A few years ago a version of
Peter Pan was probably the worst
Christmas show I have ever seen; now another version is certainly one
of the best. This story always feels to me of a different species from
other traditional seasonal offerings, in that it was created as a play
(and moreover remains in copyright, howbeit through a bit of
legislative gerrymandering). Changing J M Barrie’s work seems therefore
to require more thought, care and argument. Ella Hickson, however, is
unafraid. She makes the story Wendy’s, that of a girl finding her own
way without succumbing to the contradictory roles assigned her by her
brothers and the Lost Boys alike: helpless damsel yet tireless and
omnicompetent mother. The Darling children’s parents play out their own
stresses against the background of Suffragism, whilst Wendy (an
excellent and entirely natural Fiona Button) forges an alliance with
Tinkerbell and Tiger Lily to win the day and vanquish more contemporary
(yet also timeless) divide-and-rule sexism. Most daringly, a fourth
Darling child is introduced, the ur-Lost Boy in search of whom Wendy
travels to Neverland, and the acceptance of whose loss proves to be the
threshold of her maturity.
This is a play jam-packed with content, and of course it doesn’t all
come off; the second act cannot hope to pay off all the set-ups of the
first with neat coherence. Yet the wonder is that so much of it does
work, and furthermore works massively entertainingly. Verbal
anachronisms come so thick and fast that they soon cease to be worth
worrying about. Guy Henry’s Captain Hook begins as a genuinely menacing
figure complete with fearsome sickle, before morphing into a more
Mephistophelean character wreaking his harm through smooth words. Sam
Swann’s Peter is not just an ageless but also a mannish boy, summoning
his comrades with Junior Wells-style blasts on a blues harp (there’s
even an argument over whether a white boy can play the blues). Colin
Richmond’s set is in a kind of Nursery Voodoo style, casting magic by
putting genteel domestic objects in odd configurations. Tinkerbell,
when expanded from twinkling light to Charlotte Mills’ human form, is
what The Who once called “meaty, beaty, big and bouncy”. Director
Jonathan Munby sprinkles his own fairy dust to help matters fly over
narrative gaps or stumbles, and in general to end my critical year on a
high note. Clap hands if you believe? You bet.
Written for the Financial
Times.