I have always loved Peter Pan.
I couldn’t tell you exactly why. There is just something about him. Perhaps it's his nature,
perhaps it's the world he lives in, perhaps it's the adventure. I suppose when I discover why I
have such a deep and personal attachment to this character, I will learn something about myself.
Maybe it’ll even be something I wish I hadn’t found.
Pan and his magical world have been spun in various ways since the 1904 play opened. Some
show Pan as a light hearted elf-boy who sings, dances and teaches children how to fly. Others
have glorified him as the archetypal god-child, an icon of purity and innocence who pipes children
to heaven and who bestows the gift of life on to women who pray to him. A few have crucified
Pan as an arrogant, savage and murderous hellion who kills as easily as he breathes.
Peter Pan is all those things but, for Barrie, he's also a tragic figure. The ultimate “lost boy” who
unconsciously craves the very motherly affections he consciously detests. He is forever lost inside
childhood, unable to grow up, unable to remember and ultimately forever alone.