Celebrating Mary Blair's Centennial With Walt Disney's Peter Pan

Today would have been the hundredth birthday of Mary Blair, one of Disney’s most celebrated artists. Her many contributions to the company include helping to design the figures for the ride it’s a small world and the characters for the films Cinderella, Alice in Wonderland and Peter Pan. In recent years, Disney has released lavish picture book editions of each of those three stories written by prominent children’s book authors and illustrated with concept art by Blair. In light of this milestone, I picked up Peter Pan, hoping to get lost in the magic.

It’s a rather curious thing that while I’ve always been drawn to the character of Peter Pan, strongly resonating with his reluctance to grow up, the Disney version of J. M. Barrie’s tale ranks pretty low in my hierarchy of the company’s animated classics. Aside from the exhilarating You Can Fly sequence, I tend to prefer the made-for-TV Mary Martin version, though part of my problem may be that I haven’t seen the Disney movie in years. Reading this book, I realized there are whole segments of which I have no memory, including the entire interlude with the seductive mermaids. I really ought to watch it again soon. In the meantime, I found myself transported by the enchantment of Blair’s paintings and the wry storyteller quality of the writing by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson, who have co-written several intermediate novels about Peter and his friends.

This is a handsome full-sized picture book just over 50 pages in length. It contains 29 of Blair’s paintings, most of which take up one full page and spill over onto the opposite page about a fifth of the way. The text never is printed over top of the painting. Instead, it rests against a white background sometimes augmented by a simple stylized silhouette of a shape such as a skull or the rigging of a pirate ship. These designs are next to or below the words but never directly behind them, giving the book a very clean and easy-to-read appearance.

The print is fairly large, and on most pages, several words are printed in a bigger font and a different color. For instance, on one page, the word “nasty” – referring to a plan concocted by the nefarious Captain Hook – is printed in red; on another, “Indian Chief” is in blue. Additionally, the words are laid out in such a way that it resembles free verse poetry, though the narrative style is not as poetic as Cynthia Rylant’s in the comparable Cinderella storybook.

While I’ve never read the Barry-Pearson books – an oversight I’ve been meaning to correct – I am familiar with Barry from his humor columns. At his best, he’s left me in stitches, so I was curious to hear his narrative voice here. Of course, as this is a collaborative effort, I’m not entirely sure who wrote what, but in any case, the humor is present but nowhere near the level of outright wackiness that marks much of Barry’s writing. The subtle wit works well, not pulling us out of the story but every once in a while winking at the audience before moving on to the next phase of the adventure. My two favorite instances of this are as follows.

“The leader of the pirates was a particularly nasty man known as Captain Hook. He was called that because he had a hook in place of one of his hands. His first mate was a man known as Smee. He was called that because he looked like a Smee.”

“Unfortunately, Tink was a jealous sort of fairy. She did not care for Wendy. So she flew ahead and told the Lost Boys to shoot Wendy down with their slingshots. Being boys, they thought this was a fine idea.”

Never Land is a dangerous place, especially for Peter’s special guest Wendy, since those who wish him harm capture her to lure Peter in and those who want Peter all to themselves keep attempting to inflict bodily injury on her to get her out of the way. There’s virtually no dialogue in the book; Peter only speaks a couple of times, and he doesn’t say much, and frankly, that makes him easier to take here. As much fun as he is, Peter is a rather arrogant young man, and all his boasting can get a bit tiresome. The narrative style doesn’t allow us to get too close to the characters (many of whom are omitted or not specifically named), so when it ends, I’m not left with the sense of malaise I usually get when Wendy returns to London to resume the mundane course of ordinary life and Peter flies off to his eternal childhood, soon to forget her almost entirely. “This story has happened before, and it will happen again,” our narrators tell us, and somehow, that seems okay.

While I enjoy the writing very much, the illustrations seem to have been the main purpose for this book, and they are wonderful. Culled from the Disney archives and the private collection of Howard Lowery, they are richly imaginative, with the emphasis on this remarkable world rather than the characters that populate it. Most of the paintings keep Peter, Wendy and others at arm’s length; rarely are we allowed a glimpse of any significant facial features, so their emotions remain largely hidden. Instead, we see them against magnificent backdrops saturated with color. Our first glimpse of Never Land allows us to see the entire island. It seems to exist in a space outside of time; stars swirl around the verdant expanse as the purplish mist rises off the mountains and the pirate ship makes for the shore through waters reflecting the pink of a blossoming sunrise.

