Peter Pan: A twinkle in time | Midsumma Festival 2026
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https://www.theatreworks.org.au/2026/peter-pan-a-twinkle-in-time
Date Reviewed: 22/01/2026
The premise of Peter Pan: A Twinkle in Time is, on paper, an intriguing one.
Dean Robinson’s Peter Pan returns to the human world every decade for a year at a time, ageing with each visit. It’s a concept rich with possibility: ageing, relevance, nostalgia, desire, loss. It promises a reckoning with time, identity, and the fear of becoming invisible.
What unfolds on the TW Explosives Factory stage, however, only skims the surface of that potential.
Robinson’s one-man show reframes Peter Pan as the “original twink,” a queer cultural archetype defined by youth, desirability, and slim, boyish beauty. The work repeatedly circles the idea of “twink death,” the moment when age supposedly strips one of value, explored largely through a sexualised lens. There are fleeting gestures toward deeper reflections on ageing, community, and self-worth, but they never quite settle.
Structurally, the performance unfolds as a loose sequence of skits, songs, and interactive games. Audience participation is central: we are asked to fill out cards to invent characters, volunteer for quizzes, clap away chlamydia, and play along. In the intimate space of Explosives Factory, this approach clearly worked for some. A handful of enthusiastic audience members leaned in eagerly, delighting in the shared jokes and references. It was notable, and refreshing, to see a crowd so willing to engage, breaking the usual small-theatre code of “don’t make eye contact”.
Yet this interactivity also exposes a broader tension in the work. The tone is often immature and knowingly silly, edging into patronising territory for an adult audience, while the themes – sex, online dating, drugs, ageing bodies, queer subcultures — are inappropriate for children. The show exists in an awkward in-between space: not sharp enough to fully satisfy as adult satire, not coherent enough to function as cabaret, and certainly not accessible as family fare.
There is no doubting Robinson’s energy or commitment. Wig changes are frequent, pop culture references relentless, and the humour deliberately provocative. But provocation alone does not equal insight. By the end, a question lingers: what is the show actually saying about ageing, identity, or Peter Pan himself?
For some, that may not matter. On the night I attended, the theatre was only half full, but those who loved it really loved it. Peter Pan: A Twinkle in Time clearly speaks to a specific audience, one fluent in queer slang, Grindr culture, and the anxieties of ageing out of desirability. And when the audience that this play appeals to connects, it connects warmly.
For others, myself included, the experience felt more hollow than revelatory. As a conservative, middle-aged straight woman who likes to think of herself as open-minded, I learned new terminology (the concept of a “fag hag” was previously unfamiliar to me). From a social perspective, the evening was interesting: I did not expect to see Peter Pan mime BDSM with a ball gag while the audience roared with laughter. Both the ball gag and that people found it funny was bewildering.
I observed genuine enthusiasm and admired the ambition, but I left unsure what the takeaway was meant to be.
Peter Pan: A Twinkle in Time wants to be a meditation on growing up and growing older. Instead, it often settles for noise where it could have found depth. Not my cup of tea, but clearly someone else’s fairy dust.
Highlights
- The banana heist: A moment of pure, unpredictable id as Pan snatches a piece of fruit from the back of an unsuspecting audience member’s seat and devours it with desperation.
- The unmasked gaze: The eerie, fascinating thrill of watching an audience so utterly enchanted by the chaos that they forget to maintain their "Melbourne cool."
- The comfort: Finding the secret luxury of a half-empty theatre where you can recline with your drink on the empty chair beside you.
- The existential "twink" hook (excuse the pun): A genuinely clever conceptual starting point focusing on the tragedy of a boy who cannot outrun the calendar.
Who’s it for
This is for audiences steeped in queer pop culture (Midsumma – duh!), cabaret-style performance, and the humour and anxieties of ageing within youth-focused subcultures. If Grindr references, camp provocation, and participatory chaos are your thing, you may find it joyous. Or, as Peter Pan himself puts it: “If you like it, tell your friends. If you don’t, tell an enemy.”
At the TW Explosives Factory in St Kilda, nightly at 8.30pm until 24 January 2026.
Reviewed by Mary Sinanidis