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 It’s
hard to imagine any child growing up in America, or indeed anywhere
books are read, who hasn’t come in contact with Maurice Sendak’s world
at some point in their young lives. As author of stories like In the
Night Kitchen, or The Sign on Rosie’s Door and The Nutshell Library (-
Which were adapted as the animated TV special, Really Rosie,
featuring songs by fellow Brooklynite, Carole King), or as
illustrator to so many other books. After sixty-plus years, Sendak’s
best known work is still his 1963 classic, Where the Wild Things Are.
It is only now, nearly fifty years later, that Sendak has acquiesced to
having that book interpreted as a live-action feature.
Max
has got troubles. The elementary school boy’s entire world is changing
and Max doesn’t like it one bit. He isn’t dealing well with the
departure of his father from the family home. The only security left to
him, his mother and big sister, are moving on in their own ways by
bringing new friends into their lives. Now at a loss for the company of
mom and sis, Max is lonely and resentful and the best way he knows how
to express that unhappiness is by donning a spiffy onesie complete with
whiskers and ears and running wild just like the wolf he becomes in his
fertile imagination. One fit of pique will have Max a little too close
to his animal nature, causing him to actually sink his fangs into his
mother and run away from home in a rabid froth. Max runs until he finds
a boat that leads him across the sea to land in an unknown world where
the inhabitants are even wilder than he is.
Director Spike Jonze’s adoration for the source material and
particularly the world Sendak has created permeates this film. The
attention to detail given to the appearance of the Wild Things is
remarkable and will satisfy any Sendak fan. Jonze has also taken great
care to establish each creature’s very individual identity. The Wild
Things have all the flaws, quirks and insecurities as humans do, and
after accepting Max as their king and surrogate parent, he learns that
dealing with those personalities isn’t always easy. He forms a bond
with the orneriest of the monsters, a great, fluffy horned thing with a
nasty temper called Carol. Between Carol’s mood swings and unreasonable
temper tantrums and the neediness and demands of the others, Max is
meant to understand what his mother has gone through dealing with her
fitful little boy.
Sendak’s book is a very brief tale of Max as a little hellion made to go
to sleep without any supper because of his naughty behaviour. Jonze
goes much deeper to flesh out the story adding in the broken home, sis’s
new friends and mom’s new boyfriend, all meant to explain why Max of the
film is so awfully behaved. One of the problems with Where the Wild
Things Are is Max is so clearly damaged by the absence of his father
that he needs more than a wolf costume, he needs counseling. The day a
kid decides to take a chunk out of me and he isn’t teething, is the day
somebody better get a child psychiatrist or a pillow for that kid’s
behind, so my sympathy for Max after that sequence was sparing. So,
too, was my emotional connection to the creatures; you don’t know
anything more about them than their brief exposition about having had
kings before who they’ve eaten. Here is a group of creatures who Max
comes to care for, but outside of briefly being playmates for the boy,
we don’t really get a feeling of why and when they bonded. There’s a
strange hollowness about the whole piece and a disjointed, disconnected
feeling throughout. For living in a world of fantasy, there’s nothing
particularly magical about where the Wild Things actually are. The
forest they live in is dry and dusty-looking, the fort that Max
commands them to build never looks like anything other than a slightly
artsy pile of sticks, and all the creatures can pretty much do is jump
in the air and roar a lot. If you like movies with people in monster
costumes running around roaring, jumping and climbing trees, this one’s
for you. I was less impressed. For some reason, the creatures’ looks
reminded me of Falkor the luckdragon from 1984’s The Neverending Story,
which may have squelched some of my awe. There are precious few comedic
moments to lighten an otherwise dreary film, the majority of those come
courtesy of the agile delivery and voice acting of Catherine O’Hara as
Judith, the curmudgeonly chronic party-pooper who is always ready to
harsh anyone’s good time. One wonders who exactly Where the Wild Things
Are was meant for? There’s not enough eye candy, action or humour to
keep the smaller ones interested and the emotional heft is too contrived
and elementary to please adults. I actually found myself bored fairly
early on and no amount of lovely scenes of Max and the monsters running
in dappled sunlight, jumpy hand-held ersatz home movie camerawork or
twee, guitar-laden soundtrack by Karen O could resuscitate the very
flatness of the film.
Jonze
get praise for his complete reverence of Sendak’s art, but not much
else. If only he had made a representation nearly as sharp, imaginative
and magical as his source material.
~ The
Lady Miz Diva
Oct 15th,
2009
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