Where the Wild Things Are (2009)

I am still not sure how I feel about this movie.

It is a hectic, violent, somehow even more fantastical version of the brief and wonderful children’s book upon which it is based. Plot, character design, dialogue—all of these aspects as unbounded as your imagination was as a child, and maybe, still is.

How can I describe such an experience? Strange, definitely; surreal at times. Frightening, yes, even to a grown-up. Breathtaking, and not in the way people use that word when they talk about scenic views. More literally breathtaking, like when you are on a rollercoaster and you feel a lurch; you’re not sure if it’s part of the fun of the ride or if the ride is falling apart and you’re careening toward injury or even death. Should you laugh, should you scream? Remain silently terrified? It was without a doubt brutal. Emotionally and visually.

Would I have enjoyed this if I were a child? Maybe. Some of my childhood favorites were very dark—I’m thinking along the lines of movies like Legend (1985), which had some very horrifying images and themes. But the darkness of that film was actually pure fantasy, whereas Where the Wild Things Are is more rooted to sad reality. Here Max, through his dream world, is dealing with his real world familial troubles in his own way.

There is still enough fun and wildness in the movie to keep kids happy though, I think. If I were one of the eight year olds in the theater watching it, I wouldn’t be thinking “this is how relationships fall apart. Great, something to look forward to.” I would most likely be thinking “Look at those weird things!... Hey!! Is that an owl? Why is that guy’s face all smashed?...” and so on.

But I guess the question is, did I enjoy the movie as an adult? I thought it was undeniably, albeit oddly, beautiful. It was poignant and at times painful like when you look through an old photo album of happy holidays from before, but you remember the sad things in between the years, or the fights you had right after dinner. A remembered disappointment, made OK only by the fact that you got through it. A sort of grim acknowledgment of everything that nobody took a picture of.

I thought when I went to see it that I would be treated to some kind of rapturous joy or at least upheaval of real emotion, dredged out by watching one of my all time favorite children’s books made real. But what I was left with was the feeling that nostalgia doesn’t cut it. You have to go to where your memories aren’t so great to really learn something about yourself or your relationships with other people. You have to go where the wild things are.