24 JANUARY 1925, Page 11

THE CINEMA

THE PETER PAN FILM

Tuts is a refreshing and welcome film : that it is " the world's greatest picture " is, of course, quite untrue, for it is, with few exceptions, impossible that any straight adaptation from either novel or play should be completely satisfactory. The Hunchback of Notre Dame, in spite of the dwarf's credit- able performance, was not the kind of evening's entertain- ment one would undergo twice ; Main Street was meaningless ; and He Who Gets Slapped, which has received such praise these last two weeks, owes nothing in atmosphere and little in detail to Andreyev. Peter Pan belongs to none of the poor threadbare types of picture to which most producers unhappily limit themselves. This individuality alone would make it valuable were it otherwise a failure. Actually it is half a success.

The Spectator has long cried in vain to cinema-magnates to hire men of talent—writers, painters or what-not—and teach them the technique of scenario-writing in the hope that some day we may see a decent percentage of original films which will not, by their lack of refinement, shock thoughtful people as often as they are now shocked. But in the meantime it is no advantage whatsoever that the producer of Peter Pan should have invited Sir James Barrie to write a few special captions for the film of his famous play. The picture follows the play fairly closely, perhaps too closely ; it is a thousand pities and a great weakness in the film itself that the action should be held up again and again to allow a quite unnecessary sub-title, however 'charming, to occupy the screen. People go to the cinema to see pictures, not to read printed words.

Even the film is very unequal. All that is honest make- believe is good. The dog-nursemaid is an enchanting creature, quite frankly a pretend-dog, and the opening scenes in which Nana airs nightclothes and baths the smallest Darling are perfect from every point of view. Mr. Darling's wicked treatment of Nana is nearly all that one could wish, and demonstrates convincingly the awfulness of Fathers : no could anything be better than the fight between the children and the pirates, it has the real nursery fervour, while the pirates--Captain Hook of Eton and Oxford included—are just dressed-up and unreal enough to be thoroughly terrible. It is a joy to see them hewn to pieces by valiant chaps of seven or eight.

Perhaps the real charm, to grown-ups at any rate, in the rest of the play is to remind us of all the thrilling times we did not somehow have as children. It would have been so nice to have lost boys to look after, and Red Indian friends. Familiar fairies like Tinker Bell would have been lovely. Yet somehow on the screen all these childhood playmates seem a little too concrete. Even Peter Pan himself, we know only too well, is Miss Betty Bronson, a girl of seventeen with a mechanically roguish smile and conscious dancing- class gestures. She is certainly more like an elfish boy than a mature actress could ever be, but not like enough. The mermaids, even Tinker Bell herself, arc all sadly real, second- line film-stars in superb fancy dress or photographed small by double photography. They say fantasy is good for the cinema : after seeing the frankly magical portions of Peter Pan and that too-too solid white horse on which Douglas Fairbanks rode through the air in The Thief of Baghdad, one is inclined to feel that fantasy which can touch the imagination is impossible to film-producers (at any rate those from across the Atlantic), and that they had better stick to realism or else, and better, exploit make-believe and leave fairies alone. After all, no great harm will be done, for most of the best fairy-tales in the world have no fairies in them, and what fairies there are are quite commonly much like you and me to look at : they come to parties decorously, nicely dressed in fashionable clothes. It is only by the way they act, the unimaginable naughtiness of them, that they are recognized.

Those who feel a repugnance for Sir James Barrie's peculiar tone of voice should be warned against going to sec this film, lest they be troubled by references to the smiles of new-born babes, or urged to clap their hands to save a fairy from death. But they will miss one very exquisite picture when the children come home on the pirate ship. It sweeps through the waves, faster and faster ; a sub-title reminds you that it is possible to fly by thinking " beautiful lovely thoughts," and the gallant ship, sure enough, is so full of thoughts that it leaves the sea, rises into the air with water dripping from its keel, and flies proudly away. Whether you approve of the means of its levitation or not, this is a very beautiful thing to see, one of those rare flashes of beauty-in-motion which the cinema alone can give. Let us hope that no one will explain publicly the technical trick by which this miracle is performed : beauty is to be enjoyed,