How doth the little crocodile

I have been remiss in addressing the crocodile in Peter Pan, which is, after all, a significant character--and frequent metaphor. But ignoring her has certainly never made her go away.

J.M. Barrie devotes little of his book to physical description of Captain Hook's scaled nemesis, although in stage directions for his 1904 play, he provides the memorable stage direction: "A huge crocodile, of one thought compact, passes across, ticking, and oozes after them." He tells us in the book that the creature is female, although Hook refers to the beast as "it" (an omission for which Vivian takes him to task in The Stowaway). In the 1953 animated Disney film, the croc is male and named Tick Tock. In Peter and the Starcatchers, and the play derived from the book, the crocodile is again male and known by the moniker Mr. Grin.

In Barrie's wake, many writers and filmmakers have given the crocodile additional metaphoric weight. It is easy enough to see her as the personification (reptile-ification?) of death. As the character of Mrs. Snow says in the film Finding Neverland, in a quote often misattributed to the author rather than the character played by Johnny Depp, "I suppose it's like the ticking crocodile, isn't it? Time is chasing after all of us, isn't that right?"

And yet Disney studios gave us a, well, goofy croc. Not only am I not threatened by Tick Tock, I actively feel sorry for him. I accept the reasoning behind making the movie less frightening for young children, but I'm embarrassed on behalf of the cartoon Hook, as being afraid of this animal just makes him look more ridiculous. Surely the poor crocodile deserves better as well.

The 2003 live action movie went the entirely different direction with its menacing, dinosaur-esque crocodile.

And we've lost all pretense to realism in the stage productions of Peter and the Starcatcher, but I admit to being particularly impressed with the use of minimal props to portray an alarming Mr. Grin.

In The Stowaway, we learn that the story Peter Pan told Mr. Barrie--that he cut off Hook's hand and threw it to the crocodile, leading the beast to stalk the pirate incessantly in hopes of getting the rest of him--may not be entirely correct in all its particulars. But that does not mean the crocodile isn't a deadly creature and frightening enough in its own right. As I write this, I see that only a day ago, the remains of a man were found in the belly of a saltwater crocodile in Australia, in the same region where another crocodile killed a 12-year-old boy in January. The croc in The Stowaway has metaphorical significance, as may be unavoidable after so many years and retellings, but I hope not to be heavy-handed about it. The real physical threat posed by a crocodile is already substantial enough.

Defending the Captain

Sort of a Part II to this post from last Friday, although I suppose technically it may be Part III or IV by now. Regardless. Onward!

Even if I were less of a purist about Peter Pan, there was no way I could appreciate the "Peter and the Starcatchers" book after its description of Hook, who at the time of the book is known as Black Stache.  And even if I weren't so deeply immersed in the world of James Hook as originated by J. M. Barrie for my work on The Stowaway, I would be insulted by the recasting of this character I have been fascinated by for so long.

And to think I was offended that the Disney film made Captain Hook comedic and inept. I have yet to figure out why he would have his desk outside on the ship's deck.

The Stache of the Barry/Pearson books is depicted as repellent and pathetic, and he is made a figure of mockery until I feel like I'm watching school kids bullying the child who comes to school with dirty clothes and poor social skills. I end up thinking I may be glad I didn't grow up with Dave Barry (which is disappointing, as I read his columns happily for years) and Ridley Pearson, which is not a pleasant way to feel about the authors of a book one is reading.

This captain's crew call him Rat Breath. He eats raw meat from the depths of his hideously filthy cabin. He feels pride in nothing but his foot-wide moustache.
"He was a strikingly unpleasant figure, with a pock-marked face and a large red nose, like a prize turnip, glued to his face. His long black hair, greasy from years without washing, stained the shoulders of the red uniform coat he'd stolen from a Navy sailor on the high seas..." 

Black 'Stache from Peter and the Starcatchers, by Greg Call, 2004

James Hook was never like this, not even in the very first productions of the play.

Robb Harwood, 1906 play production. Note the Charles II hair. Also, no moustache.

Gone are the original Hook's Eton origin, elegant bearing, and presumably tragic past. He is no longer even allowed his original appearance. As J. M. Barrie describes him:
"In person he was cadaverous and blackavized [dark faced], and his hair was dressed in long curls, which at a little distance looked like black candles, and gave a singularly threatening expression to his handsome countenance. His eyes were of the blue of the forget-me-not, and of a profound melancholy, save when he was plunging his hook into you, at which time two red spots appeared in them and lit them up horribly....He was never more sinister than when he was most polite, which is probably the truest test of breeding; and the elegance of his diction, even when he was swearing, no less than the distinction of his demeanour, showed him one of a different cast from his crew."

Flora White, 1921

Or for that matter,  the descriptiong given by "Old Etonian Mr. G.F.T. Jasparin":
 "I do not merely mean that Etonian was written all over him; there was something even more than that, as if (may I venture) he was two Etonians rolled by the magnanimous Gods into one. In a word the handsomest man I have ever seen, though, at the same time, perhaps slightly disgusting." ("Hook at Eton," 1927 speech by Sir J.M. Barrie)

I can work with this (and I do). Even with the "slightly disgusting" part, because opinions vary.

