I saw Peter Pan the day after my birthday, and maybe I loved it so much because it so perfectly captures that rift between childhood and being an adult, where you want the priveleges of both worlds but cling tightly to the comforts you've grown accustomed to. This is something clearly illustrated in J.M. Barrie's original book but largely left out of the delightful adventure of the Disney adaptation, which is what I'd grown accustomed to. In any case, I've grown up one more year, and that rift is growing wider, and watching this movie is one of those serendipitous 'right place, right time' events that is sort of equivocal to looking in a mirror.

Of course, this connection would not have been possible if the movie had not been so very good. P.J. Hogan, an Australian director whose previous films were about weddings (namely, Muriel's and My Best Friend's), has apparently always wanted to adapt Barrie's book. I wouldn't have assumed from his previous work that he'd have something like this in him, but we all know what happens when you assume. In this case, you get surprised by one of the most lyrical and enchanting movies of the year. This ranks with Whale Rider as a superb film for children and adults that does not pander to or exclude anyone.

The story has not changed; Hogan has remained almost entirely faithful to Barrie's text, but somewhere in the transition from words to images, in the syncopation of scenes and dialogue, the story became far more meditative. There is the love story between Peter and Wendy, neither of whom know what love is and can barely distinguish between a thimble and a kiss, and then there is Captain Hook, who as played by Jason Isaacs (who also plays the father of Wendy and her brothers) is given an unprecedented level of humanity. One senses that he was a Lost Boy who somehow managed to grow up, against his wishes; he's not evil here, merely bitter and jealous. The scene where he quietly watches Peter and Wendy dance with the fairies is one that you wouldn't expect from most movies, where conflict between the hero and villain would take precedence. There is certainly room enough for excitement and action, but the film has the feel of a poem, with interconnecting stanzas rather than a normal three act structure and a melancholy subtext that shades nearly everything that occurs.

Some critics have found problems with this subtext, thinking that they detect an inappropriate level of sexuality in the interactions between Peter (Jeremy Sumpter, so frightening in Frailty) and Wendy (played by radiant newcomer Rachel Hurd-Wood). This is ludicrous, of course, and leads me to believe that these critics think the story is solely about pirates and swordfights and not about a boy who is afraid to grow up and a girl who is realizing that she has already started to. The characters are played by real children, of course, and not cartoons or women dressed as boys, and perhaps that disturbs some people, who would prefer to think of children as innocent creatures incapabable of complex thought. These are the same parents who would prefer their kids watch The Cat In The Hat instead of something like Whale Rider, or this film. There is a lot of darkness and some death in this story (Captain Hook has a habit of dispatching unreasonable pirates), but most great children's films deal with these things. I'd wager that kids would be far better off watching something scary and smart than something bland and simple-minded. But hey, that's just me.

And even at its darkest moments, the film has the guilded surreality of a dream that keeps it from being too unsettling. Neverland (and London too, for that matter) is created entirely on digitally extended soundstages and painted in bright, bold hues; the color depends on the weather, which as at the mercy of the characters (whenever Peter is absent or unhapy, winter sets in). It never looks real, but that's sort of the point; it looks exactly like you'd imagine an imaginary place to look. The flying effects, on the other hand, do look real, and one smart deviation from the original story is that Hook eventually figures out how to alight from the ground himself, although he can never quite manage to think a single happy thought.

I could identify with Captain Hook, the monster who just wants to be loved, and I could identify with Peter, so secure and triumphant in his own world but unwilling to risk stepping outside of it. And I could identify with Wendy, who longs for the carefree days of childhood, but knows that maybe growing up is worthwhile too. That's the point of the story, in the end -- not the swashbuckling or the adventure, but the inevitability of adulthood, and how maybe it's not as bad as it seems. It would be wonderful to never have a care in a world, of course, but would that be worth never knowing the difference between a thimble and a real kiss?