I haven’t been out much. I’ve been doing the Christmas thing, which involves a lot of sitting around, eating and watching old movies. The other night my husband and I found ourselves alone with a copy of Aristocats, and I thought, “hey, it’s only been around since 1970 and everyone’s already seen it so it’s probably a really cool thing to blog about.”
It’s basically the children’s animated version of Billy Joel’s hit Uptown Girl. Or Billy Joel’s Uptown Girl is the song version of Aristocats without the felines… Well, aside from that, the film’s plot is pretty much based on Edgar being an idiot.
Quick plot breakdown for those who have forgotten: Elderly woman has a pedigree cat named Duchess, who is mother to three kittens. Elderly woman is as rich as a double chocolate pudding with a brownie base and has no living family left to leave all her riches to when she dies. She decides that she will leave the riches to the cats, but as the cats lack the opposable thumbs to deal with all the paperwork and bank drama that comes with massive fortunes, she’ll get her longtime butler, Edgar, to continue looking after the cats (as he does all the feeding and kitty litter stuff at the moment anyway) and he’ll get to keep the rest of the fortune and the big swanky house for himself after the cats pass on.
This is a pretty fucking sweet deal. If some elderly rich person is reading this and wants to leave me a house and money in exchange for looking after a few cats after they die, I am fucking there with shiny, gleaming bells on. Those cats will be the most pampered animals in all the kingdom and dammit I’ll do it with a smile on my face.
Edgar does not have my sunny outlook on life. After learning the contents of the old woman’s will Edgar drugs the cats with sleeping pills and takes them out to the country where he dumps the bodies and gets chased by some dogs. Why? Why the actual fuck would he do that? The old woman is not dead – she may as well have her cats to keep her company. News flash, Edgar; cat people do not cease to be cat people upon the death of a pet. There are always more cats. It may take a little while, but there are always more cats.
Edgar makes another dumbarse mistake by leaving his bowler hat and umbrella with the country dogs before fleeing back to Paris. As he’s the only Englishman in the city these items will clearly lead back to him if they’re ever discovered. And this is a big news story, it’s on the cover of every major paper in the city. Surely, Edgar just feeds the dogs some of his useful sleeping pills, right? Easy peasy, he’s done this before, he’s on a roll. Nope. Instead he fucks around pretending to be a haystack with a fishing rod. Fuck you Edgar. You do not deserve to inherit jack.
Meanwhile the cats are having an exciting adventure with a passing tom cat. Not Duchess’s first time, I’ll bet. The paternity of her kittens is never mentioned, so I’m betting they’re slightly more moggy than purebred. Anyway, this is all pretty feline fabulous, except for one small detail: The cats do not have sphincters.
Anyone who has ever known a cat knows this is ridiculous. The fact that Disney may have wanted to gloss over this piece of kitty anatomy for a children’s film is not a reasonable excuse. For a cat this is not merely another piece of anatomy. If there’s one thing a fucking cat will make sure you see it’s his damn sphincter. All day every day. While you’re eating. Right up in your grill. He needs you to see that shit. And you. Will. See. It. It’s just not right seeing the back end of a cat without one.
Back at the mansion Edgar is utilising all his new found free time by getting on the sauce. WTF Edgar?! This guy has the best job ever. He’s slightly pissed when the kitties arrive back so he throws them in a sack and hides them in the oven. Why don’t they meow the damn house down? They did a little bit of meowing outside the door that their mistress hears, but when she comes downstairs to greet them they’re in the oven and fucking silent.
Seriously. She heard them casually meowing from upstairs through the damn front door, but they can’t cause enough ruckus that she would hear them in the next room through an oven door? No, because they need to talk to a damn mouse. Ugh.
At least the movie got one thing right. Everybody does want to be a cat. Me especially. Where do I sign up?