While some paintings seem to incorporate practically every hue in the palette, others are almost monochromatic. The two-page spread in the middle of the book in which the boys march along the beach toward the Indian settlement atop a high plateau is sepia but for the pale yellow sun and the red of the cliffside rock. Several of the paintings depict nighttime scenes and are so dark that it’s a struggle to pick out details. That’s not really the case, though, in my favorite nighttime painting, a depiction of the Lost Boys’ multi-level underground lair, which is lit by several candles. It’s a fairly simple structure, but it looks absolutely glorious.

The pictures that do give us close-ups of the characters are revealing. John leads with gusto, shaking his umbrella as he shouts a command to the other boys, whose reaction is ambiguous because they are so shrouded in shadow. Peter looks cocky as can be as he stands amongst the adoring mermaids but softly perplexed as he holds a dying Tink in his hands after she tries to save him from Hook’s latest evil plot. Hook, too, has his moment, with just a wide grin and his huge hooked nose visible under his plumed red hat as he contemplates Peter’s demise.

It’s fascinating to peruse these paintings and ponder the progression from these to what we saw in the movie. Blair’s artistry is immediately apparent; it’s little wonder that this woman is so highly regarded. If you want to familiarize yourself with her distinctive style and get a sense for how Disney characters and settings are crafted, this beautiful edition of Peter Pan will set you on the right course.

Sing Like a Seafarer on Talk Like a Pirate Day

Ahoy, matey! Today be International Talk Like a Pirate Day, created in 1995 and popularized in 2002 by humorist Dave Barry. I’ve found this event amusing since I first became acquainted with it, though I haven’t quite mastered the gift of pirate gab myself. Hence, I won’t be writing a review in Piratese, but in honor of this rather ridiculous holiday, I present my September 19th list of 19 seafaring songs. While only a quarter of them involve actual pirates and there’s a fairly heavy concentration of songs from the Irish Rovers and Celtic Thunder, I hope it goes down as sweet as a goblet o’ grog.

A Professional Pirate - In this song from Muppet Treasure Island, Tim Curry leads a most unsavory crew in a litany of reasons why the pirate lifestyle is so satisfactory. A gregarious song of welcome rather reminiscent of Oliver’s Consider Yourself, it offers the wily Long John Silver a chance to persuade innocent young Jim Hawkins that piracy isn’t so terrible after all. “It’s how you look at buccaneers that makes them bad or good, and I see us as members of a noble brotherhood!”

Blow the Man Down - When it comes to traditional sea shanties, few are more famous than this one. I’ve heard it any number of times at Celtic fests and other singalong occasions, but when I think of it nowadays, what pops into my mind first is the absurd but endearing sight of brainy Sheldon Cooper and his bubbly neighbor Penny using the song to help them mass-produce hair clips on The Big Bang Theory. “I’ll sing ye a song, a good song of the sea, with a way, hey, blow the man down. I trust that you’ll join in the chorus with me. Give me some time to blow the man down!”

Calypso - John Denver wrote this song in the immediate aftermath of his ride on the Calypso, the ship belonging to ocean explorer Jacques Cousteau. It’s easy to tell how inspired he was; it may be just about the most viscerally joyful song in his catalog, and given how happy so much of his music is, that’s really saying something. An exuberant tribute to Cousteau and to aquatic life. “Like the dolphin who guides you, you bring us beside you to light up the darkness and show us the way. Although we are strangers in your silent world, to live on the land we must learn from the sea to be true as the tide, free as a wind swell, joyful and loving in letting it be.”

Candle on the Water - Definitely not a sea shanty, but so rich in nautical imagery that I had to include it, especially since it is one of my very favorite Disney love songs. Helen Reddy’s Nora, a lighthouse keeper, continues to tend to her duties, hoping that one day the ship her beacon saves will be that of her fiancé Paul, who vanished at sea the year before. The lighthouse becomes a powerful metaphor for the flame in her heart that she refuses to extinguish. “A cold and friendless tide has found you. Don’t let the stormy darkness pull you down. I’ll paint a ray of hope around you, circling in the air, lighted by a prayer.”

