"Peter Pan & Wendy," Whitney Houston: I Wanna Dance with Somebody" and the Importance of Good Screenwriting

Lackluster writing in Hollywood is becoming ever more ubiquitous in the age of streaming, and that's bad for audiences and producers alike.

At first glance, it might seem counterintuitive to pair Peter Pan & Wendy, the most recent live-action remake with the Whitney Houston biopic Whitney Houston: I Wanna Dance with Somebody. They are, to be sure, very different films, telling different kinds of stories, and directed toward very different audiences. At the same time, they both show some of the systemic flaws in today’s Hollywood storytelling.

Let’s start with Peter Pan & Wendy. Directed by David Lowery–who, in addition to directing the remake of Pete’s Dragon also helmed the strange and delightful The Green Knight–the film tells basically the same story as the 1953 film, though with some notable changes. To wit: Wendy is no longer a damsel in distress but a kickass heroine, Tiger Lily is now a warrior princess (thank goodness), and Peter Pan and Hook have a far richer and emotionally complicated relationship than in the previous telling. It is also a very beautiful film, with some truly breathtaking cinematography. 

To be sure, the film does deserve some credit for being willing to explore some new thematic territory. Beneath Jude Law’s camp and excessive performance as Hook there is more than a little heartache, as we learn that he was one Pan’s Lost Boys who decided to strike out on his own, only to return aged and rejected by the very boy he once idolized. And there are some strong performances, with Alexander Molony capturing a good bit of the melancholy that has always lurked beneath the surface of the Peter Pan persona. 

Unfortunately, Peter Pan & Wendy is still too limited by its adherence to Disney protocols–both adherence to the original animated film and to the studio’s desire to make everything as banal and inoffensive as possible–to do anything truly memorable for the material. This has been a problem with the live-action reboots from the beginning, but it’s particularly evident in those which have been released straight to Disney+ (Pinocchio was arguably the nadir of this). Every time I watch one of these films, I find myself asking: who asked for this? Each time, with depressing frequency, the films never satisfactorily answer the question.

I enjoyed Whitney Houston: I Wanna Dance with Somebody far more than I did Peter Pan & Wendy, in large part because it isn’t just a straight remake. At the same time, it also suffers from some of the same storytelling deficiencies as the Disney film, in that it doesn’t seem to have a good grasp on what to include and what to exclude. At a sprawling two and a half hours, the film covers Houston’s rise to fame after her discovery by Stanley Tucci’s Clive Davis, her tumultuous marriage to Bobby Brown (an underutilized Ashton Sanders), and her gradual descent into addiction. 

Throughout the film, I Wanna Dance with Somebody is anchored by a phenomenal performance from Naomi Ackie. As almost every other critic has pointed out, Ackie doesn’t necessarily look a great deal like the real Houston, but she nevertheless does capture the singer’s trademark charisma, that powerful lightning that, along with her tremendous voice, allowed her to become a true American icon. At the same time, she also allows us to see the pain that was always lurking beneath the shiny surface, particularly once Houston is forced by her family to set aside her romantic relationship with Robyn Crawford (Nafessa Williams). 

In some ways, the film is like a greatest hits album, showing us the numerous important points of her career. Unfortunately, its very breadth ends up being its most grievous and striking shortcoming. Because it has so much ground to cover, it ends up giving short-shrift to some of the moments that should bear the most emotional weight. This is particularly notable in the middle third of the film, once Houston has begun to find success, and it doesn’t particularly illuminate either her artistry or her personal struggles, mostly because it tries to do both at the same time. Some scenes and relationships stand out–particularly when Bobby and Robyn engage in a tug-of-war for Houston’s fundamental loyalty–but they struggle to add up to a coherent whole. 

There is one moment, though, which really stands out to me. As the film reaches its conclusion, Houston is preparing for a performance at a pre-Grammy party. Gazing into the mirror, she sings “Home,” as her mind wanders over her life up until this point and then, rather than showing her demise, the film instead shows us one of her most famous performances, when she sang a medley of “I Loves You, Porgy,” “And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going,” and “I Have Nothing.” It’s rich, powerful, and utterly devastating, as it shows us both the darkness and the light that remain key to the Whitney Houston mystique. 

It is also, to be sure, a moment of peak melodrama, in that it represents in its purest form the genre’s yearning for a space of innocence that, paradoxically, can never be regained. By this point, Houston has endured too much heartache and has gone too far down the road to addiction to ever truly be saved. We in the audience know this and so, it seems, does Houston. Though it ends on a high note, the film still leaves us with a profound sense of sadness, as we can’t help but see Houston as a light that was extinguished far too soon. For her, as for so many other melodramatic heroines, it will always be too late. 

Both Peter Pan & Wendy and Whitney Houston: I Wanna Dance with Somebody illustrate some of the problems afflicting storytelling in today’s Hollywood. Whether it’s the re-tread of the former or the amorphous storytelling of the latter, these are films that ultimately struggle to succeed as films. If nothing else, they are both timely reminders of the importance of good writing when it comes to screenwriting. As we’re all bracing for the full effects of the WGA strike to take effect–and as studios continue to look to AI to solve their problems–these films are warnings of how the lackluster dictates of Hollywood in the streaming era lead to the banalization of entertainment and popular art.