Reading . . .

I read J. M. Barrie's original stage play of Peter Pan, or The Boy Who Would Not Grow Up over the weekend, and I loved it. The only version of Peter Pan I've ever seen is the Walt Disney cartoon, and I never liked it. Now I know why. The Disney version is a very watered down version of the play with the same basic plot points but none of the wonderful dialogue and robbed of the play's most piercing thematic elements. Reading Peter Pan oddly enough made me want to pick up Alan Moore's Lost Girls. Interesting that a play about childhood innocence would make me want to read self-described pornography, no? Barrie's original play, however, begs to be read through Freudian spectacles. It quite transparently navigates between a longing for eternal childhood and the unavoidable draw of adult sexuality, and I'm very curious about Moore's interpretations.

I read Peter Pan at the suggestion of one of my screenwriting mentors, Randy Finch. He drew comparisons between it and the script I'm currently working on, and I'm glad he did. I think I can successfully crib some things from Barrie. At the other end of the spectrum, I'm reading King Lear. I'm hoping my script will cut a path between the tragedy of Lear and the lightness of Pan. No one dies, and no one flies. Nevertheless, elements of each of these plays will slip in and out of the narrative.

I'm also reading Jacques Derrida. I bought two collections on Amazon (this one and that one), and I'm slowly winding my way through them. I've oft declared that "Love is Deaf" was inspired by Derrida, but honestly, I've only barely read his work. Most of my understanding of Derrida's ideas comes from works written about him rather than by him. He's an extremely dense and confusing author, but I'm making progress.