Perhaps Spike Jonze hits the nail on the Hollywood head a bit too perfectly with his cinematic adaption of Maurice Sendak’s timeless children’s book, “Where the Wild Things Are”. Jonze successfully captures the playful innocence that bewitches Sendak’s magnum opus, but goes further to portray the frustration and anger that foils childhood ecstasy. There is a frown for every smile, tears for every laugh, and a swipe for every hug.

‘Wild Things’ stars Max Records as chronic troublemaker Max, who, after being reprimanded for interrupting his mother’s date, flees by boat to an island that houses the “Wild Things.” Max is quickly appointed king of the Wild Things and demands fun for all by way of a “wild rumpus” (which, if you are towering monster, entails blasting holes in trees and sleeping in a giant, asexual non-erotic orgy). Readily apparent is a rift between two of the Wild Things: (the male) Carol, Max’s unofficially-anointed best bud, and KW, Carol’s probably ex-girlfriend and Wild Thing outcast, as she has left the community for new friends (who, in a move that will please all college stoners, turn out to be owls. That can’t talk).

Hoping to bring together the Wild Thing community, Max orders the construction of an elaborate fort under the promise that it will bring absolute happiness and fun. Near the fort’s completion, the Wild Things realize Max is not a king and angrily usurp his power. As Max departs, though, a communal howling at the moon (somehow) compensates for the unfulfilled promise of happiness, and Max returns home to a warm supper.
As a piece of art, Jonze (“Being John Malkovich”) scores with “Wild Things.” To stretch nine lines of prose into ninety minutes of screen time is respectable; to do it as artistically as Jonze does is worthy of praise (and wouldn’t he like it best from a nineteen year old college kid). The Wild Things, a beautiful cocktail of CGI and animatronics (as reported by the folks over at starpulse.com), are as visually stunning as the sublime backdrop against which they romp: dazzling coast lines, rolling hills and magical deserts; even the blustery forests have an inviting aesthetic. Throw a few minus-size models in a frame and mistaking the film for the always ravishingly-crafted Urban Outfitters catalogue would not be too far of a reach.
Jonze’s aesthetic, however, will be underappreciated by younger audiences, as will the film’s beautifully haunting soundtrack, supplied by Karen O of Yeah Yeah Yeahs fame. So, too, will be the spots of dry humor that permeate the film, particularly those effused by the Wild Thing Alexander, a Charlie Brown-reincarnate who, as Max notes, “nobody listens to.” And if younger moviegoers are expecting all smiles, then they will be rudely awakened by the Wild Things, who regularly chide and scorn Max as well as each other. Older audiences, similarly, will be depressingly reminded of life’s shortcomings by Max’s inability to rule his own kingdom.
Ultimately, viewers will either adore or rail Jonze’s frank-but-charming depiction of both ends of life. In Jonze’s world, the idea of a perfectly fantastical childhood is just that- a fantasy. As Max declares, though, there will always be a rumpus to start.

Stephen O.