‘Where The Wild Things Are’ Review: The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart

Intuitively rendered with childlike curiosity, and handcrafted lo-fi charm, Spike Jonze’s “Where The Wild Things Are,” is an extraordinarily captivating version of Maurice Sendak’s classic kids book that extrapolates the boy-in-the-woods-with-monsters story into an intimate, raw and extremely honest depiction about the traumas of childhood. Not to mention it’s a very personal one.

Emotionally textured — if pervasively melancholy, with bruised feelings everywhere — yet unfussy and simple, even appropriately naive, ‘Wild Things’ is tender, sad and truthfully attuned to pre-adolescent sensibilities while at the same time incredibly joyous and exuberant when depicting play. It’s also a bit of a $100 million dollar art film, which is an incredible achievement unto itself, but it might divide more conservative audiences looking for feel good and familiar kids movie story beats.

Much like the original unconventional script — which the final picture is largely faithful to in spirit — the narrative is almost entirely eschewed for emotion and interpersonal conflicts. While some reviews have complained about how the film skimps on plot (and it does) it is the right choice for this particular dark fairytale, which feels like a wonderfully ephemeral daydream set during a sunny afternoon away from home (more like a sketched out version of the “Wizard of Oz,” though the untraced lines is by design).
Beginning with a kinetic and exhilarating little opening that’s like a flaring bottle rocket to set the stage for the protagonist, Max (Max Records) wildly chases his dog around the house evincing his careless, feral and a little too turbulent roughhousing. A deeply sensitive boy, his world seems in a perpetual state of distressed recovery and one that he’s obviously too young to fully comprehend as to why. His father has divorced his mother (a deeply convincing Catherine Keener who is loving, but overwhelmed), his older sister Claire (Pepita Emmerichs) is transitioning into teenagedom, and therefore estranged from Max, and his mom’s new boyfriend (Mark Ruffalo in a small almost indiscernible role) is on the scene, further unsettling his equilibrium.There’s an amazing sense of emotional inarticulation throughout the film as well as in these sequences; these situations are complex and the feelings that come with them tremendously confusing. Why would Max’s sister all of a sudden grow cold and distant? It not only puzzles the boy, but it truly hurts on an affecting level to character and audience.
Bold, impulsive and imaginative, Max is also delicate and susceptible to worry and a series of confusing events — including a too violent snowball fight — leads an angered and downcast Max to strike out and destroy his sister’s room, much to the exasperated consternation of his stretched-to-her-limits single mom who is too busy trying to hold onto her job to deal with the boy’s irascible outbursts.

Frustrated with a bottled rage he doesn’t know what to do with or how to compartmentalize, an out of control Max ruins a dinner with the boyfriend when he lashes out and bites his mother. Boiling over with embittered rage, the mother censures the boy’s action and, aggrieved from the damage he’s caused that he cannot fix, he runs from the house in a temper tantrum that’s equal parts, self-loathing, irate disappointment and genuine sorrow.
The child runs into the woods, which soon transforms into a dark mysterious forest, leading Max to a boat that sails him to an inhospitable island, full of perilous sea shore rocks and fire-ravaged woods. It’s incredible just how far the filmmakers push the limits not only of the early emotionally vulnerable sequences with the mother but also his travels to the island. You feel a genuine sense of danger and alarm as the boy’s little raft crashes around the rocks of the shore as waves crash all around almost capsizing the boat (and apparently these sequences were dangerous and cinematographer Lance Acord actually almost drowned trying to film them).

