Dir. Spike Jonze, 101mins, USA , 2009
Cast: Max Records, Katherine Keener, Mark Ruffalo, James Gandolfini (voice), Paul Dano (voice), Catherine O'Hara (voice), Chris Cooper (voice), Forest Whitaker (voice)
Review by Matthew Rodgers
What the Warner Brothers exec's expected, when they gave visionary genius Spike Jonze free rein on Maurice Sendak's beloved source book in its entire 10 sentence, 338 word glory, was anyone's guess. After months spent in post-production hell, with rumours of disastrous screenings and studio sprogs being upset by the dark turn the fable was taking, there was a real worry that we may never see Where the Wild Things Are filtered through the lens of the director of Being John Malkovich.
If they were anticipating a thoughtful, elegiac and brutally cold examination of what it was like to be a child, then this strange beast of a movie is definitely a resounding success. A word of warning though, because if on the other hand you've been lulled in by the wonderful trailer, then like our pyjama adorned protagonist Max, you may find the island isn't the form of escapism you were expecting.
We all know that it can be hard growing up, so when we are introduced to the introverted Max (Records) and his attempts to integrate with normality, you can completely understand the frequent journeys he takes into his own imagination. Shunned by children his own age and bereft of a father figure in his life, Max decides to escape to an island inhabited by the Wild Things.
There's the enthusiastic yet overbearing Carol (Gandolfini), the mysterious outcast KW (Lauren Ambrose), the resident sad-sack Ira (Whitaker), the melancholic goat Alexander (Dano), a total of seven, each with their own singular characteristic, heightened to clearly represent the emotional aspects of Max's as yet undefined personality.
It's what to do with these characters and the world that they inhabit that this adaptation struggles with. Given very little to work from, Jonze and co-writer Dave Eggers weave in some of the most iconic pages from the simplistic source material. Max screams for the “Wild Rumpus to begin” and so it does, but to what end?
The rest of the narrative is spent balancing admittedly fun, child-like set-pieces – a fantastically violent mud-slinging battle – with the reoccurring grown-up aftermath of an argument or bickering conversation between two of the Wild Things. Ok, so all of the best children's films are permeated by a familial subtext, but at times here it can be a frustrating experience for the viewer, because the overriding mood is one of morose self-reflection and little else.
The beauty within the beast comes from the loving recreation of the creatures and the world which they inhabit. How refreshing it is to feel some real physicality emanating from the Wild Things instead of lumps of soulless pixels. The costume design and choreography are breathtaking. Whether the characters are interacting with each other during one of the many scuffles or wandering across a sun flecked horizon, you'll be hard pushed to find a more stunning looking film this year.
The actors play their part too; Gandolfini is the schizophrenic vocal standout and young Max Records is requisitely annoying as the opening act upstart and, as he changes in the course of his discovery of what it takes to deal with these lumbering 12ft manifested emotions of his, he soon becomes the fragile youngster that wholeheartedly deserves your tears come the heartbreaking time to say goodbye.
Not everyone will embrace its ambling poetic style, but few films are made like this one without a financial agenda and few will generate as much retrospective analytical discussions as this one. Take a walk on the wild side, it's a unique experience.
|
