Where the Wild Things Are: Review By B. Alan Orange

Even before its release, there’s an unnecessary criticism being aimed at Where the Wild Things Are. It’s being called a kids’ movies for adults. While that may ring true on some levels, its certainly doesn’t objectify or deny its nine year old fan base. To hear it told by the legless, lonely, over-forty film journo, you’d think this wasn’t a suitable outing for anyone under twenty-five years of age. That couldn’t be further from the truth. People simply don’t give children the benefit of the doubt. When a smart piece of pulp cinema comes along aimed directly at their developing psyches, the older folks in the crowd are too eager to call it “adult fare”.

Where the Wild Things Are goes directly for the underage jugular, acting on every child’s most primitive desire. Property destruction and loud, booming dirt clod fights are fun for everyone (especially those most likely to engage in them). Spike Jonze has crafted an ode to the once average child. One that still knows how to use his imagination. In this fast moving realm of digital media, kids have simply become complacent. Most, but not all, are too busy texting their second grade companions, thus giving up on their imaginary friends before those wisps of whimsy even had a chance to flourish in the make believe cave behind their parents’ couch. If anything, Where the Wild Things Are is the perfect film for our future generations. As it teaches them to have fun with the once magical kingdoms that used to thrive in every tree house and makeshift fort on the planet.

Max (Max Records) isn’t a bad kid. He’s a nine-year-old going through a tough transition. His mom (Catherine Keener) is divorced, overworked, and dating Marc Ruffalo (in what can only be described as a glorified, dialogue-deficient cameo). His sister Claire (Pepita Emmerichs) has abandoned him for older friends, some of whom are male and could possible be looking to date her. And his only friend is a fence that doesn’t take orders very well. Instead of clowning around at the mall, or playing on the computer in a search for porn, Max has devoted most of his free time to an imaginary world of wonderment that finds him trying to escape from lava by blasting off into space on a rocket ship.

Like any kid, he enjoys playing in the snow, building igloos, and having snowball fights. His story is a simple tale of loneliness that is layered in heightened complexity. Spike doesn’t charge forth with a traditional series of emotional beats. He plays it quiet and close to the vest. Max’s recourse for running away isn’t exceptional in the least bit. In fact, it’s kind of boring. He bites his mother on the shoulder after yelling, “Feed me, woman!”. There is nothing out of the ordinary about that. Max may look like a brat, but who hasn’t ever pulled a similar move in the hosp*ce of domestic complacency? Max’s home life is quite relatable, and shouldn’t come as a shock to anyone. (Except, maybe, all those older, single, childless film journos I talked about earlier.) In fact, Max seems quite loved by his mother and his sister. They’re just to busy dealing with their own lives to notice his quest for attention. Kids can relate to that, and the notion isn’t dumbed down here. Instead, it is given over to some quite bizarre and wonderful action sequences and dialogue passages that real children will find quite funny and relevant. Despite what some adults might think, monologues about teeth separating and falling out, whether they come from the mouths of vampires or monsters, (which is subtle running theme here), certainly do appeal to the underage set. They like watching limbs get torn asunder. And later replaced by skinny tree branches. It’s funny to fall down in the snow.

The teeth and missing arm represent growth and rebirth. A transition from childhood into adulthood. Of course, that is never specifically addressed throughout the running course of Jonze’ narrative. Like most classic children’s literature, its not supposed to be spoken allowed. The whole entire conceit here is that Max has to face the challenges of growing up and dealing with loneliness on his own terms. After acting like a scoundrel, dressed in a wolf’s costume and screaming at his mother, Max runs away. He sails deep into the ocean on a boat in a scene that seems crayon copied straight out of Sid and Marty Krofft’s 1970 film Pufnstuff. He soon crashes on an island full of fantastic looking monsters and proclaims himself the king. From here on out, it truly is a wild rumpus. But Max quickly realizes that he cannot control sadness or keep the sun from falling out of the sky. And thus, he is not really the king of his foreclosed upon kingdom. Its an authentic experience.

Where the Wild Things Are could have been a CGI’d film, and we probably would have been okay with that. Looking at Spike’s mostly practical effects though, it becomes obvious that today’s digital creations would have been a waist here. The world created within Wild Things is nothing short of spectacular. It is an awe-inspiring watercolor feast for the eyes. The fact that these are actual living, breathing beasts, whose hair waves in the wind like a lost puppet from some 60s-era TV show, makes the proceedings otherworldly and special. There is a tangibility that comes with having an actual, real-life monster for Max to interact with. They become these real-world oddities that are incredibly hard to dislike on any level. While they might not look exactly like the monsters found in the book, they certainly uphold the ink and thrust feel that Maurice Sendak set forth when publishing his book back in 1963.

Each Wild Thing is carefully conceived with loving artistry. Creatures of this sort haven’t been as flush with this off-sort of creepy beauty since the original Star Wars hit theater screens several decades ago. And the voice cast is nearly perfect, with Lauren Ambrose, Paul Dano, Forest Whitaker, Chris Cooper, and Michael Berry Jr bringing as much gravitas to this project as any they’ve ever birthed before in a “live action” drama. But it’s James Gandolfini, perhaps channeling his gay hitman Winston from that lost Julia Roberts/Brad Pitt vanity project The Mexican, who gives the film its emotional depth. He plays Carol, the iconic horned beast at the center of the original novel. He is a domineering creature; one that seems to rule over his wild friends in the forest. A powerful c*cktail of emotional hubris, Carol is the true embodiment of Max’s loneliness. Through Carol, Max is able to project his own feelings about his mom, his sister, and their new friends. He uses this big furry powerhouse of bouncing destruction to navigate through his own recent morose behavior, and it’s through this unlikely friendship that the boy gets a grip on his own unruly adolescence.

Where the Wild Things Are is an intense, internal monologue played out in giant hairy costumes. Like Max, Carol is having a problem with fellow monster KW (Lauren Ambrose). The girl, who is never identified as a friend, sister, lover, or mother figure, has been heading off to the beach to spend time with two friends. Though Carol doesn’t know these “fellows” she is hanging out with, he wants them destroyed because he feels they are tearing his monster family apart. Projecting his own thoughts and ideas into this scenario, Max heads of with KW to meet these so-called “new friends”. They are two owls that talk gibberish. Obviously doppelgangers of the new local boys Claire has been frolicking with. In getting to know KW, Max is able to come to terms with his own sister’s newly formed need to be with an outside peer group. It’s both profound and subtle at the same time.

While Maurice Sendak’s book is short, with its text consisting of nine very famous sentences, Jonze is able to heed that junction and create a visionary palate that is true to the original source material, pushing the concept to new and wondrous heights. Despite what it may or may not accomplish at the box office, this is a classic children’s tale told with unique and stunning photography. Its beautifully crude ninety-minute run is one that stands firm next to other home video mainstays of the past such as 1971’s Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, The Five Thousand Fingers of Dr. T, H.R. Pufnstuf, and anything from Pixar. It is one that will be played on a continuous loop in the den, right before naptime for generations to come.

Where the Wild Things Are? It gets a solid Whoop-doo!

(All of B. Alan Orange’s reviews are based on the Boo! or Whoop-doo! evaluation system.)