Wild Things, You Make My Heart Sing

Where The Wild Things Are

***1/2 out of ****

Directed by: Spike Jonze

Starring: Max Records, Catherine Keener and Mark Ruffalo

Featuring the “wild” voice talents of: James Gandolfini, Lauren Ambrose, Catherine O’Hara, Forest Whitaker, Paul Dano and Chris Cooper

Running Time: 101 minutes

Where the Wild Things Are, a feature-length adaptation of Maurice Sendak’s rousing 338-word classic, is by far the most raw, most daring and most unusual film about childhood I’ve seen in a long time.

That said, this film is certainly not accessible to all. Which is of little surprise, considering that it was brought to the screen by two of this decade’s Zeitgeist-defining creative forces: director Spike Jonze of Being John Malkovich fame (although his award mantle consists of prizes for music video and commercial work), and screenwriter Dave Eggers, an electrifying novelist whose debut ranks among one of the most beloved in contemporary literature.

That memoir was titled A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. Alongside Jonze, he’s written another.

The movie begins with a frantic chase around a messy house with 9-year-old Max (Max Records) scampering after his dog. He is manic but misunderstood.

His mother (Catherine Keener) clearly tries her best to spend time with him, but she has work and a new boyfriend (Mark Ruffalo) that eat up her time. Max’s older sister (Pepita Emmerichs) pretends he does not exist, abandoning him after her friends destroy a fort he’s made.

This frustration breaks when he yells at his mother and runs away from home. Clothed in a white wolf costume, he takes a sailboat across the sea to where the Wild Things are…

These ten-foot beasts warm up to Max and crown him "King of the Wild Things." Among these troubled creatures who Max befriends are the burly Carol (James Gandolfini), the independent KW (Lauren Ambrose), the feisty Judith (Catherine O’Hara), the wimpy Alexander (Paul Dano), the trustworthy Douglas (Chris Cooper) and the compassionate Ira (Forest Whitaker).

The Wild Things are furry, tall and boldly designed, holding true to Sendak’s illustrations. The actors who voiced the beasts performed from the monster costumes, but were also filmed away from these hairy exteriors, only reciting the dialogue. These separate facial performances were later fused onto the faces of the creatures using CGI and animatronics.

Due to this technique, we can hear their excitement, see their loneliness and feel their pain more clearly. These Wild Things are more honest and believable than anything that Jim Henson’s company of artistic wizards, who crafted the intricate creatures, have made in years.

But the largest triumph of Jonze’s film is Max Records. To remember such a layered, endearing and tender performance from a young actor, we may have to go back nearly 30 years, to Henry Thomas’s Elliott in E.T.

Records is the real deal here. This was his debut performance, although not his first theatrical release, as he played Young Stephen in this year’s under-appreciated The Brothers Bloom.

With even the simplest change in mood, we can feel and understand Max’s anger, his heartache, and his yearn to belong. No matter how wild Max becomes, we instantly identify with him.

I guarantee that Records’s smile is about as ethereally beautiful as anything you’re likely to see on screen this year. But don’t let that fool you: Where the Wild Things Are is not only a wild rumpus. It is, at parts, a grim and bittersweet film. The emotional tension featured in the film’s early segments in Max’s home carry over to the island of the Wild Things.

All of the Wild Things are complicated beasts with real issues, even though some of them get less character development than they deserve.

Where the Wild Things Are will certainly have a mixed response among audiences. The offbeat directing style, the incomplete narrative structure, as well as the emotionally heavy texturing of Max and the beasts may polarize viewers who think they’re coming to see a big, buoyant adaptation.

Young children may be unsettled by the seriousness of the film. This is certainly more art-house fare than Nickelodeon fodder.

It’s raw, complicated and more radically different from any adaptation in recent years. But Max and these creatures have been infused with so much warmth and complexity, you can’t help but adore these misunderstood Wild Things.

When the characters mosh together in a big pile to sleep, you want to be right there, cozily warming up with them. This is a film so remarkably whimsical and beautifully tender, you’ll want it to tuck you in underneath your covers.

Spike Jonze, I’d like to praise you like I should. Thank you for delivering a brave and beautiful adaptation of a bona-fide classic.

And Max Records, I have those adoption papers waiting in my bedside drawer.