Where the Wild Things Are

Where the Wild Things Are is a movie future generations will be talking about if there is any cosmic and artistic justice in this world. Why? Because it strikes so deeply at the core of childhood’s fragile and mercurial psyche filled with gloriously beautiful images and heartfelt performances. This is not a children’s film but a film about childhood in every painful and joyous moment.

Our main character is a product of divorce with an emotionally unavailable older sister and a mother who is trying to keep everything afloat. I saw elements of my own childhood in those early scenes, I saw elements of myself in Max. I believe that numerous other will have this exact reaction to the film, if they haven’t already. It was in these early scenes that I knew I was watching one of my favorite films of the year.

Once Max takes his flight of fancy and danger into his imaginative psyche – yes, this is a psychological examination of Max – I was immersed into the film at a level I rarely experience. Only Precious has rivaled it so far this year.

The monsters are not cuddly, despite being furry, but are ferocious and prone to bouts of violence and tantrums. Max is not a precociously adorable little boy, he is prone of bouts of bratty attitude, demanding attention, emotionally internalized and struggling with several feelings at once. Although Max Records is an adorable little child actor, he doesn’t play it for cutesy moments.

And I loved that the film was unafraid to feature extended scenes of little dialogue with the characters all frolicking and playing together, or chasing each other either as a joke or with deadly intentions towards one another, or Max. Or, in one instance, threatening to eat Max. I could go on to explain that each of these monsters are a fragment of his real life and personality, but that is very obvious. And I could go on and say which one is which, but that would ruin the experience.

I loved Where the Wild Things Are. Ignore it’s rating on Rotten Tomatoes and try it out for yourself. If you hate it, fine. But at least support a real work of art when it comes around. Mindless and mind-destroying fare like 2012 and Transformers 2 don’t deserve to win the box office. And they have monopolized it for far too long.