Captain Hook - My favorite version of Peter Pan is the televised stage musical starring Mary Martin, with the outstanding Cyril Ritchard as the far more hilarious than menacing Captain Hook. A preening peacock of a man, he revels in the tribute he writes to himself, with his pirate crew chiming in on the chorus. “Who’s the swiniest swine in the world? (Captain Hook! Captain Hook!) Who’s the dirtiest dog in this wonderful world? (Captain Hook! Captain Hook!) Captain of villainy, murder and loot, eager to kill any who says that his hook isn’t cute. (It’s cute!)”

Farewell to Nova Scotia - This traditional Canadian dirge most likely dates back about a century, and I’ve heard several renditions, my favorite of which is the wistful, woodwind-soaked one by the Irish Rovers. Songs of emigration are common to Celtic music; this one stands out to me for this list because of the nautical focus of the chorus. “Farewell to Nova Scotia, the sea-bound coast. Let your mountains dark and dreary be. When I am far away, on the briny ocean tossed, will you ever heave a sigh or a wish for me?”

Gilligan’s Island Theme Song - Possibly the most maddeningly catchy theme song in television history. Once this song gets lodged in your head, you’re stuck with the bouncy ballad for life. These seven stranded castaways have such a cushy life that it doesn’t really matter that Gilligan manages to thwart their rescue week after week. Since the millionaire Howells seem to have packed for a three-year tour and there’s nothing that the Professor can’t build out of bamboo or coconuts, they’re set for life. Pretty lucky shipwreck! (P. S. You’re welcome.) “The mate was a mighty sailin’ man, the skipper brave and sure. Five passengers set sail that day for a three-hour tour (a three-hour tour).”

Greenland Whale Fisheries - Peter Paul and Mary sing a stirring version of this 300-year-old ballad detailing a whaling expedition gone awry. I’d never heard it before I got their boxed set five years ago, but it’s been covered by many, including The Weavers, whose rendition is perhaps the most famous. The deceptively upbeat banjo is countered by the melancholy flute in this tragic tale. “Oh, Greenland is a dreadful place. It’s a land that’s never green, where there’s ice and snow and the whale-fishes blow and daylight’s seldom seen, brave boys, and daylight’s seldom seen.”

Heartland - One of Celtic Thunder’s two signature songs, this Phil Coulter chant is a prayer for deliverance uttered by sailors in rough weather. In this way, it’s quite similar to the ballad Home From the Sea, included on a later Celtic Thunder album, but the bouncy folksiness of that song, along with the rescue at the hands of the coast guard, gives it a very different tone than this one, a reverent plea borne of desperation and deep faith. It’s a most appropriate song for the group to open with, since the Gaelic chorus, which translates to “Lord, have mercy, Christ, have mercy,” feels so Celtic and the stormy situation, brought to life with deep percussion, certainly takes care of the thunder. “When the winds are howling, vigil keep. Shelter us and save us from the deep!”

Into the West - Extensively hinted at earlier in the score, particularly the exquisite The Grey Havens, this is the end-credits anthem of The Return of the King. Drawing inspiration from Frodo’s vision of the West in the novel and the Tennyson-esque poem Bilbo’s Last Song, which imagines Bilbo’s poetic response to his departure from Middle-earth, this epic Annie Lennox song is slow and ethereal. While it deals specifically with the Westward journey that the heroic Bagginses undertake after their labors have ended, the song also uses nautical imagery to speak metaphorically and optimistically of death. “What can you see on the horizon? Why do the white gulls call? Across the sea, a pale moon rises. The ships have come to carry you home.”

Jack Sparrow - I distinctly remember the night six years ago when I was watching Saturday Night Live and saw my first Digital Short. I was blown away by Lazy Sunday, which was just so different and so refreshingly funny. In the video, a couple of geeky guys use hardcore rap to relate their exploits leading up to their viewing of The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. It’s hilarious and, aside from one extraneous word that seems to have been included mostly so it could be censored, perfectly clean. Andy Samberg and his Lonely Island cronies quickly got more risqué with their videos and songs on the show and off, so when this video went viral on Facebook, I was torn between keen interest and wariness. Interest won out; both were warranted. The main trio’s rapped verses are filthy, both in terms of language and activities described, but Michael Bolton’s random melodic outbursts that turn the chorus into a tribute to Captain Jack Sparrow of Pirates of the Caribeean make the wincing worth it. The most entertaining marriage of an epic score and absurd heights of fandom since last year’s I’ll Never Be LOST Again, it proved the perfect way to generate excitement for the fourth movie. “This is the tale of Captain Jack Sparrow, pirate so brave on the Seven Seas. A mystical quest to the isle of Tortuga. Raven locks sway in the ocean breeze.”

