Next Stop: Neverland

What lies beyond the rational, logical, conventional mind that dominates Peter Banning and those like him?

As promised, the first stop on our Monomythic film festival is Steven Spielberg’s 1991 blockbuster, “Hook.”

As I look over my notes, I can already tell that our analysis of the film will run over several weeks. Like most iterations of the Hero’s Journey, there is a ton of worthwhile material to work with here – enough to keep us busy for at least three installments. So that’s what I’ll aim to write – a trilogy.

In order to get the most out of this analysis, we must first examine some of the hallmarks of the Monomyth – the common elements and themes, and the way in which the narrative proceeds according to a set pattern. If you can, take a moment to familiarize yourself with this diagram. It will be very useful for navigating this and future installments of our series on the Monomyth in modern cinema. If you’re feeling especially intrepid, you can also pick up a copy of Joseph Campbell’s book, “The Hero with a Thousand Faces,” which goes over the above in great detail.

Even now, as you look over the list of steps in the diagram above, you may begin to recognize aspects of the pattern in some of your favorite movies and stories. This is perfectly natural and I hope that this recognition increases for you as we proceed further into the series. As I said last week, this knowledge helps elevate literature and film above mere entertainment. Our familiar tales assume a new significance and acquire new power when viewed through this lens. It should be noted that the steps outlined above do not necessarily appear in every instance of the Monomyth. Steps can be omitted, de-emphasized, or even subverted. As a set structure it is surprisingly versatile, adapting itself to the motifs and patterns of whatever culture produces it.

However, as a rule, every occurrence of the Monomyth contains three basic movements: separation, initiation, and return; or, put in slightly different terms: the hero’s departure from the ordinary and familiar world he/she knows; trials and transformation in the extraordinary and unfamiliar world of adventure; and finally, return and reintegration of the transformed hero into his/her ordinary and familiar world.

In many ways, Hook is a brilliant choice for our first analysis as it hits a lot of the steps along the way in a fairly straightforward manner. If you haven’t watched the movie yet, please do so – it’s a highly entertaining and enjoyable film even without consideration for it esoteric meaning. Conversely, you can skip the movie and look up a synopsis instead. Whatever you choose is fine with me - I just want you to get the most out of this series.

OK—let’s dive in.

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Every instance of the Monomyth starts, without fail, in the world of the ordinary and familiar. This is where the audience first meets the titular hero in his or her natural element. In Hook, this is where we meet Peter Banning – over-achieving corporate lawyer, absentee father, absentee husband, micro-manager, and unimaginative bore. In the corporate world, Peter is very much in his comfort zone. He jokes with colleagues, is well-liked and respected around the office, and seems to have found success in his role. At home, however, Peter is disconnected from his wife Moira and two children, Jack and Maggie.

Peter Banning is a man with divided loyalties and misplaced priorities. He takes work calls in the middle of his daughter’s play; he misses his son’s baseball game; he’s out of touch with his children and childhood in general. He’s overly concerned with the superficial and material, with success in the external world of business and finance, but he neglects the all-important work of self-development, of achieving success internally and in the most intimate quarters of life. That’s why he’s obsessed with success at work– it’s the only avenue he knows of for achieving success. And even this watered down success is temporary – Peter needs to replenish it with another corporate acquisition, merger, or whatever.

This is the hero of our story – a successful business man and failing family man who is disconnected from his past and from the magic inherent to childhood—the magic of imagination, creativity, wonder, and curiosity. As the audience is drawn into the ordinary life of Peter, we also discover that the entire family is getting ready to visit Granny Wendy in England. Wendy, we discover, owns and runs an orphanage and is being honored at a banquet.

