Where the Wild Things Are

Screenplay by Spike Jonz and Dave Eggers; Directed by Spike Jonz

It was inevitable that Maurice Sendak’s classic if dark children’s book would be made into a movie, having already been brought to the stage and with Hollywood constantly looking to any classic or beloved material that would have a built-in audience. That the 1963 book contains only 9 full sentences of actual text and would therefore present a challenge quite opposite to that usually facing adaptations to the big screen, wherein the dense and detailed world of a novel must be pared down to a 120-page or so script, gave the prospect of this particular adaptation special intrigue. That the helmer would be Spike Jonz (Adaptation, Being John Malkovich) only increased the curiosity factor. And so off I went, of course; had to see this on the big screen and I gave it the full benefit of seeing it on the biggest screen possible, IMAX. The Gods even seemed to be with us as my companion and I scored the best seats in the house, last row center.

For the most part, Jonz and Sendak, credited as a producer, succeed in translating the highly original visuals of the book in a believable and engaging way. The story is nicely fleshed out, taking us from the real world to the island of fantasy where the wild things are, the transition from real world to other world handled in a most unmagical, straightforward way, underscoring that the world of the wild things is not that far removed from our own. We all have a wild thing within us, don’t we? The film moves along at a leisurely pace, and costumes and makeup are top-notch. The sense of journey, if not fun, is fully-realized, recreating the beats from Sendak’s book following the petulant, rowdy Max (Max Records, The Brothers Bloom) as he runs away from and eventually returns to the loving embrace of his mother (the always-welcome Catherine Keener) who had been the target of one of Max’s temper tantrums and, literally, bitten by (the wild thing in) Max.

Though the film works as a journey though there is little feeling for adventure . Max as portrayed here is comes across more as a spoiled brat than a willful child, and it’s hard to feel sympathy for this not-particularly likable kid when he starts a snowball fight with his older sister’s friends, then cries when they destroy an igloo he had made. Though the creatures are wonderful and the world is nicely delivered to fans of the book, the film starts to feel a bit stuffy and devoid of life. The soundtrack doesn’t help either, occasionally veering into smarmy territory. I couldn’t help thinking how an instrumental master like Pat Metheny could have added immeasurably to the film. Metheny might seem like an odd choice but his billowing landscapes, used sparingly, might have lifted the film up to a level where we actually felt and cared. Even Mark Isham could have contributed a more wondrous tone. What should have been overwhelming was merely entertaining. That’s a little disappointing considering the time, effort, money and talent put into this project, and because it’s the only Where the Wild Things Are we’ll ever get. Can’t exactly see a sequel here.

The originality of the book makes this well-worth seeing, even required viewing. What's surprising, and telling, is that it didn't NEED to be seen on the big screen, never mind IMAX. Which, with a wild thing, you kinda thought would have to be the case. 3 out of 5 stars.

Review by Michael Fishman.