Movie review: Where the Wild Things Are

Objectifying the complexities of life and relationships.

by John P. Meyer

Getting this part out of the way up front: I did not read the book, nor did I have it read to me as a kid (I was more of an Epic of Gilgamesh-vintage child).

That having been said -- and judging it entirely on the basis of its effectiveness as a movie -- I was very much impressed by Where the Wild Things Are, director Spike Jonze's take on the Maurice Sendak children's picture book (much beloved by everyone younger than me, apparently.) It is melancholy; it is deep; it is dark, much darker than expected in a movie aimed at kid audiences.

We may conclude that either: a) the film succeeds in engaging an adult viewership (of at least one), or b) I'm entering into my second childhood (a not-to-be-discounted possibility).

Young Max (Max Records, who appeared previously in The Brothers Bloom) throws himself unreservedly into whatever he undertakes -- which, he being a kid, is primarily the practice of play. His imagination remains fully engaged: When he's playing with a dog, he becomes a dog, barking and romping on all fours. When he's constructing a snow fort, he builds it so well that no potential antagonist has a chance of ever penetrating its fantastically reinforced ceiling. (In his imagination.)

Into Max's worlds of self-constructed wonder, elements of reality are making disturbing inroads: His sister Claire (Pepita Emmerichs) is growing up and losing interest in kid stuff. She's devoting more time to her school friends -- including boys her own age -- and less to Max. Max's mother (Catherine Keener, who worked with Jonze in Being John Malkovich) remains devoted to Max, though her attentions too are increasingly limited as a result of needing to hold down a job to keep hearth and home together.

Perhaps most disturbingly of all, Max's teacher (Steve Mouzakis) breaks the news to his class that the sun is pretty much dying. Sure, its demise is an event of extreme temporal remoteness, but to Max it's just another indicator that nothing he once thought to be permanent can be relied upon to stick around. It seems like EVERYTHING is changing!

Without being explicitly told, we are given to understand that Max's dad is no longer in the picture, and thus when Mom starts showing interest in another man (Mark Ruffalo, as "the boyfriend"), Max flies off the handle entirely and resorts to cosplay, donning his full-body wolf jammies (with hood and whiskers!). To add further verisimilitude, he bites his mom and runs howling out the front door into the advancing dark of night, with Mom -- outraged and terrified -- trailing behind.

And then things get really weird. Max chances upon a boat in which he embarks on a voyage to uncharted realms. Eventually, Max and his boat close with a steep-shored island. Working his way through violent, crashing waves, he beaches his craft relatively unscathed.

Climbing a steep cliff face to reach the source of a distant bonfire, Max first spies the wild things which constitute the shaggy, gamey meat of the story. And -- hold onto your jammies -- they're MUPPETS!: really, really big and hairy (and menacing!) ones.

[Well, not Muppets exactly, but they were designed by The Jim Henson Company's Creature Shop.]

And here's the thing about the violent, destructive Carol (voiced by James Gandolfini) and the vicious, depressive Judith (Catherine O'Hara) and the rest of the monstrous wild thing bunch: They seem decidedly dangerous. To an adult watching the film, there's a constant sense that Max could be bitten or slashed or stomped -- or, during an uninhibited wild rumpus, crushed plumb to death.

Watching actor Max Records react to the monstrous (yet thrilling!) goings-on, we get the clear sense that he, too, perceives the danger. When the hairy giants pile on for a convivial group sleep, Max appears startled and overwhelmed by the uncontrolled manic energy being expended, as body after body thuds onto the pile above and around him. When the group declares him king and Carol extracts the scepter and crown from a pile of rocks, Max glimpses the ribcage of a previous (and presumably found-to-be-lacking) king amongst the firepit rubble.

A dirt clod war involving nine-foot-tall anthropomorphic monsters from the Id delivers a great deal more collateral damage than when the clods are hurled by nine-year-old children -- primarily because the clods being hurled are the size of Smart Cars. It's a sly, symbolic observation (one of many) that Max may well be outgrowing such childish pursuits.

The creatures (done through a combination of animatronics, animation, and the actual wearing of nine-foot-tall suits) are remarkably expressive, and their actions and attitudes leave little doubt that they represent objectifications of people and situations that are going on in Max's real life.

The rough cuts and shaky, hand-held camera work add a visual intensity to the kid-driven action, while the charming and infectious score -- by Karen O and the Kids -- drives things along at breakneck pace.

If you have read the book, keep in mind that author Sendak personally requested that Jonze make the film version of his story.

And as for the question of whether or not it's too dark and scary for a kid audience: I saw it with one at an evening preview screening, and none of them were whimpering or running for the exits.

(Until it was over.)