As Peter and his family board the plane, we learn that Peter is afraid to fly. Young Jack, who’s still peeved at dad for missing his baseball game, knows this and purposely tries to aggravate his already-tense father. This results in the oxygen masks dropping and Peter reacting in terror. In a fit of anger, he grabs Jack by the arm and hisses: “When are you gonna stop acting like a child?” The contempt in Peter’s voice is audible. We get the sense that, for him, childhood is an annoying and tiresome phase. His total and utter lack of imagination is made painfully clear again and again. Like when his daughter offers him a flower she has cut out of paper and Peter dismisses it as fake, for example. “It’s paper,” he chides dismissively.

All of these details are important to the esoteric themes of the movie, which, as we shall see, revolve around the process of integration or as Jung called it, individuation: the process of becoming an internally harmonious, whole, and complete human being. I spoke a little bit about this in my piece on toxic masculinity. In that instance, the goal is to integrate the feminine energy in oneself if you’re a man, and the masculine energy if you’re a woman. The idea is that each person is made up of different aspects and that maturity comes with finding the right balance between these. The feminine-masculine dichotomy is only one facet of this process. Just as every human being contains both masculine and feminine energy, so too do we contain an inner child whose function it is to balance the mature, responsible, task- and duty-oriented adult. If you’re at all familiar with the idea of the inner child, then you’ll see where Hook is heading.

So Peter and his family land in England and arrive on Granny Wendy’s doorstep. From the moment the front door opens, the audience realizes that there is something different going on here. We are moving away from the ordinary and familiar and inching closer to the threshold. The house and its residents are eccentric, or as I noted: “everybody here is a little crazy.” One can sense Peter’s discomfort mounting as he interacts with the residents. The old man named Tootles keeps talking about lost marbles; there’s lots of noise and people moving around; it’s messy and chaotic—perfect for a type-A like Peter.

There are some very clever hints and symbols lurking in this part of the movie. At one point, Granny Wendy informs Jack that there is only one house rule: no growing up. And indeed, the adults of the house all appear very childlike despite their advanced years. A poignant line from Wendy, who upon learning what Peter does for a living exclaims: “Peter, you’ve become a pirtate!” And then, we visit the upstairs bedroom where Wendy herself used to sleep as a child and where Jack and Maggie will be sleeping tonight. A tall window dominates the room looking out on the sky above London. At one  point Peter admonishes Jack and tells him that the window must always remain shut.

Now I’m just spit-balling here, but I feel that this room represents the pinnacle of the rational mind. To go outside or beyond it is unthinkable to Peter, hence his insistence on keeping the window shut. But what lies beyond the window What lies beyond the rational, logical, conventional mind that dominates Peter Banning and those like him? Beyond thoughts and thinking, plans and ideas, goals and achievements? Whatever lies beyond, it is a world that frightens Peter profoundly. Yet it is precisely there, in the world beyond the window, that Peter will find the keys to his sanity, to mending the broken relationship with his family, and to becoming a complete rather than partial, fragmented human being.

But Peter is a stubborn and reluctant hero. He won’t take the journey willingly. He’ll need to be coaxed into it and the universe conspires to this end.

First, Peter finds out that his latest big business deal has fallen through due to bylaw issues. While he is trying to salvage the deal, the tension with his wife and children blows up; Peter’s wife snatches his phone from him mid-sentence and tosses it out the window, into the snowy yard below. When Peter protests, saying: “I have to fix this deal!” his wife responds: “You gotta fix your family first!” All the pieces are in place now. The next step is the call to adventure.

This happens when Peter and his wife return from Wendy’s honorific banquet to discover that their children have been snatched from their beds. A ransom note left behind and signed by Captain Hook elicits disbelief from the cops and Peter alike. And even after Wendy confesses to Peter that he is the one and only Peter Pan and that only he can rescue his children from his old arch-nemesis—Peter still can’t believe it. He’s in denial. He wants to let the police handle it.  

In Monomythic terms, this is a clear refusal of the call to adventure.

Luckily for us, refusal is never an option. If the hero won’t cross the threshold willingly, then he must be shoved or carried across, often by supernatural beings.

Next stop: Neverland.

Join us next week for part 2.