Safe in the Harbour - I just discovered this gentle Eric Bogle ballad thanks to George Donaldson’s debut solo album, The White Rose. Written in tribute to the late Canadian singer-songwriter Stan Rogers, it speaks of sailing as being akin to dreaming before using the chorus to craft a metaphor similar to the one used in Into the West. Simply gorgeous. “To every sailor comes time to drop anchor, haul in the sails and make the lines fast. You deep water dreamer, your journey is over. You’re safe in the harbour at last.”

The Irish Rover - This traditional tune from which the Irish Rovers take their name is a calamitous ballad that really should be a most mournful lament. Instead, however, the whole thing feels like a party, particularly the silly section detailing all of the cargo that the Irish Rover has in its hold. I’ve heard this song oodles of times, but nobody whoops it up like the Irish Rovers, who keep listeners on their toes by altering the lyrics slightly just about every time they record it. Never has a shipwreck been so much fun. “We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out and the ship lost its way in a fog, and the whale of a crew was reduced down to two: ‘twas meself and the captain’s old dog. Then the ship struck a rock – oh, Lord, what a shock! We nearly tumbled over. Turned nine times around and the poor old dog was drowned. I’m the last of The Irish Rover!”

The Mariner’s Revenge Song - This was the song that introduced me to The Decemberists, a truly unusual alt-folkie group fronted by Colin Meloy, who mostly writes songs that sound as though they’ve been floating around for a couple of centuries. That’s certainly true of this nine-minute-long whale of a song accompanied by accordion and tambourine and filled with words like “roustabout” and “consumptive.” After the narrator’s “poor sweet mother” charges her young son with the task of violently dispatching the ne’er-do-well who had his way with her, infected her with some foul disease and abandoned her, even Inigo Montoya would be hard-pressed to compete with his blood-thirsty drive for vengeance. Quite a nasty narrative, but oh so grandiose. “We are two mariners, our ships' sole survivors in this belly of a whale. Its ribs are ceiling beams. Its guts are carpeting. I guess we have some time to kill…”

The Pirates Who Don’t Do Anything - Since its first episode, one of the trademark elements of the VeggieTales line of computer-animated Christian videos has been Silly Songs With Larry. This particular Silly Song is doubly goofy because it makes its debut in a video that consists of nothing but previous Silly Songs. These lackadaisical pirates would go on to star in two full-screen flops that almost toppled the company, so I guess you might say they accidentally pillaged their own production. Nonetheless, I found the films fairly fun and the concept a hoot as gruff Pa Grape, luxuriating Mr. Lunt and oblivious Larry the Cucumber brag about all the piratey – and, in Larry’s case, just plain weird – things they’ve never actually done. “And I never hoist the mainstay, and I never swab the poop deck, and I never veer to starboard ‘cause I never sail at all. And I’ve never walked the gangplank, and I’ve never owned a parrot, and I’ve never been to Boston in the fall.”

The Voyage - This Johnny Duhan song, famously covered by Christy Moore, is another that I heard first from Celtic Thunder’s George Donaldson. In this tender love song, the speaker likens marriage to a nautical journey, instantly reminding me of LOST’s Odyssean lovers Desmond and Penny, who spend so much of their time navigating the ocean in their quest to be together. While the central metaphor comes close to being mawkish at times, it never crosses the line, at least when sung by such master balladeers as I’ve heard performing it. “I am a sailor; you’re my first mate. We signed on together; we coupled our fate. We hauled up our anchor, determined not to fail. For the heart’s treasure, together we set sail.”

The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald - Up until the Decemberists came along, I found it hard to imagine a seafaring ballad that could eclipse this six-and-a-half-minute-long behemoth. Even in light of that song, Gordon Lightfoot’s electrified ode to the doomed titular ship remains impressive. Inspired by a straightforward newspaper account of the infamous shipwreck that occurred November 10, 1975, it also has the distinction of being the only non-local song I can think of to mention Lake Erie. I saw this song performed from the second row at a concert in 2000, and believe me, it really felt like we were out there on that roiling ocean. I’ll always think of this as the ultimate shipwreck song. “In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed in the Maritime Sailors’ Cathedral. The church bell chimed till it rang 29 times for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.”

