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In preparation for writing this I successfully sheltered myself from other’s reviews of Where the Wild Things Are.  What I wasn’t able to steer around were the third person reports of how the film was being received.  The gist of what was purported to be “every reviewer’s” take on the movie was that it was not intended for children.  Having now seen the film, I have to agree.  Actually, I’m not sure who this movie was intended for.

Max, king of the Wild Things, was crowned for good reason.  He is wild, destructive and violent.  Director Spike Jones does paint a relatively clear picture of the causes of this.  Max is the modern child, I suppose.  He is isolated.  His parents have separated, apparently.  His mother has a demanding job, or perhaps a job she isn’t very good at. She has a love interest. This love interest doesn’t come off as being overjoyed at Max’s existence, let alone his presence in the house when he comes by for a quiet night with his mom.  Max’s sister (yes, in the film Max has a sister) is also the archetypal modern girl, a la Claire Danes circa My So Called Life.  Max struggles for her attention, but she, like he, has her own way of dealing with the situation.  She seems to care for Max, but again, she has her own issues she’s sorting out, possibly on the screen in some parallel universe where she meets some other wild things.

This is the setting that opens the film.  It was, to be honest, quite grueling.  It was like listening to The John Tesh Radio Show. Nothing against John Tesh, I just detest his awful show.  Here’s possibly why; I was forced for a year and some change to listen to it in a restricted, high stress environment.  I was not in prison. They don’t play The John Tesh Radio Show in prison.  If they did, and this is just my theory, the recidivism rate in this country would fall through the floor…scared straight, indeed.  My reaction to his show is probably natural.  I probably would have grown to loathe just about anything under those conditions, it just happened to be The John Tesh Radio Show.  

I am not a purest when it comes to film adaptations of books.  I won’t go on about where and how violently the film broke the books spine, so to speak. 

The film does succeed in being visually enthralling.  The sets are intricate. The “Wild Things” are flawless.  The film should receive a torrent of awards for this, but this is the only praise I can muster for it.

If anything, the film adaptation of Maurice Sendak’s story brought to my attention how troubled of a child the king of the wild things possibly is.  I wonder how much of this, if any, Sendak intended.  The book came out in 1963, decades before the diagnoses of Attention Deficit, Hyperactivity and Oppositional Defiance Disorders became as ubiquitous as Kleenex.  In the film, the Wild Things come off as manifestations of Max’s chemical, emotional or social imbalances, whatever the case may be.  Perhaps this was already apparent to everyone else, but it was an epiphany for me.  Having read the book to a sleepy child countless times, it never dawned on me. 

In my mind, the film and the book are completely separate, and they have to be. The boy in the story that I read to my son isn’t wild, destructive or violent.  He’s just a little boy that wanted to be where someone loves him best of all.

Below is a link to an interview with Maurice Sendak from NPR’s Fresh Air

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=114044628