The cast of Cats is locked in a room. They are there for a long time. Deprived of an audience their theater becomes steadily more vivid, gestural, and non-referential. To a certain degree it ferments. Thus it acquires a rotten taste but also a depth and richness it lacked previously.
The actors and singers begin to believe they are receiving messages. Maybe from the outside, maybe from each other. They are required to retransmit these messages: sometimes in the form of a roar, sometimes as a jerk or spasm.
Some members of the troupe are slow to learn the new theater. They drop beats and misreport their lines.
The strong consume the weak until only five are left.