Yellow Submarine - No, it’s not a boat per se, but how could I not include this cheerful ocean vessel at the heart of one of the Beatles’ peppiest, most recognizable tunes? It sure sounds like a wonderful way to see the aquatic world. “In the town where I was born there lived a man who sailed to sea, and he told us of his life in the land of submarines. So we sailed into the sun till we found the sea of green, and we lived beneath the waves in our yellow submarine.”

Yo Ho (A Pirate’s Life for Me) - I love that my alphabetization of this list landed me with pirate songs on either end. This song, very much along the same lines as A Professional Pirate, is a celebration of this lawless lifestyle and has served as the official theme song to the Pirates of the Caribbean attractions for upwards of four decades. A very singable shanty that delights in devilish deeds and a perfect way to wrap up this Talk Like a Pirate Day Playlist. “We’re beggars and blighters and ne’er-do-well cads. Drink up, me hearties, yo ho! Aye, but we’re loved by our mommies and dads. Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!”

It took me a while to come up with enough songs for this list, but once they started pouring in, I had a hard time restricting myself to just 19 and had to leave out several great ones, from the Irish Rovers’ mandolin-drenched lament My Boy Willie to the hearty barrel-riding number Rolling Down the Hole from the Rankin-Bass version of The Hobbit. If any of you have favorite nautical songs I haven’t mentioned here, I welcome recommendations. Meanwhile, if you enjoy this type of music as much as I do, I hope I’ve helped you find an appropriate musical backdrop for this most auspicious occasion. I best be shovin’ off fer now, so fair winds to ye, matey, until this time next year!

Roxaboxen Joins Terabithia as a World of Pure Imagination

Yesterday, I finished the sixth book in the Trixie Belden series, in which Trixie and her friends spend the Christmas holiday in Arizona. Apparently I couldn’t get enough because today I was back again, this time courtesy of Roxaboxen, a picture book written by Alice McLerren and beautifully illustrated by Caldecott Award winner Barbara Cooney.

It was my familiarity with Cooney that led me to pick this book up on my last trip to the library, having no idea what it was about. As I read it, I was drawn into the charm of what Roxaboxen turns out to be: a magical town created by a group of children in Yuma, Arizona. What’s extra cool about this is that the book is rooted in the childhood memories of McLerren’s mother and other relatives. It reminds me of the mystical kingdom that young best friends Jess and Leslie create for themselves in Katherine Paterson’s Bridge to Terabithia and also of the community of the Lost Boys in Peter Pan. These are kids using a few basic materials and a lot of imagination to create a haven where they reign supreme.

McLerren writes in a sparse but lovely style suited to the barren beauty of the desert where the story is set. Roxaboxen exists atop a rocky hill, with no vegetation but cacti and other forbidding plants. It’s not much to look at – to the untrained adult eye, anyway. But the children who live nearby work to release the wondrous town they know lies latent from its prison of dirt and stone. They build houses out of crates. They build streets out of pebbles and “drive” on them with “cars,” an activity that consists of walking or running with a round object in hand for a steering wheel. They add slowly to their village, with shops and restaurants and currency, and gradually, it becomes a truly breathtaking place, partly because of their artistic creativity but mostly because of the way it has begun to take shape in their minds. The more time they spend in Roxaboxen, the more real it becomes to them.

Cooney’s illustrations capture this mingled sense of simplicity and awe. She shows us what is literally there, but in such a way that it seems like so much more. The gentle paintings are so enticing that I found myself wishing I could step into Roxaboxen myself, much like Mary Poppins hops into Bert’s chalk drawing on the London pavement. The layout of the town is appealing, and the coloring of the sand and the sky is just gorgeous, especially in the final, wistful two-page spread, in which the children who built Roxaboxen remember it fondly as their twilight years approach.

A warm celebration of imagination and companionship and the power one has to enhance the other, Roxaboxen is pure enchantment.

Freddie Highmore Enchants in August Rush

Is it mere coincidence that August Rush, the musical fairy tale directed by Kirsten Sheridan, stars two actors who have previously played unconventional versions of Peter Pan? Maybe. But the echoes seem to be there, with Robin Williams playing Wizard, a ring-leader for lost boys (and girls) living in their own little Neverland in an old theatre, and wide-eyed Freddie Highmore portraying Evan Taylor, who wants nothing more than a mother (and a father, too). This young lad can't soar through the air, but his remarkable gift for finding music all around him is every bit as magical as fairy dust.

