Joey deBettencourt as “Boy” and Megan Stern as “Molly” in Peter and the Starcatcher. Photo by Jenny Anderson.
Any good magician knows that in order to make an audience swoon, you can have all the smoke and special effects you want, but all it takes is the implication of magic through a good sleight of hand.
It’s something that good children’s authors know, too, which is why stories like J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan have endured, beloved by each new generation for their embrace of the potential hidden in our own minds; in our own desire to believe what we’re seeing as magic.
Watching the touring production of the Peter and the Starcatcher — an “adult prequel” to Peter Pan written by playwright Rick Elice, based on the book by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson, now playing the Kennedy Center through February 16 — it’s clear that in theatrical form, these kinds of stories continue to delight.
In Barry’s Tony-winning “adult prequel” to Barrie, this show perfectly straddles the line between self-aware hamminess and genuine wonderment and joy. We know what’s coming at the end, but seeing the twists and turns it takes to get there is always interesting. Clever choreography and the simple but beguiling set can convey almost anything — singing mermaids, shipwrecks, shark attacks — without the help of cheesy flying harnesses (sorry, Mary Martin).
For the sake of full disclosure, actress Megan Stern, the sole female cast member, happens to be a good friend of mine. While this makes me biased, I will say that she holds her own as Molly, the strong, curious, adventurous girl, who takes the lead among a legion of lost boys and pirates. But it is really an ensemble work, and everyone in the cast deserves a pat on the back for maintaining a pace so athletic, you realize you’ve been holding your breath for them.
One obligatory shout out goes to John Sanders as Black Stache, the show’s Captain Hook before the metallic appendage. He may remind you of every character Sacha Baron Cohen has ever embodied: Bruno, Borat, even Ali G, all rolled into one.
For about ten minutes in Act II, his only line is basically “Oh my god,” uttered over and over, in various ways, almost like a feverish piece of music. His flamboyant, comically adroit performance makes a carefully blocked bit look easy and spontaneous — just about one of the hardest things you can do as an actor. It is obviously the show’s flashiest part, a fact that Black Stache even acknowledges when he admonishes a giant crocodile for literally chewing up a scene.
As a side note, one of the most uncomfortable and troubling aspects of the Peter Pan story (particularly the incredibly racist Disney film) is the exoticism of Native Americans and non-Anglo groups of people in general. The show deftly holds a mocking mirror up to the minstrel show shames of iterations past, without sweeping it under the carpet, by making the island natives chant things like “Chi-An-Ti” and “Lin-Gui-Ni.” And having the father step out to muse on how odd it is to be a British person held captive (usually we’re the ones doing this, he says).
Directed by Roger Rees — still recognizable to many heathens like this reviewer, sadly, for his role as the Sheriff of Rottingham in the Mel Brooks classic Robin Hood Men in Tights — if you can afford the formidable ticket price ($60-145), it’s a pure, unadulterated (get it? NO ADULTS!) treat.
