‘More man than Pan’
So, Christmas is undeniably here, isn’t it? Halloween held it off for half a month, and then the igniting of an alleged 16th-century traitor slowed it some more. But those sleigh bells were always tingling through the month of October, rather menacingly in the background.
Of course, it is the Barbican that confirms it. J.M. Barrie’s festive feast pulls itself from a snowdrift somewhere in northern Greenland and lumbers straight for our capital, shedding fairy dust and feathers as it goes. Fitting? Yes. Expected? Yes-but with writer Ella Hickson and director Jonathan Munby’s 2013 Stratford-upon-Avon production shifting the protagonist along to Wendy, we might be in for a more surprising evening. Side note: when will there be a reshuffle where the Crocodile’s perspective is told? That’s the story I think we’re all waiting for, complete with a troubled childhood in the bayous.
Hickson hacks straight in addressing the obvious sexism of the 1904 play: that boys never have to grow up while girls must play mother and pine by the window as their youth/beauty fade (thanks, Barrie), or else have room for only one emotion at a time (wow, when you start dissecting it). Her interpretation also highlights the element of grief, because more death is what everyone wants at Christmas. Although this, in fact, faces up to the more sombre elements of the original play and book.
Hannah Saxby is a rightfully indignant Wendy for the modern world: three-dimensional, unsure, childlike (obviously), coping with grief, gender roles, and all the demanding pirates, Lost Boys, crocodiles and vengeful fairies. She bucks against the constant whinging of the boys and the selfish prattle of Peter, and in the process effectively underlines the different childhoods boys and girls are expected to have. As the now eponymous lead, she cavorts and slashes her way through the adventure, keeping her energy throughout-which is more than can be said for the piece as a whole.
Casting directors, much like fight directors, are rarely mentioned by reviewers unless it’s negative. Sadly, I’m going to follow this cliché. Annelie Powell may have found a wonderful Wendy, but the Peter she provides, Daniel Krikler, is more man than Pan. Bulky, handsome, and, dare I say, far too smouldering for what should be an immortal ten-year-old. His statements of “never wanting to grow up” produce a confused chuckle from the audience, and his interaction with the youthful-looking Wendy seems off-putting at best. Krikler cannot be blamed for this odd choice, of course, and with his chorus of shadows and strings (sorry, fairy dust/happy thoughts) he swings about with much naïve bonhomie.
Better choices are Tink-via Cathy Burke: Charlotte Mills whose cockney clobbering gives comedy and depth to our solo-emotive-pixie. Wendy joining the vaguely Asian-costumed Tiger Lily (Ami Tredrea) and Tink into an alliance, and eventually saving Pan and the Lost Boys, is a nice alternative to the divided female characters of the original.
Some fleshing out of the gracious Mrs Darling (Lolita Chakrabarti) with suffragette action again hark back to the play’s Edwardian composition date (although this, interestingly, is Hickson’s addition, not Barrie’s). Toby Stephens as Mr Darling is warm if distracted; however, his Hook is by way of Freddie Mercury and Tim Curry-gloriously camp and purring. Add this to an unrequited gay love story between him and Scott Karim’s Smee (only just staying within non-problematic stereotyping), and we get a more nefarious, layered, rockstar-coded but still terrifying villain.
The above sounds brilliant, doesn’t it? Add in Colin Richmond’s ribcage-like set and carefully reworked costumes, and it should be the perfect toasty evening at the theatre. However, what starts as a bright, bubbling and brainy retelling eventually falls into the stodgy sentiment and stale lines of the original perhaps inevitably. The Peter problem constantly jogs us out of the tale, and the second act travels such a set path, with such an overdose of familiar feeling, that it’s like watching the John Lewis Christmas advert. Can we not pray for more complexity in theatre in 2025? I’ll leave that question unanswered, as I spend another month grumbling about consumerism, gluttony-and putting off my Christmas shopping.
Playing until the 22nd of November, pluck some tickets HERE!