Bad idea: suppose that Peter Pan grew up; suppose, in other words, that Peter Pan no longer was Peter Pan, no longer had any of the characteristics that defined Peter Pan — and please hold all questions of why you would want, much less who gave you the authority, to do that. It gets worse. Immediate disapproval soon gets overtaken by impatience. Not only is Peter Pan no longer The Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up; he has no memory of ever having been that boy. The premise is quite inexplicable except in the sense and to the degree that Steven Spielberg confuses himself with his hero: the eternal child smothered in the responsibilities and burdens, not to mention the steel-rimmed Yuppie eyewear, of the corporate wheeler-dealer. And "confuses" is very much the word for it. Even at the lumbering pace of this particular hero's journey — it's half an hour before Captain Hook spirits away Peter's two children to Neverland; and a full hour later we're still waiting for Peter to come up with the "happy thought" that will remind him how to fly — Spielberg fails to keep in step with him. It's as if the director were groping in a fog to recapture his earlier sense of wonder (or at any rate to recapture the size of audience he captured earlier with E.T.), but the merchandiser, the materialist, the conspicuous consumer in him predominates. Robin Williams, Dustin Hoffman, Bob Hoskins, Julia Roberts. (1991) — Duncan Shepherd