When I first saw trailers for August Rush, I was hooked as soon as I spied Highmore, who has replaced the now-grown Haley Joel Osment as my favorite child actor. I thought he was brilliant in Two Brothers, Finding Neverland and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and I suspected any film with him in the cast would be of high quality. Besides, the premise of a boy who has never known his parents seeking them out through music was entrancing, and Williams sweetened the deal.

The film did not disappoint. Highmore seems to breathe innocent sincerity, and he is a big part of why this movie works despite the fact that disbelief must be checked at the door. August Rush is primarily about his journey, a trek much like that of Fievel Mousekewitz in An American Tail, except that he doesn't even know his parents' names or what they look like. But he hears them, and he's convinced that if he can just find a way to put the music inside him out in the open, they just might hear him, too.

Initially, Lyla Novacek (Keri Russell) and Louis Connelly (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) don't know they're looking for their son. Indeed, Louis, a washed-up rock star, has no idea he fathered a child, while Lyla, a Julliard-trained orchestral musician who delivered Evan after sustaining serious injuries in a car accident, was led to believe he was stillborn. Unfortunate circumstances have kept them separated from each other and from Evan, and though they both feel something important is missing from their lives, it's hard to say just what.

Evan is a musical prodigy who has never picked up an instrument. He's especially fascinated by wind chimes but finds melodious patterns in all the noises around him, and the film is presented in such a way that we are able to tap into his inspiration even before he finds the means with which to express it. It seems a little far-fetched to me that this boy would have gone more than 11 years without access to a guitar, a piano or even a harmonica, but a lot about this movie is far-fetched, and I'm willing to accept it because of the sheer exhilaration that accompanies each of his musical discoveries.

It starts with a guitar, played by the talented, street-smart Arthur (Leon G. Thomas III), who leads Evan into the fold of the eccentric, anti-establishment Wizard, who both nurtures and manipulates children with musical abilities, forcing them to work as street performers and hand the tips over to him. He reminds me of Fagin in Oliver Twist, who I always felt a little sorry for despite his criminal activities. While Wizard facilitates Evan's real immersion in music and gives him the titular pseudonym, he's not quite the kindly mentor the previews led me to believe, but he's not all sinister either.

When an evening choir practice draws him to a church, Evan progresses to piano and organ and soon is writing his own rhapsody, taking into account all the sounds and events that have moved him so profoundly. He takes to each new instrument instantly, without having to take time to develop proficiency, and between Highmore's ecstatic expressions and the combination of music and cinematography, watching and listening is truly a joyful experience.

It's Highmore who really drives the film, but Williams, who seems to be emulating Bono with his get-up, is compelling, while Thomas and Jamie Simone Nash, who plays Hope, a young vocalist Evan befriends, both boast considerable musical skill. Meyers, whose character reminds me of Charlie Pace on LOST, is fine, but Russell is positively luminous, and Terrence Howard conveys a sense of kind concern as Richard Jeffries, a social worker who takes an interest in Evan's welfare.

Rush to the cinema this November for a touching tale of family, love and the power of music. It's a film you're not likely to forget any time soon.

Mary Martin and Company Fly Where Disney Falls

When I entered my sophomore year of high school, I quickly heard the news that a spring musical had already been chosen and that the musical in question was Peter Pan. Now, I wasn’t exactly an active member of the theater department. I’d desperately wanted to be in The Sound of Music, but alas! That didn’t happen. But I was sure I could correct whatever mistakes I made the first time around to prevent me from winning a part in my favorite musical. I would be in Peter Pan, and that would be almost as good. Most of the theater folks did not seem to share my enthusiasm. I heard comment after comment about what a lame show we were staging, and I wondered why these students were bothering to try out if they hated the play so much. But such is theater, I guess. You soldier on, no matter how little regard you have for the material itself. But I geared up.

