Critics have been moaning that the new live-action Peter Pan dwells far to much on the burgeoning sexuality of Wendy. What the fuck do they think Peter Pan is about if not the horror and fear of adulthood and all that this entails? Other critics have bemoaned the fact that as Peter, Jeremy Sumpter is the only character with an American accent. One could cruelly suggest that this is appropriate for the character who wishes to forever remain in childhood. And not the innocence of childhood, a thoroughly alien concept to anyone who has ever met a child for more than five minutes. Rather the state of lack of responsibility, with all the viciousness this entails.
What PJ Hogan’s version does nicely remind us is what an absolute cow Tinkerbell is (petulantly brought to life by Ludvine Sagnier). And what a ragbag of knocked off storylines the plot is. These days I daresay we should be pontificating about how JM Barrie’s tale shows that true immortatlity remains in being in the story and how archetypes are stronger than their actual stories. But I would much rather cheer the Indians (hurrah!), hiss the pirates (sssss!) and marvel at how clean Wendy’s nightdress manages to remain (ting!).