Where the Wild Things Are 0
Watching “Where the Wild Things Are” felt like one giant acid trip. Not that I’ve ever experienced such a thing. In fact, no one’s ever even said to me “Hey man, why you trippin?” But I imagine, that if I were to ever find myself sliding down that slippery slope, it would involve cuddly, ferocious, over-sized friends who want to eat me up one minute and make me their king the next.
The classic children’s tale written by Maurice Sendak is of course an ode to the childhood imagination and the possibilities found within the pure, untainted and unbridled mind of a child. But the film version was directed by Spike Jonze, the visionary behind such films as “Being John Malkovich”, and award-winning music videos like FatBoy Slim’s “Praise You”, an unusual work that could only arise out of a left of center mind, an imagination that defies boring conventions. So when I heard that Jonze would be directing Wild Things, I knew it wouldn’t be targeted to standard soccer moms and their toy-toting tots. I knew it would be special. And special is the right word.
Anyone expecting a Pixar/Disney morality tale will surely be disappointed. Anyone watching it while high on the natural spices of life, will probably have a rumble-tumble good time. And anyone like me who finds pure pleasure in seeing cuteness magnified and oversized, will be delighted.
The hand-held camera action takes us up close into the world of the wild things – larger than life muppets packed with personality and a frightening unpredictability that suggests we shouldn’t get too comfortable in their presence. It’s really no place for a kid. But our hero, nine-year old Max, who escapes into this strange place after a real-world altercation with his mother, confidently, yet innocently navigates his surroundings as he explores the mysterious land where characters clash and emotions flare up like a mammoth-sized match. In this world Max encounters and tries to understand the sources of his own behavioral outbursts as he stares into the eyes of the beasts and witnesses their inherent humanity.
I was in love with the concept, with the idea of this movie. And in the end, I found myself wanting to like the film much more than I actually did. I was enthralled by the trailer’s phenomenal pairing of moving images with Arcade Fire’s anthemic and uplifting “Wake Up”, an ode to the innocence of childhood and the wilderness of the real world, where bizarre fixtures are the norm and sentimental hearts are torn, where hopes and tears collide like blazing particles of raging sunlight. I was hoping the film would deliver something as emotionally-impacting, something more life-affirming and soul-stirring. I guess my colossal expectations were far too much for a movie spawned from a 10-sentence book.
And that is the movie’s main shortcoming – there was very little source material to work with and one can only eke out so much plot. At times you find yourself wondering what the point really is. You’re bewildered by the peculiar interactions and dispositions of the Wild Things. They act like children but sound like adults. They’re more like a band of lost hippies, isolated in a bizarre evolutionary warp with very little to do; at times it feels more like the side-effect of hallucinogens rather than pure imagination, and that inescapable tripped-out feeling is not always engaging, but it’s mostly entertaining.
What really saves the film, is the attachment one forms to those Wild Things – the tumultuous, reckless and humurous collective that make the experience worthwhile. They are what we’re here to see. When Max has to go back home, you don’t really want him to leave. There’s more to see and discover and there’s possibly more they can teach. For Max, the parting is bittersweet. And while the adventure doesn’t transport us to all the places we want to go, the off-beat experience still makes this a trip worth taking.