Dylan Janse van Rensburg: Born to perform

There are two types of people in the world: dog people and cat people. Just joking. There are, in fact, two real tribes — those who love musicals and those who loathe them with a performative passion usually reserved for tax audits and small talk. There’s no middle ground. You either surrender to the jazz hands or recoil in horror.

I, proudly and irredeemably, am on the love side of the spectrum, along with every fun-loving, romantic, optimistic, vivacious, happy-ending-addicted human being worth knowing. Which is why, on a recent evening, I found myself staring at the stage in a state of delighted disbelief, watching Dylan Janse van Rensburg prowl, preen and purr his way through Cats like a man who’d been genetically engineered for musical theatre.

Janse van Rensburg is what the industry likes to call a “triple threat” — singing, dancing and acting with the ease of someone who clearly was born to do all three.

Singing, he says, has always been his first language. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been drawn to singing,” he explains. Lessons began in Grade One, followed by choir, and then the Tygerberg Children’s Choir, which he joined at 14 and remained with until 19. “Singing has always been a massive part of my life which I feel really connected to.”

But musical theatre was not, at the start, part of the childhood master plan. In an unexpected detour, he once wanted to be a marine biologist. “I love the ocean and still have a massive passion for it and a desire to protect it,” he says. The pivot to stagecraft came via a friend, an audition, and a local Somerset West production of Annie Get Your Gun. He was sceptical. “I didn’t even know what the show was about,” he admits. But he auditioned anyway — and got in. “It was during that production that I found my love for musical theatre.”

The rest followed quickly: dance classes, workshops, mentors, and LAMTA — the Luitingh Alexander Musical Theatre Academy in Camps Bay, Cape Town. “Now, four years later, I’m here,” he says.

Cats isn’t a musical that coddles either performer or audience. It’s seriously plot-light, demanding the story be told through physicality, character, and commitment. Janse van Rensburg is drawn to that kind of challenge. “It’s exciting for us performers to be able to tell this kind of story that doesn’t follow a traditional linear storyline,” he says. “We have to work to convey the story and still get the message across.” It is, he adds, “the epitome of a triple threat musical … the show can’t be done if you don’t have those skills”.

Rum Tum Tugger — all swagger, sex appeal and charming anarchy — was a role he immediately recognised as personal. “From the get go, I actually saw a lot of myself in the character,” he says, particularly “my fun and childlike self”. Tugger’s legacy looms large, of course. During the pandemic lockdown, Janse van Rensburg watched a filmed stage version online. “That was the first time I actually ever watched the show,” he says. Seeing that iconic performance made something click. “After that, I knew that this character [is] a character I want to portray one time in my life.” Now that he is, the goal is balance: “It was important to me that I found the proper balance between his sexy side and his comedic elements.”

What keeps Tugger alive, rather than merely reproduced, is his relationship with the audience. “Getting to interact with the audience is one of my favourite parts of the show,” Janse van Rensburg says. Each crowd brings a different energy. Some resist, others leap at the chance to join him. “If you say ‘no’, he sees ‘yes’,” he laughs.

The role is punishing. “This show is the most physically taxing show I’ve ever done,” he says plainly. Preparation is relentless, warm-ups essential, discipline non-negotiable. “Your body needs to be fully prepared for what’s to come.” Vocally, it’s just as demanding. Tugger lives high in his range. “The role sits in a place in my voice that I haven’t ever used in front of an audience,” he admits. With guidance from the musical team, he learned not only how to hit the notes, but how to survive them. “I really felt like I was learning so much about my voice that I didn’t even know was possible.”

Despite the pressure of stepping into an iconic role, the response has been affirming. “A lot of people have come to watch the show and say, ‘I didn’t really think that I was gonna enjoy watching Cats, but this production was incredible!’” For a musical lover, this is nothing short of missionary success.

Janse van Rensburg believes South African musical theatre is in a thrilling phase. “People and producers are finally at a point now where things have stabilised and people are willing to take more risks and be bold,” he says.

Only a year out of college, he speaks with gratitude rather than entitlement. “I have been blessed with an amazing career so far,” he says, crediting collaborators, mentors and the hard-won discipline Cats has taught him. “You need to make sure that you’re taking care of your body … getting enough sleep.” Pre-show rituals are sacred — nose boops, vocal trills, ab exercises, prayer.

As for the future, his ambitions are strong. Theatre will always be home, but film beckons. The UK beckons. “Dreaming big,” he says, “costs nothing”. Ultimate roles are named with the careful enthusiasm of someone who knows there’s time: Kristoff from Frozen, Fiyero from Wicked, or Christian from Moulin Rouge.

Watching Janse van Rensburg on stage, you get the sense that this is only the beginning. Musicals, for those of us who love them, promise joy, optimism and the audacity of sincerity baked with extra cheese. Janse van Rensburg is pure, thrilling performance — claws out, chest lifted, eyes firmly on the horizon. He’ll have you purring long after the show’s over.