The Blog

 I guess this is a movie review, but it started out with me just ruminating on the train...

I don't remember reading Where the Wild Things Are as a kid. I know I must have, because the art is so iconic, and I remember that there was a boy and he was a monster to his family, and he goes to an island and becomes king of the Wild Things, and eventually he returns home. (That much detail probably stuck just because I love any and all Fred-goes-to-an-alternate-world stories. As I've said before, that's my favourite fiction kink.)

But I loved the movie. From the very first scene, it was perfect. There was nothing I wanted changed, and while I don't remember the specifics of any individual illustrations from the book, I felt like at some point during each scene the characters must have been perfectly lined up with their illustrated counterparts. Because it just felt right. There wasn't too much talking, rather they were happy to let the characters be silent as they had their adventures, with just the music (and the children's choir and the music was fantastic) to tell the story.

I cried. A lot. Everything Max felt, I felt too, from his anger at his sister and her friends to his sadness at being unable to make everyone happy like he promised. I cried because Jim Henson didn't live to make this movie, though the creature shop did him proud. I cried because I couldn't tell where the animation finished and the puppetry began. I cried because I want to be one of the Wild Things, and I want to go home afterwards and have cake. I cried because I'm old and bitter and I don't want to be.

And that was all right. It's how it's meant to be for the grown ups. I wish I'd brought a little kid with me, just so I would have someone little to hug in the scary parts (not that I'm sorry I brought Gemma, but she's meant to be glomping onto me). Apparently some people are saying the movie isn't appropriate for children, but I really don't buy that. Kids get these things, they know that hurting their friends and being bad is bad, and they relate to Max as much as the grown ups do. Because we all remember times when we were the wild things.

Labels: childrens literature, long live the revolution, movies, review, wild things