The director of ‘Cats’, which is re-running in Hong Kong this month, talks about how Kowloon Park’s stray cats inspire the dancers’ movements, the enduring legacy of the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, and acting in ‘Captain America’
Andrew Lloyd Webber’s theatrical phenomenon Cats makes its triumphant return to Hong Kong for a fourth residency. Running until September 13 at the Xiqu Centre in West Kowloon, this revival delivers the original 1981 West End production featuring Dame Gillian Lynne’s iconic, story-driven choreography.
Having opened yesterday (August 6), the production proved why its pioneering immersive magic remains unmatched. Felines prowled, crawled and playfully purloined handbags throughout the hall, delighting the crowd as audience members enticed the dancers with dangling phone charms or bent over aisles for fleeting selfies with cats that cheekily slipped out of frame.
Musically, the mischievous cat burglars Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer emerge as early scene-stealers, pairing agile jazz acrobatics with infectious, cheeky swagger. The evening is not entirely without minor hiccups—a slight vocal crack marks Demeter’s opening lines, while Grizabella the Glamour Cat, despite unleashing a powerhouse vocal performance on Memory, falls just short of capturing the raw, bone-deep heartbreak that Elaine Paige famously poured into the role in 1981. Similarly, Demeter and Bombalurina’s rendition of Macavity: The Mystery Cat lacks the sultry, sensuous undertone needed to fully sell the allure of the ultimate feline villain.
Yet, these minor quibbles do little to dim the vivacious, high-octane joy of the Jellicle Ball. On premiere day, Tatler sat down with resident director Matt Krzan—who has inhabited nearly every male role in the show over a two-decade career—to discuss the enduring legacy of the musical, the art of feline movement and how encounters with Hong Kong’s own street cats might just leap onto the stage.

Above Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer in ‘Cats’ (Photo: Nardus Engelbrecht)
You have an extensive history with Cats. Before stepping into the role of resident director, which characters did you play on stage?
I first joined the show 22 years ago as a swing (an off-stage member of a theatrical cast who learns multiple ensemble or principal roles to step in when regular performers are absent), covering most of the male ensemble. Over the years, I covered Munkustrap, Rum Tum Tugger, Skimbleshanks and Gus, and performed as Macavity. Later, I played Munkustrap for about four years, including a run at the London Palladium in the West End. That was a special time—Gillian Lynne was in rehearsals, Trevor Nunn directed and Andrew Lloyd Webber would come to watch.
Having performed those roles for so many years, how does that physical experience inform your work as director today?
The choreography is deeply ingrained in my body after performing it eight shows a week for so long. I can empathise with how exhausted the dancers feel. Having worked out how to move, speak and adapt physically for each distinct character, I can directly pass those practical insights on to our new cast members.

Above Grizabella in ‘Cats’ (Photo: Nardus Engelbrecht)
This production is the original 1981 version. Why present this specific version rather than recent reimaginings like Cats: The Jellicle Ball, which is celebrated for its high-energy vogue dance movements?
This version is the best to me because it holds such rich history—it is the production that made Cats what it is, capturing a defining era of London musical theatre. Having toured across Asia and South Korea, I’ve found that audiences really want to see the original. While newer versions like The Jellicle Ball explore entirely different movement styles like New York voguing, our version remains grounded in Gillian Lynne’s original fusion of ballet and jazz, where every single step tells a narrative.
How does Lynne’s choreography translate narrative through physical movement?
Every move has a specific reason. Take the White Cat solo featuring Victoria: she is a kitten discovering her own body and her white fur for the first time. When she does a high développé or splits, it’s a deeply private moment of self-discovery.
In the Jellicle Ball number, the dancers begin by competing against one another, showing off their skills until Old Deuteronomy brings them together as a unified tribe. Even with Macavity, the movement shifts constantly between terrifying aggression and sensual allure.

Above The Gumbie Trio in ’Cats’ (Photo: Nardus Engelbrecht)
The costumes and anthropomorphic style of Cats are iconic. How do dancers transition into feeling like cats on stage?
We do extensive physical cat work in rehearsal, teaching performers to replace hands with paws and alter their posture. But the true transformation happens when they put on the full costume, wig and makeup. Once your ears are covered by the wig and your face is transformed in the mirror, you finally feel like a cat.
Do the cast members study real cats to prepare for their roles?
Absolutely. We encourage the cast to watch real cats—how they sit, move their heads or use their paws. I actually went to Kowloon Park recently and spent time watching the local cats there. Because Cats offers so much physical freedom, a dancer might observe a street cat during the day and incorporate a new movement into their performance that very evening.

Above Victoria in ‘Cats’ (Photo: Nardus Engelbrecht)
Beyond Cats, you’ve performed in West End hits like Chicago, Wicked and Matilda The Musical, and appeared in films like Captain America: The First Avenger. How does live stage acting differ from screen work?
Film requires early 4 am starts and a lot of waiting around. On stage, you receive immediate feedback and energy from a live audience. The biggest challenge for musical theatre actors transitioning to film is scale: in a 2,000-seat auditorium, your performance must reach the back row, whereas film cameras demand a much smaller, contained performance.
In an increasingly digital world, why does live theatre continue to resonate so strongly?
Human connection. Every single live performance is unique; the specific interaction between those 20 performers on stage and the audience in the auditorium will never happen in the exact same way again. That shared, fleeting experience creates a depth of feeling that screens simply cannot replicate.
If you were ever invited to completely re-choreograph Cats from scratch, how would you approach it?
If someone came to me, gave me a huge sum of money and said, ‘Would you love to re-choreograph Cats?’, I think I would say no, because I literally see this as almost perfect. This production is so deeply rooted in my body, and I simply don’t think I could do it better.