Making his way through the dark, fantastic forest, Max soon comes upon the creatures from Sendak’s classic book, rendered in Jonze’s world as nine-feet tall monsters straight out of the Jim Henson world of classic puppets (real fur, tactile qualities, bright emotions). There’s Carol (James Gandolfini) the maladjusted, melancholy and tantrum-prone yet bighearted leader who takes a shine to Max with immediate alacrity; the mean spirited and perpetually sarcastic Judith (Catherine O’Hara); Ira her amiable rolly-polly companion (voiced with soft compassion by Forrest Whitaker); Alexander (Paul Dano), the resentful tiny goat, bitter that he is always ignored by his larger friends; Douglas (Chris Cooper), Carol’s faithful and understanding sidekick; the mostly silent and ominous Bull that Max largely avoids (voiced in the end by Michael Berry Jr.); and K.W. (Lauren Ambrose) the wiser and tentative teenage-like monster, who’s had it with being abused by her careless and immature friends.
The Wild Things, while large in size, are essentially all neurotic, poorly adjusted children with extremely fragile psyches and, with no adults to police the situation, they’re constantly hurting one another either physically or emotionally. If you’ve seen disparate children play together, you know there’s a lot of disorder and tears involved and in Jonze’s makeshift surrealistic world, childhood is full of anguish, confusion and resentment. Yet, it’s also brimming with celebratory play, fort-building ingenuity, quixotic scampering and picaresque adventures.

When Max makes the monsters acquaintance, they are, not for the first time, destroying their homes because they are simply disappointing and not up to spec for Carol (who at times feels like a proxy for the turbulent emotional life of the author Maurice Sendak; a gruff, but sensitively attuned artist). The reluctant monsters have been through all this before, but they appease their petulant leader so he won’t strike out in anger. He’s a big bully that doesn’t know his own strength and these monster children have their own pecking order and baggage.
After a few intimidating and hesitant moments where the monsters consider eating him, Max convinces them he has powers and is their king. They are awed and dazzled at his claims of having vanquished Vikings and other conquests – especially Carol who seems desperate for answers. “Can you keep out the sadness?” he asks, in a cracked yet hopeful voice. “What about loneliness?”

‘Wild Things’ then vacillates between the revelry of merriment and rowdiness (lots of hooping and hollering), the begrudging feelings of jealousy and envy (not everyone loves or trusts their new leader) and the destructiveness of unchecked emotions in scared, insecure children.

“Being a family is hard,” Judith heavily sighs at one point, and it’s perhaps the key line in the film. When Max becomes their King, he delivers promises he cannot keep and eventually starts to glimpse the pains of growing up when he realizes negotiating this kingdom is more complicated and difficult than he originally anticipated. Some of his magnate decisions are poor (a dirt clod game that ends in tears) and good intentions, playing favorites and teasing of others tests the relationships with some of the more sullen monsters (it quickly becomes clear that some are on Team Max while others are much more skeptical and ill-disposed of his presence).
The nostalgic picture, which transports you into the world of five-year-old wonder also features perhaps the most heartbreakingly affective ending you’ll see in a movie all year. It’s pure, unfiltered, childlike emotion and just devastatingly wistful. Don’t worry moms and dad’s – there’s a little coda tacked on that slightly softens the blow, but it’s impossible to forget.

Marked by handheld cameras and sun-dappled cinematography, ‘Wild Things’ looks beautiful, but has has a rough-around-the-edges and homespun mien to it. But wisely, the sunstroked wilderness is never overly-romanticized or prettified and the picture also retains dirty browns, smelly, muddy costumes and creepy under-lit scenes.

It must be tremendously difficult for any actor to emote with genuine pathos next to a lifeless puppet, let alone for an inexperienced nine-year-old boy, but lead actor Max Records does a terrific job of suspending your disbelief and keeping you in the picture. If there are quibbles to be found (and there aren’t many), the Karen O & The Kids music feels a little much and music video-y initially, but soon settles in the background and underscores the emotions quite sublimely, acting as the sweet-sounding sad smile that pervades the tone of the film (and Carter Burwell’s score is top-notch throughout).
Ultimately, “Where The Wild Things Are,” is like a wondrous treasure or a magical found object. The type of little trinket that a little boy would constantly carry around in his pocket, stopping to endlessly examine and awe over though he’s already seen it a million times. Warner Bros. have taken a major gamble with this film, but it will pay off eventually, as this beautiful and scrappy lived-in portrait of the difficulties and suffering of childhood is akin to the filthy, ragged and very beloved plaything doll or security blanket that children cling to until they’re frayed to their very limits. It’s something that deserves to be adored and wept over that much. [A]