The Movie Review: ‘Where the Wild Things Are’

In Sendak’s book, the Wild Things were a nameless, undifferentiated crew, broad expressions of the fractious, uncontainable passions of childhood. Extending the conceit, Jonze and Eggers give each one a name and, more important, a role to play in a vast, amplified allegory of Max’s home life: Carol (James Gandolfini) is Max’s id writ (very) large--generous and eager to belong, but easily wounded and prone to destructive fits of rage; Alexander (Paul Dano) is the lonely boy, eager for attention; KW (Lauren Ambrose) is the absent sister, more focused on distant friends than her family; Judith (Catherine O’Hara) is the nagging voice of pessimism and doubt.

Max’s life with the Wild Things bears a more than passing resemblance to his former one: building forts (though on a considerably grander scale), exchanging tokens of affection, conducting dirt-clod fights, and generally trying to construct a zone where, in Carol’s words, “only the things you want to happen would happen.” But this wild rumpus, like any, can’t go on forever and, as it descends into bickering and hurt feelings, Max discovers that “king” is merely “parent” by another name.

It would be difficult to overstate the fierce originality of Jonze’s vision. The Wild Things themselves--which the director insisted rely on costumes and puppetry, with CGI utilized only for facial detail--are a marvel: shaggy titans with easily bruised hearts. And while the latter parts of the film, in which these melancholy monsters serve as a vehicle for Max to work through his boyish angst, won’t be to all tastes--these scenes are self-indulgent in exactly the manner of childhood--there is an unmistakable tenderness to nearly every frame.

Indeed, it borders on miraculous that Jonze was able to assemble his hulking costumes, rowdy action, emotional introspection, and gifted but incongruous vocal cast (which also comprises Forest Whitaker and Chris Cooper) into anything more than a Muppet Lord of the Flies. But somehow the elements cohere into a sort of indie epic, a dreamscape as rich in emotional texture as it is in visual imagination. Perhaps more remarkable still is that Jonze was able to persuade a major studio, Warner Brothers, to foot the $80+ million bill for this beautiful, but profoundly uncommercial vision. What I would give to have been a fly on the wall during the meeting--and there must have been one--at which Jonze explained to studio execs that, no, he would under no circumstances be using the Troggs standard “Wild Thing” in the film. (The giddy soundtrack is instead by Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.)

It’s true, as a host of naysayers have been quick to proclaim, that younger kids may find the film frightening and emotionally confusing, and older ones may become bored when the early pandemonium gives way to quieter, more conflicted moments. But this category confusion does nothing to diminish Jonze’s achievement. Where the Wild Things Are may not be a great film for children (or, at least, most children). But it is something rarer still: a great, and unsparing, film about childhood. I’ll eat you up, I love you so.

Christopher Orr is a senior editor of The New Republic.