Pan
(2016)
(SPOILERS) An
inexcusably wretched excrescence, and perhaps a lesson to those who think
Disney makes it look easy, refashioning fairy tales for undiscerning young
audiences ready and waiting to lap them up. Pan,
or rather Pan: Origins, would, I
think it’s safe to say, emphatically not
meet with JM Barrie's approval. It’s a listless, drama-free mess, smeared with
a muddy, ugly, “realist” aesthetic that someone hunched at a Hollywood editing desk
presumably believe audiences can’t get enough of. Worst of all, Pan lacks any sense of wonder, magic, and
most importantly, fun.
Ironically,
Hanna, director Joe Wright’s last-but-one
film, offered an engaging, invigorating modern fairy tale, one that didn't need
to spell everything out, but had it all right there in the design and character
tensions. Here, every element seems to be a reaction against something, a
strategic attempt to anticipate the predominate trend yet fatally misunderstanding
that formula at the expense of invention will eventually see you come a
cropper.
Pan finds Warner Bros seduced by the prospect of a
Harry Potter-esque, sequel-spinning,
chosen-one origins tale, as a transposed Oliver
Twist ragamuffin is transported from a blitz besieged orphanage to a
particularly grim Neverland (wartime London is sketched out with more sense of artistry;
at least there’s a degree generic nostalgia involved). Despite occupying
dubious terrain to start with – the last couple of Pans haven't exactly set the world on fire, and in particular, Spielberg’s
messing with the myth provoked critical derision – screenwriter Jason Fuchs has
gone ahead with his own botched vision of a pre-Wendy era, when “friends began as enemies and enemies as
friends”.
Perhaps he
saw Black Sails, leading to a lazy
speculation over what happened before in another much loved children’s
piratical tale. Whatever hooked him, he’s equipped with none of the inspiration
or resources to fashion anything halfway decent. Pan and Hook become friends,
enslaved by Blackbeard…
So Blackbeard is essentially in the Hook role, and Hook
is essentially Han Solo. With Tiger Lily (Rooney Mara; the casting controversy
pales in comparison to the general atrocity of the picture) as the Princess
Leia type, and Pan as Luke. It’s all very tiresome, and worst of all tedious
(at one point, Hook departs at a crucial moment, only to return in his flying
ship to save the day). Digesting all that, we ought to be very afraid for Wonder Woman’s chances of being less
than horrible (on which Fuchs gets sole screenwriting credit).
You might
have expected Hugh Jackman, a reliable, charismatic actor, to get to grips with
Hook Blackbeard, but aside from some notable facial appliances and
costuming, he flourishes entirely forgettable ham. Say what you like about Hook, but Dustin Hoffman’s performance
was note-perfect. And funny.
Blackbeard tries to be funny, or Jackman does, but the screenplay is wit-bereft.
To be fair
to Hedlund, he’s reasonable as the roguish hero, and Rooney Mara has down the
stern-but-charmed monarch thing (she’s also kick-ass, because no screenwriter
worthless of their salt doesn't turn every female lead into a Buffy clone), but
he bears no resemblance to the kind of character – or actor – who could one day
pull off the villain role (which is surely the intent, had this franchise
non-starter not hit the rocks). Ezra Miller isn't quite bad, but he hasn't got
what he needs for lead duties; the poor lad’s asked to take too many emotional
turns, and his decidedly non-scruff, RP accent leaks through quite frequently.
Fuchs takes
the paraphernalia of the characters and makes the most uninventive meal of it;
Pan is the stuff of a prophecy, and wears pan pipes round his neck as a banal
signpost for why he is called what he is called. Blackbeard, in the most
mundane and literal grounding of the fantastic, is mining pixie dust to keep
himself young.
Every
choice Joe Wright makes as a director is ham-fisted, so he’s nothing if not
consistent. There have been ardent critics of his acumen in the past, notably
his self-conscious take on Anna Karenina,
but I unreservedly liked both Pride and
Prejudice and Hanna. This is
enough to give anyone pause, however. His World War II renders a tiresome
steampunk fantasy of spitfires attack a flying sailing ship. It’s the sort of
visual that might once have been evocative, but is now commonplace, the kind of
torrid concoction Steven Moffat would slaver across one of his Doctor Who Christmas specials.
There’s also
a feeling that Wright has been watching Gilliam, yet completely misunderstand his
genius. In particular, the ship in space, complete with constellations, and
then the cartoonish neverbirds, evoke the Moon sequence from The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, but absent
the humour, eccentricity, or stylistic temperament. the neverbirds are entirely
out of place, not least in terms of the effects failing to marry with the
visual tone (and generally, for such an expensive film, Pan’s seams show very frequently).
When Peter
arrives in Neverland, we’re greeted by a now infamous rendition of Smells Like Teen Spirit, included because
it seemed like a good idea to Wright at the time (we’re also treated to the
Ramones’ Bliztkrieg Pop). The issue
isn’t that its anachronistic, it’s that its entirely lethargic, lacking spark
or brio, much like the barren – but expensively so – colour palette. John
Powell’s score is entirely awful, attempting to evoke the mood of family romps
of yesteryear – ironically, given the adult pop – but instead importing an “Isn’t this a
wondrous lark?” inertia that proves fatal. It really is as if Wright is trying
to make a panto: a $150m panto.
There are
the usual escapes and captures, and the climax is a succession of shipboard
fights and giant glowing crystals, lacking a modicum of excitement. Pan must prove
his chosen status, but Miller’s ill-equipped to deliver (particularly in the
reunion with the ma he has no memory of, which also appears to provide the
closure he surely shouldn’t have in order to decide not to grow up). Along the
way, the attempts at knowing, post-modern humour are sadly to be expected, complete
with allusions to what is to come. Inevitably, they further serve to divest this
telling of any awe at all (“Why wouldn’t
there be a secret map to a magic kingdom?”)
Is there
anything good here? Kathy Burke makes a suitably gruesome nun, and a sequence
where Hook fights Tinkerbell’s chosen warrior at least has a certain knockabout
energy, but such morsels are few and far between. Disney need not worry that
this version of Peter Pan may undermine
their plans for a live-action retelling, but they maybe should be given pause that the faithful-but-expensive 2003 adaptation
also failed to connect with audiences.
Agree? Disagree? Mildly or vehemently? Let me know in the comments below.
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