by Tess Tabak

I was astonished when P.S. 210 asked me to review this production. First, because it is so far beneath my acumen as a critic. Second, because I am dead.

I’ve seen child stars before. The lead in Broadway’s 1984 revival of Oliver, for example, was a delightful imp. But Timmy Longwood, lead in this production, is no child star. I question this school’s decision to utilize a child actor for the role of Peter Pan, traditionally played by an adult woman. Peter Pan requires grace, a broad vocal range, and comic timing, something a 6-year-old boy is hardly capable of. Timmy Longwood is no Mary Martin. He does not even measure up to the pitiful performance of Allison Williams in NBC’s Peter Pan Live! Sorry, Timmy. Next time, try to bring a little more to the part. 

Please help me. I can hear the cries of the dead, begging for relief from this eternal misery.

In a similar vein, there are good shows with child-heavy casts. Were I still alive, I wouldn’t mind seeing Annie one more time. However, P.S. 210’s choice to use an all-child cast, while daring, was ill-advised. On average, the talent level of the children in this performance bordered on dirt. As in, dirt would have been more interesting to watch. At one point Tiger Lilly tripped on her shoelaces and danced into the scenery, knocking the whole thing down. You’d think it would have been funny in a mean-spirited way, but no, it just filled the room with a sense of ennui. You could tell everyone was thinking it. This girl could have taken these fifteen minutes to dazzle us, to take us away from our lives for a second, but she was just a disappointment. She always will be a disappointment until she’s 40 and working as a checkout clerk in some gas station in Nowheresville, Nebraska. What a waste of human potential.

The fire burns it burns it burns...

This was without a doubt the worst play I’ve ever seen. I hated this play. Hated hated hated hated hated it. I don’t think that anyone other than the parents of the children involved could possibly be entertained by it. Even then, I caught a few of them dozing off when they thought no one was watching.

I didn’t understand, I didn’t understand what really mattered in life and now it’s too late. It’s not about mocking children and actors. Tell your wife you love her, before she’s gone.

On the whole, this was a miserable production. I would give it two thumbs down if I had any. 

And by the way, J.M. Barrie hated it too.

Tess Tabak currently works as a ghost writer (boo!) and co-edits The Furious Gazelle, an online literary magazine devoted to art and fury. Her publishing credits include Athena's Daughter's II and Narrative Northeast Magazine. For more information visit tesstabak.weebly.com