The elegant, compelling Hook, in this case as drawn by Maxim Mitrafanov. If you see a copy of this book for sale anywhere, be a dear and let me know. I've been looking for this one for months.

Really, for Disney books, this depiction has little to do with the Disney Villain version of Hook. The play version of Black 'Stache, at least, could segue into the Captain Hook of the 1953 Disney animated film without too much of a stretch.

John Sanders as 'Stache with Joey deBettencourt as Boy

But not the Black 'Stache of the books, who just makes me sad.

An unpopular opinion, and the reasons why

I discovered in looking for images for this post that every reviewer in the world loves the Peter and the Starcatchers books. Well, I do not. And I'm going to say why with spoilers, and many words, so you are hereby warned.

 I came home from Peter and the Starcatcher, the play, so wanting to spend more time with the characters that I cracked open Peter and the Shadow Thieves, the second in the Barry/Pearson series, and then went on number three, Peter and the Secret of Rundoon. And thus I remembered why I almost didn't give the play a chance.

First off, I freely admit to being put off by the complete departure from canon, from the character of Peter to the reason why Neverland exists. I have to accept here that one of my personal peeves is the reduction of the wondrous to something easily explained by a prosaic element. Starstuff is not prosaic in itself, but it's the single cause of literally all life in the universe and the reason for the cosmic battle between good and evil, life and the void. (How the diabolical Lord Ombra can be an ambassador for the void, yet exist, is not explained.)

Starstuff is the reason as well for why Peter doesn't age and can fly, the presence of mermaids (who began as fish exposed to starstuff--an explanation which the play turns into an Edwardian music hall number to great success), the menace of the crocodile, even Tinker Bell--a bird shaken up with starstuff to create a fairy. So there are no other fairies, no actual magic on the island, no ability to fly that doesn't come without assistance from--for all intents and purposes--aliens. A trope that is another pet peeve of mine. And Peter is not merely a boy who refuses to grow up, but a boy from a Very Important Family with a Purpose.

The play, doing it right.

Starcatchers the play takes such elements and magnified them to a silliness that nearly redeems them--the tribal chief was held captive in English kitchens, and sprinkles his phrases with cooking terms, thus making him drolly individual. Nods to the pantomime and vaudeville traditions tie the play in with decades of theatrical performances of Peter Pan. And references throughout to the source material, British history, and current events--often from the mouth of Black 'Stache--make it feel like part of the tradition. I don't feel this way about the books, which seem barely connected to the original source at all. Dave Barry admits to not having been a real Peter Pan fan growing up, and I suppose we see here the result of taking on a beloved classic without the heart attachment to it than others have.

Writing advice frequently encourages writers to keep upping the stakes, upping the stakes. Starcatchers the book series shows the danger in that, when the stakes become so universal as to rob them of any personal resonance. The stakes in the series become so abstract that the mythic quality of Barrie's story is lost. Peter Pan is a mythic presence because he expresses personal truths--the desire to stay young, the sacrifices involved in doing so, the nature of loss and forgetfulness. Another battle between the forces of good and evil in the universe simply does not resonate with me in the same way. I've read that/heard it/seen it so many times now, it's simply another flavor of something that has nothing to do with my own experience. Yes, the annihilation of the universe is a frightening thought. So is the annihilation and loss of many other things that I am more likely to experience for myself.

More specifically, there are aspects of Pearson/Barry's Starcatchers that would bother me in any context. Characters who are not well-educated and well-bred are fair game for mockery, such as the pirates. The evil land of Rundoon is set in a desert, where the people wear robes and turbans and ride camels--can we tell it the book was written post 9/11? (Published in 2007, to be precise). The problematic Indians of the original story are transformed into nearly-as-problematic Pacific islanders called the Mollusk Tribe, led by Fighting Prawn--not exactly dignified. While Pearson/Barry occasionally seem to realize the consequences of colonialism, the play actually calls attention to them with jokes, and don't approach the story from the books' viewpoint of aristocratic natural leaders, which among other things, leaves any number of interesting stories untold and viewpoints unexpressed.

Lovely art by Greg Call, as always,
but why has Molly become inexplicably blonde?

I like the character of Molly, but I find little in these books as a whole to identify with, and I'm sure there are young adults reading these books who feel the same way. It's the authors' choice to approach their subject this way, of course, but it does seem to me that it adds to a large collection of the same, rather than breaking the new ground they surely intended. And while the books are lauded for their imagination, I find too much I've seen before. Molly and Teacher the mermaid are both unusually beautiful. (I miss Hermione Granger.) Tubby Ted is obsessed with food. Battle between good and evil. Right. Got it.

Examining my responses to the books as opposed to the play has been interesting, and you can look forward to more on this. (Sorry. No, wait, I'm not.) Specifically, I've had to analyze what types of fairy tale retelling I like and which I don't, and why. And then there's the Starcatchers books' treatment of Captain Hook, which merits its own post. (That you probably knew to expect.)