Let The Wild Rumpus Begin.



You get so used to Hollywood screwing up (by dumbing down) adaptations of kids books that it’s difficult to know what to say when you watch a movie like Where the Wild Things Are. The worst thing that can be said about it is that it’s not really a movie for eight-year-olds. Seeing as we’re not eight-year-olds, we’re fine with this. The best thing that can be said is that it gets childhood almost exactly right. Credit for this goes not just to director Spike Jonze and co-writer Dave Eggers, but most of all to young Max Records, who as Max captures all the wonderment, loneliness, imagination and terror of growing up. There’s a scene when he and Carol (voiced perfectly by James Gandolfini) race up to a cliff overlooking the sea. Another Wild Thing runs up behind them and bumps into Max, nearly knocking him over the ledge. There’s a split second when it appears Max might fall, and you feel the danger of this strange world of imagination, no matter how imaginary it may be. That’s the tightrope walk of growing up that the movie captures beautifully. Aside from the second half dragging a bit, the movie was a pleasure to watch. Our favorite characters may have been KW’s friends Bob and Terry. We won’t give anything away, but let’s just say they tell pretty good jokes.


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