Film and Felt

To this reviewer, imagination is life. Ever since high school, one of my favorite activities was to toss on my walkman (I’ve since graduated to an IPod), and immerse myself in other worlds as I walked around the city or my college campus. Don’t misunderstand—I’m comfortable in reality, but fantasy has always been a joyous escape, a way to temporarily shuck aside any concerns or problems that may be weighing on me. It’s no coincidence, then, that Peter Pan (1953) was always among my favorite Disney pictures as a child. I loved the stubborn refusal of these bubbly boys to grow up, their mischievous tendencies alive to the end…but, when needed, taking on the responsibilities of the very adults they fiercely avoided becoming. Rewatching Disney’s Peter Pan about a year ago, I was struck by how well it held up—the final image of Wendy longingly looking out the window at the ship of clouds in the sky is one of the more beautiful images I can remember, and all the sense of wonder remained. A few months later, I screened P.J. Hogan’s live-action version of Peter Pan (2003), and was pleasantly surprised by how charming it was (in large part due to Jeremy Sumpter’s delightful turn as Peter). Around then, I read a bit about Marc Forster’s upcoming Finding Neverland, which was completed but delayed until late this year due to Hogan’s Pan getting the 2003 release. I wasn’t particularly excited, despite Johnny Depp’s presence—could a picture about Barrie really deliver that Peter Pan magic? With images of the clumsy biopic A Beautiful Mind dancing in my head, I didn’t think so.

How wrong I was. Because Finding Neverland, which opened here in Manhattan this past Friday, is 2004’s most captivating picture, and certainly my biggest cinematic surprise to date this year. Like The Fellowship of the Ring in 2001, Spirited Away & The Two Towers in 2002, and The Return of the King in 2003, Finding Neverland possesses that rarest of abilities—it enchants from start to finish. It’s most certainly a tearjerker, but without being soppy or manipulative: tears are as often evoked during quiet or surreal moments as emotional ones. Given that it’s all about imagination and the inner-child, Finding Neverland isn’t subtle (nor is it supposed to be), but it strikes the perfect tone at nearly every moment. It’s a whimsical story that avoids going overboard on whimsy. My eyes were wet for the final 50 minutes, in large part due to how deeply I came to care for. Barrie and Ms. Davies. In sharp contrast to Tod Williams’ The Door in the Floor (which I saw earlier in the day), Finding Neverland imbues its characters with a mixture of boyish energy and nuanced subtext; by the time the finale rolls around, there’s not a hint of doubt regarding how strongly Barrie and Davies feel for each other…and no kiss, gift, or romantic speech was needed to convey it. Because it’s all built up so quietly (an ironic word choice, as Barrie’s integration into the Davies family is anything but quiet—nevertheless, Mr. Barrie and Mrs. Davies’ relationship is steeped in delicacy), a particular shot of their clasped hands near the end is devastating.

Finding Neverland isn’t a biopic, nor does it claim to be, so the fact that it doesn’t delve deeply into every demon in Mr. Barrie’s closet doesn’t exhibit the flaws of A Beautiful Mind (sugarcoating John Nash’ homosexuality, for example)—it does touch on a family tragedy among other themes, but they’re not Forster’s (Monster’s Ball) primary concern. Instead, he concentrates on Barrie’s joyful, boundless heart. Stuck in a fuddy-duddy misalliance, James Barrie (a magnificent Johnny Depp; more later on the performances) is in the rut to end all ruts. His plays are being critically panned: they lack the energy that drives him to write. There’s no pleasure for him at work, and there’s even less when he returns to his prim-and-proper (though beautiful) wife at night. As he struggles to rediscover his creative fire in the park—the location where he does much of his writing—Barrie has a chance encounter with Mrs. Sylvia Llewyn Davies (Kate Winslet) and her four boys that sparks his boyish spunk again, injecting him with the surge of passion he’s been missing for so long. Barrie takes particular interest in young Peter, a reserved type, and spends many hours attempting to break into his tightly wound—and wounded—soul (of all the boys, Peter’s taken his father’s death the hardest), and asks his permission to name the lead boy of his upcoming play after him. Barrie’s liveliness, fully restored, shoots through the Davies family like lightning, infusing a moribund group with much-needed laughter, despite the attempts of Sylvia’s mother, Emma du Maier (Julie Christie), to spoil the fun. Unfortunately, Sylvia is suffering from a serious illness herself—probably tuberculosis, though it’s never explicitly stated—but refuses to submit to tests for fear of their potential impact on her children. Meanwhile, Peter Pan has begun production, Barrie’s marriage is teetering on the edge of complete disintegration, Mrs. du Maier’s interference is escalating by the day, and Ms. Davies isn’t getting any better…

Forster’s direction is sublime, particularly several dreamy montages displaying the power of the imagination (my apologies for using this word so much, but really, there’s no choice in this instance!)—an especially delightful sequence presents Barrie dancing with his dog, envisioning them as ringmaster & bear in an upscale circus. The set design, particularly the performances of Peter Pan, mixes simple pieces (cardboard water, boys hanging from strings) with the lavish, surreal conclusion that should stir the heart of the most cynical movie-goer. Color schemes are bright and sunny, belying the underlying sadness that’s present for most of Finding Neverland’s running time. But the picture’s deepest magic comes from the acting, without which it would be significantly less successful. Johnny Depp may be the most versatile actor of the past few decades—consider the roles he took on: Arizona Dream (1993), Ed Wood (1994), Dead Man (1995), Once Upon a Time in Mexico (2003), and Pirates of the Carribean (2003). Here, he fills James Barrie with the proper adoration for life, and portrays a level of responsibility far beyond his childish exterior. An especially touching moment occurs in the opening night party for Peter Pan, when a group of admirers gather around young Peter, cooing, “this is Peter Pan!” Politely, Peter points to Mr. Barrie and says, “But I’m not Peter Pan. He is.” Indeed. Depp’s magnificent screen aura wouldn’t let us doubt it for a second. Not to be outdone, Kate Winslet’s Ms. Davies is haggard and reserved, allowing a smile to peek out only when her children are cheerful—this lightness of being seems to take place only when James Barrie is around. Winslet’s a splendid performance also affords us a rare glimpse of Winslet’s lovely, natural English accent. Julie Christie is appropriately snooty as Mrs. du Mille, and Dustin Hoffman gives a great smarmy turn as Charles Frohman, the deep-pocketed theatre owner with a strange, gruff faith in Barrie. The boys are excellent as well, particularly Freddie Highmore (Two Brothers) as the troubled Peter.

As Peter Pan nears opening night, everything at its core—believing, staying young forever, the imagination—is tragically mirrored by Mrs. Davies’ faltering health, and the harsh reality that all the belief in the world won’t save her life. It’s heartbreaking, and handled so deftly that it avoids the melodramatic demise that plagues much of modern Hollywood. Finding Neverland goes on about five minutes too long—had it ended on the fade-to-black following Mrs. Davies’ descent into Neverland, I don’t think I could conjure up a single problem with it—but it’s easy to forgive the clichéd conclusion when the picture strikes every other chord correctly. For anyone who’s dreamed of everything Peter Pan is about, Finding Neverland will take you to the world you’ve always wanted to visit, the world that. Barrie promised Mrs. Davies he’d take her to…a promise he ultimately fulfills in 2004’s best sequence. Become a boy all over again in the cineplex.

© Gabe Leibowitz, 2004