I very much wanted to sing I’ve Gotta Crow, but I couldn’t find the accompaniment for the song anywhere. I wound up with Distant Melody, coupled with the monologue in which Tinkerbell drinks Peter’s medicine. The song went okay, but I’m sure I would’ve garnered more attention with the song I wanted. The monologue was decent, but they cut me off before the end, so I didn’t even get to crow there. I really had hoped to show off my rooster imitating skills. Nonetheless, it seemed a good sign when I was called into the other room for a dance audition. That hadn’t happened the year before. Unfortunately, a few minutes of trying to keep up with the hand-clapping in Ugg-a-Wugg convinced both me and the dance director that I did not possess sufficient coordination for such a venture, and thus ended my foray into musical theater. Sniff. So I can’t help but feel a tinge of regret when I watch the film version of the Broadway production starring Mary Martin and Cyril Ritchard. These days, the possibility of my being in a musical seems about as distant as the possibility of being able to fly (which, by the way, is the superpower I would choose above all others). Nonetheless, it remains one of my favorite musicals.

No doubt, there’s some weird stuff going on here, with Peter Pan played by a gal (a woman in her 40s, no less); Wendy played by the same actress who plays her daughter Jane, indicating that ultimately the two girls are the same to Peter; and Wendy’s uptight father played by the same actor who portrays Captain Hook. Ritchard stands as a sort of metaphor for adults and adulthood in general, the implication being that they are always on hand to attempt to ruin everyone’s fun, and there’s no escaping them even in Neverland. Mr. Darling reminds me of Mr. Banks in Mary Poppins. Both men try to keep a tight rein on their household, but in reality they have no control over their children at all, and a supernatural visitor is required in order for the father to attain a healthy relationship with his offspring. In this case, however, Wendy (Maureen Bailey) is the fussbudget and the one who eventually does the leaving, much to Peter’s dismay.

Mary Martin has a grand old time playing Peter, though it’s hard to forget entirely that she’s a woman. Her Peter is bright and energetic, and oh the joy whenever he takes flight! Wendy, by contrast, is far too concerned with adult matters, and we soon realize that she’s almost too old as it is to venture into Neverland. Her relationship with Peter is complicated by their differing perspectives. Peter has been a boy for years and years, and the only role he can imagine Wendy in is that of his mother. He is perplexed and even repulsed when realization dawns that she may be more interested in a romantic relationship. Wendy’s siblings, intellectual John (Joey Trent) and cuddly Michael (Kent Fletcher), quickly assimilate into the Lost Boys, but Wendy’s place in the group is unique – and threatened by the Indian princess Tiger Lily (Sondra Lee), who competes for Peter’s affections. A trace of that tension comes across in Ugg-a-Wugg, the complicated gesture of friendship between Tiger Lily’s tribe and Peter’s. This scene is pivotal in that Peter and Tiger Lily had been enemies up until this time, but now they’ve come to the realization that they must unite against a common foe: adulthood (Captain Hook, but also the unwanted advances of Wendy).

To my mind, the most entertaining character in the whole bunch is the slightly flamboyant, overdramatic Captain Hook, who insists upon striking up the band every time he makes an announcement, who embarrasses himself by developing a crush on a woman who turns out to be Peter in disguise (a woman playing a boy playing a woman!), who bonks his faithful servant Smee (Joe E. Marks) on the head whenever the mood hits him. His songs plotting the demise of Peter and his friends are deliciously devious, backed by the silly instrumentation provided by his devout band of pirates, while his flirtatious back-and-forth with Peter in Oh, My Mysterious Lady is priceless. That’s not to say that Peter doesn’t have delightful musical numbers all his own. In fact, most of the songs star him, from the delightfully cocky I Gotta Crow and the joyful I’m Flying to the boisterous Wendy and I Won’t Grow Up, which exemplifies the author’s driving point that childhood is far preferable to the drudgery of adult life.

Because this is about as direct an adaptation as you’re likely to see of a Broadway show, some of the elements come across as rather cheesy to an audience used to sophisticated special effects. The fly lines are often visible. The nonhuman residents of Neverland are people dressed in strange costumes; the dog responsible for babysitting Wendy and her brothers is also a person is a costume, which has to have been incredibly uncomfortable. Tinkerbell is indicated only by a flashlight and a bell, though I have to admit this is a pretty cool effect, and as she is my least favorite character I’m happy to see and hear as little of her as possible. My school shelled out the big bucks to get a laser image of Tinkerbell to project whenever she was supposed to be on stage, but in this case I think simplicity is better, and it would have saved the theater department a nice chunk of change to stick with the flashlight. The sets are fairly sparse, leaving much to the imagination, though perhaps not as much as in Cinderella. The score is delightful to listen to, if not to play; my friends who were in the band that year just about keeled over trying to make sense of the complicated orchestrations, worsened by the fact that the sheet music was riddled with hand-written notes to the actors involved in the original production.

