Since the earthquakes of 2010 – 2012, Christchurch’s ‘red zone’ has emerged as a site for creativity. Nestled near the Avon River is the former eastern suburbs’ site of Avonside Girls High School, now repurposed as ‘Climate Action Campus’. It is a beautiful and, at night, dimly lit area, partly overgrown with foliage and nurturing newly planted natives, with only the Southern Cross to light up the May sky. It is eerily quiet as we enter one of the old school rooms to enjoy looking at the historical posters archiving the history of Christchurch’s Free Theatre, which include images of Marian McCurdy, one of their most committed and talented actors, and the star and producer of tonight’s performance.

My introduction to the Free Theatre was nearly twenty years ago, at their full-house production of Distraction Camp in which McCurdy memorably appeared as a naked ‘Salomé’, thereby audaciously portraying this biblical figure as somewhat less than innocent. McCurdy is a courageous actor; experimental, vulnerable, intelligent, thoughtful and willing to trust her audience. If anything worth fighting for means something is at stake, ready to be lost, or needs one to put their body on the line, then McCurdy embodies this eloquently in her solo performance of tonight’s play (translated and Directed by Peter Falkenberg) by German award-winning playwright Caren Jeß, in which a woman, Eleanore, desires to be a cat.

We might sometimes wonder what it might be like to inhabit a different body, to think like a different species, to be divorced from the fate of the body we have. McCurdy’s performance of Eleonore gives us access to these questions which are not easy to ask, let alone navigate. Eleonore’s desire is so intense that she decides to out herself. This occurs in tandem with memories of her ageing and once gossiping mother, a woman slowly forgetting herself and her body through dementia. Whereas Eleonore’s kindly, slighted bemused GP is concerned, her gentle psychotherapist is on her side, perhaps because Eleonore’s desire to be a cat appears less consequential than her decision to quit a high-powered, lucrative real estate job. What is particularly striking is Eleonore’s initial willingness to go along with unpacking her decision to follow the riskier life of a cat.

We first meet Eleonore as she awakens from her peaceful slumber, perched on an oversized luxurious scratching post. The ambient blue lighting accentuates Eleonor’s movements as she takes time to self-groom and stretch. The objects more suitable for humans – clothes, books and telephones – are notably smaller in size, this suggesting that it is the cat’s sense and sensibilities rather than human objects which are of more importance. Eleonore has decided that socially sanctioned, recognisable human identities are not for her. After all, she’s been there and done that in the corporate world, having had to dine with idiotic and insufferable colleagues, to endure the laments of her mother and the confusion of her GP. Her narration is precise, deliberate and leaves no room for misinterpretation. “I am a cat” she declares, and we really believe that she no longer desires to be human.

As McCurdy takes us through Eleonore’s complaints, we discover that she prefers to be a cat because she is simply sick and tired of being human. Confronted with the banality of neuroses emanating from superficial human preoccupations and pretenses, Eleonore renounces the absurdity of people and their psychodramas, preferring instead to give her life over to her senses and whatever lies beyond.

Here the very purpose of human language, speaking and thinking, is thrown into crisis when statements such as “what use are words” are followed by an anguished “meeowww… I like saying that”. The appeal to feline curiosity is thereby privileged over silly, narcissistic projects humans amuse themselves with in order to find meaning. McCurdy convinces us to look uncomfortably at ourselves as “clichés in costumes”. Having once been one herself, Eleonore gets a kick out of the absurdity of humans as we, her audience, remain at her beck and call, wanting to hear what comes next.

Nevertheless, there are drawbacks to every identification. Cats have precarious reputations and when Eleonore’s devoted therapist cautions her that domestic cats are a menace to birds, she not surprisingly retorts violently that such burdens of the human species are not a cat’s problem. When Eleonore confronts herself with not having a tail, she brushes this off by implying that humans don’t have it all, either.

The set and lighting are amazing, with Stuart Lloyd-Harris (set, lighting and film) having built a scratching post that most cats would envy! The soft, curious, compassionate and cautious voice-over from Nicolas Woollaston, Eleonore’s therapist, is convincingly relatable. Jenny Ritchie’s superb cat costume is fabulous – yoga pants combined with an astonishing fur top, a proper mixture of species! Peter Falkenberg’s direction is signature, as always, and surprising, while the lighting and overhead projection enable us to bear and stay with Eleonore’s burdens.

The Cat Eleonore is an intelligent and captivating tale of one woman’s response to the burdens of contrasting intimate and social disciplines. Our curiosity intensifies as Eleonore lures us into her life and thoughts; the end is both spectacular and sobering. I won’t give this away, but instead encourage you to go and experience McCurdy’s poignant, witty, sensitive and biting performance of Eleonore. I very much hope that other parts of Aotearoa might get the pleasure of enjoying her extraordinary talent.  

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