When the overture to your musical is more brassy, fast, and loud than the show that follows, something has gone terribly flat.
When Peter Pan, a Broadway oldie and goodie from 1954 – probably more beloved for its NBC TV presentation a year later, starring its original Tony-winning stars, Mary Martin and Cyril Ritchard – opened in San Francisco and then Los Angeles, problems were quickly apparent. Martin wanted more songs, so Broadway and Hollywood pros Julie Styne, Betty Comden, and Adolph Green added new numbers to those written by Morris Charlap and Carolyn Leigh.
That, and the direction and choreography by legendary dancer/director Jerome Robbins, turned Pan into a wondrous flight of fantasy. J.M. Barrie’s original was much in evidence, but now overlaid with Broadway belt, vaudeville shtick, an English pantomime camp villain, and tennis shoe-wearing Indians. The musical felt as if very clever children had put it together.
A dump truck full of pixie dust is strewn about the stage in this new revision from NETworks Presentations, via Broadway at the Hobby, but nothing gets off the ground. Yes, Pan (Nolan Almeida) arrives through the nursery windows and the Darling children fly off to Neverland. It’s everything we expect (and demand), and for literally five seconds, as they soar toward Big Ben, magic actually happens.
David Bengali’s projections take your breath away when the walls break away while the children fly through clouds toward distant stars. But the elation lasts as long as it takes to read that last sentence. By then, we’ve headed into a kaleidoscopic trip out of 2001: A Space Odyssey – fireworks and exploding stars. What a downer.
The flying by Paul Rubin is rudimentary at best. Pan does a few impressive somersaults, but the children go up and down and sometimes sideways, but the wires are painfully in sight. Why isn’t the lighting more subtle? Don’t these stage wizards see what’s in front of them when watching the show during rehearsals? Don’t they care if the magic’s revealed so nakedly? It’s very disrespectful to the audience. Theater is make-believe and a big heaping plateful of pretend, but give us something to be wowed by; stage tricks to make us gasp. Paul Kieve’s design for Tinkerbell does just that. How the pixie is brought to life is a stage mystery – a bright little orb that darts about, pulls Wendy’s hair, and drinks the poison intended for Pan. She’s got what they call, personality. She’s also the most real thing on stage.
Everything’s played down a notch, as if the actors are eager to have dinner. The energy level is 6 at best. But then, how can one expect these non-equity performers to squeeze life into such a dreary script?
Larissa Fasthorse, whose irreverent The Thanksgiving Play lit up 4th Wall Theatre last season, has revised Robbins’ original book and dragged it flailing into the here and now. The nursery scene is set in the present with Tik Tok videos; no Nana as sheepdog nursemaid but a distracted goth teen as babysitter, mercifully mostly offstage; and a Wendy who has agency in spades. She wants to be a doctor, hence her nimble suture technique when she sews on Peter’s shadow. (By the way, the shadow’s pretty entertaining, too, whipping behind a curtain, sword fighting with Pan, and mimicking Almeida’s moves during “I Gotta Crow.”)
It doesn’t help that Hawa Kamala’s very mature figure in her nightgown makes her appear to be at least twice as old as Peter. This is no pre-teen Wendy. When she asks Peter for a kiss, you shockingly think of Mrs. Robinson.
Almeida is feisty and nimble as Pan, with his abundant curls doing most of the acting. His singing voice is youthful and reedy, a bit whispery, but he puts across his signature “I Won’t Grow up” with a youngster’s innocent bravado. Captain Hook is Barrie’s plum role. Cory Garcia plays this dastardly and most English sea pirate with an improbable Scottish brogue. Why, I have no idea. Thankfully, Garcia doesn’t ham it up too much, but doesn’t have much menace either: a swashbuckler without swash.
The role of Tiger Lily has been beefed up considerably. She’s as cantankerous as Pan and a worthy adversary, somewhat like Barrie’s proud princess, but Raye Zaragoza gives her a cold brittle sheen that isn’t very appealing. The Lost Boys are totally indistinguishable, as are the pirates. Kurt Perry, as First Mate Smee, might have seen the ocean, but would be much happier on Pacific Street.
Anna Louizos’ sets are detailed and as pictorial as a Maxfield Parrish illustration: magenta, pink, Nile green. The Neverland forest drips with Spanish moss, while Bengali’s background projections add a needed third dimension.
What this production sorely needs is the mastery of Jerome Robbins. The dancing is cheesy (the taps are dubbed), the singing’s OK, the orchestration is barely there, and the show is stolen by a manic glowing sprite. This “revised” musical took the sparkle out of me and saps it out of Barrie. For the kids in the audience, perhaps seeing a live show for the first time, I wish this were better. If they think this is the epitome of what a Broadway musical can do to your soul, they might never go again.
Peter Pan continues through October 6 at 7:30 p.m. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday; 2 p.m. Saturday; 1:30 p.m. and 7 p.m. Sunday at the Hobby Center, 800 Bagby. For more information, call 713-315-2525 or visit Houston.broadway.com. $35-$212.
This article appears in Jan 1 – Dec 31, 2024.