My dad finds Peter Pan annoying and bizarre, and I can see his point – especially when I watch the Disney version. But my affection for the fairy world J. M. Barrie created remains, especially as manifested in this masterful adaptation of the Broadway production. If I can’t live it and I can’t be in it, I’m happy at least to be able to watch it.

Never Before Has Neverland Seemed So Within Our Grasp

Last year, I watched Two Brothers and fell in love with Freddie Highmore, the English answer to Haley Joel Osment. I soon learned he was set to star with Johnny Depp in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, a prospect that pleased me very much. But in the meantime, there was another film starring the two to watch out for: Finding Neverland. I already was convinced of the superiority of the cast, but glowing reviews from friends and critics and an NPR program in which an expert on accents applauded Depp’s work in the film made me even more eager to see it. As too often occurs, I missed it in the theater, but I was all too happy to finally watch it when it came out on video.

I’ve always been a fan of Peter Pan – the general story if not every version – but over the course of several years, particularly in college, my information led me to believe that author J. M. Barrie was at best deluded, at worst a pedophile, and probably both. When I first heard of this movie, I thought it might be rather gritty and cynical. As it turned out, it was just the opposite. I don’t know which account to believe, but I certainly like this one better, and the idealist in me embraces it.

Depp stars as Scotland native Barrie, and I must say that he was awfully easy on the ear. I don’t mask my prejudices. There are few things in this world more beautiful than a Scottish accent. It’s the reason I fell in love with Billy Boyd; it’s the reason I started watching Craig Ferguson after Letterman every night. So even though Depp naturally has just a plain old American accent, I forget that in an instant here. Flawless. But there’s more to this performance than admirable command of a dialect. Depp portrays Barrie as a man rather like Michael Jackson (ironic given the abundant comparisons his role as Willy Wonka produced) but with none of the creepy oddball associations. The people around him may make those accusations, but we see him simply as a gentle man intimately in touch with his inner child and unable to mold himself to the conventions of polite society. Like John Denver, his life’s work and his charitable causes are of greater concern to him than his personal life, which has deep ramifications for his relationship with his wife (Radha Mitchell).

In Barrie’s case, the “charitable cause” that consumes him and troubles his wife is the family of Sylvia Llewelyn Davies (Kate Winslet), a recently widowed woman with a brood of four boys, three of whom (Joe Prospero, Nick Roud, Luke Spill) are energetic and imaginative. The odd one out is Peter (Highmore), who is deeply scarred by his father’s death and has little use for the falderal Barrie happily trots out for the boys’ benefit. Nonetheless, the author perseveres, encouraging Peter to write his own stories. Meanwhile, he is so inspired by his afternoon romps with the children that he recovers from a writing slump, writing what is destined to be by far his most popular play, though his producer (Dustin Hoffman) is overcome with worry that this exceedingly strange piece of theater will be a colossal flop. Hoffman remains an understated comic presence, and I can only assume he was asked to assume the role as a nod to his performance as Hook in the film of the same name. At the same time, Sylvia’s stern mother (Julie Christie) shows increasing disapproval of the playwright’s involvement with her daughter and grandchildren, particularly once Sylvia begins to display signs of a serious illness.

The look of this film is magical, suffused with dappled sunlight that almost invariably overpowers the shadows that linger on the periphery. The visions of Neverland are especially bright, and for fans of the story it’s exhilarating to feel as though we are watching the genesis of these beloved characters and events. Perhaps my favorite such moment is when Barrie observes the Davies children jumping on the bed and imagines them continuing upwards instead of falling back upon the soft mattress, flying out of the open window into a land where they will never grow older and never change. As much as he tries to preserve their innocence, he cannot shield them from harsh reality, but he can give them a gift: the power of story, latent within each of them, to unlock the magic so many weary souls have left behind and never attempted to reclaim.

Top-notch acting, superior cinematography, a gentle story and tender score all come together to create a masterpiece of which all its participants can be proud. Peter flies high once again, and he’s never before looked so much like one of us.