kitchen, now a staple trick in his show. When asked how the ÒpawstandÓ evolved, Kuklachev speaks in rapid fire Russian and stands up as if to signal the interview is over. The interpreter shrugs his shoulders and says, ÒItÕs a company secret.Ó