This is a rendition of Maurice Sendak's slightly wistful but generally happy-natured story as it might have been told by Eeyore, A. A. Milne's donkey who saw nothing but gloom in everything. His exaggerated pessimism would seem an undesirable attitude for a children's movie to take; but then, this isn't really a children's movie.
In the middle of it, unexpectedly, there blossoms a beautiful scene where the little boy (not quite as little as Sendak's) visiting the country of the wild things is shown a miniature landscape that one of them has secretly sculpted. Sticking his head through a hole in the middle (like Alice's rabbit hole in reverse), he finds himself surrounded by this imaginary world, where everything is as it should be and all the bad things are left out: an appealing fantasy. But then the voice of Eeyore weighs in to remind us that that won't ever happen, it's all moonshine; and in the end the movie sees to it that the perfect little world is smashed up; better that way, really.
And so with the boy's ascendancy in the community of wild things. He declares himself king, and indeed, becomes king. But when he fails to make them all happy--as no king ever did or ever will--Eeyore's voice comes in again to remind them, and us, that he isn't a REAL king--presumably meaning not of royal descent--and so must leave. (The alternative isn't spelled out, but before he took on the kingship they had threatened to eat him.) Once he is exposed, even his best friend--the artist who wrecked his art or allowed it to be wrecked--turns against him. "What are you, then?" he asks. "I'm just Max," says the boy. "Well, that's not much," his former friend concludes; Max silently agrees; and the movie, seeing him through Eeyore's eyes, lets the judgment stand. No point in trying to be something you're not, even if you succeed at it; you won't be that REALLY; you'll still be what you started out as: Not Much; and you always will. You'll become an outcast and will never again be allowed on Sesame Street.
For Sesame Street is what this movie recalls, along with assorted art-house movies: it's like a Werner Herzog film with Muppets, but also extremely moralistic. However, the moral keeps changing, as the story careers one way and another, and in the end it makes no more sense than the stories in Spike Jonze's other movies. To take the most obvious example: Max reaches the island of the wild things by stealing a boat and sailing across; and he isn't dreaming. The island is part of the same reality as his own neighborhood. So how can he be the first person to set foot on it? Were I to take the story as a coherent whole, I would have to interpret it as a case study of a nearly autistic child whose self-absorption climaxes in an attack on his mother. This precipitates a total break with reality and catapults him into a hallucination in which he meets others of his kind and even achieves some stature among them but in the end is turned out even by his imaginary friends. He resorts to his mother--his victim--who he can be sure will care for him in spite of the threat he poses to her; but in her weariness, brought on by worry and overwork on his behalf, she drops off just looking at him.
Now, logically, at this point I'd expect him to turn on her and on his sister and do to them what the wild things had nearly done to him. And when the police arrive and find him among the gnawed carcasses, he's permanently detached from reality, but happy withal: he's proved to the wild things he really belongs with them and they've welcomed him back to the island and he can live with them there forever. No such ending appears on screen; but maybe it's one of the deleted scenes on the DVD.
This movie looks like art. It has indie film acting, art film landscapes, and university radio station music in some nursery-cabaret mode. It also has giant, literal incarnations of the Sendak drawings, so designed and operated as to appear almost real: too real, as far as I was concerned. And like much art, or seeming art, it isn't meant for children. I would surmise that it's aimed at adults of the type who like to see children realize themselves. Should any of them have been attracted by its artlike trappings, I think they might question whether the messages of this movie--don't imagine what might be, resign yourself to what is, and to the little you are--will nurture anyone's best possibilities.
Or, as the first Eeyore put it: Over-rated, if you ask me. Silly stuff. Nothing in it.
In the middle of it, unexpectedly, there blossoms a beautiful scene where the little boy (not quite as little as Sendak's) visiting the country of the wild things is shown a miniature landscape that one of them has secretly sculpted. Sticking his head through a hole in the middle (like Alice's rabbit hole in reverse), he finds himself surrounded by this imaginary world, where everything is as it should be and all the bad things are left out: an appealing fantasy. But then the voice of Eeyore weighs in to remind us that that won't ever happen, it's all moonshine; and in the end the movie sees to it that the perfect little world is smashed up; better that way, really.
And so with the boy's ascendancy in the community of wild things. He declares himself king, and indeed, becomes king. But when he fails to make them all happy--as no king ever did or ever will--Eeyore's voice comes in again to remind them, and us, that he isn't a REAL king--presumably meaning not of royal descent--and so must leave. (The alternative isn't spelled out, but before he took on the kingship they had threatened to eat him.) Once he is exposed, even his best friend--the artist who wrecked his art or allowed it to be wrecked--turns against him. "What are you, then?" he asks. "I'm just Max," says the boy. "Well, that's not much," his former friend concludes; Max silently agrees; and the movie, seeing him through Eeyore's eyes, lets the judgment stand. No point in trying to be something you're not, even if you succeed at it; you won't be that REALLY; you'll still be what you started out as: Not Much; and you always will. You'll become an outcast and will never again be allowed on Sesame Street.
For Sesame Street is what this movie recalls, along with assorted art-house movies: it's like a Werner Herzog film with Muppets, but also extremely moralistic. However, the moral keeps changing, as the story careers one way and another, and in the end it makes no more sense than the stories in Spike Jonze's other movies. To take the most obvious example: Max reaches the island of the wild things by stealing a boat and sailing across; and he isn't dreaming. The island is part of the same reality as his own neighborhood. So how can he be the first person to set foot on it? Were I to take the story as a coherent whole, I would have to interpret it as a case study of a nearly autistic child whose self-absorption climaxes in an attack on his mother. This precipitates a total break with reality and catapults him into a hallucination in which he meets others of his kind and even achieves some stature among them but in the end is turned out even by his imaginary friends. He resorts to his mother--his victim--who he can be sure will care for him in spite of the threat he poses to her; but in her weariness, brought on by worry and overwork on his behalf, she drops off just looking at him.
Now, logically, at this point I'd expect him to turn on her and on his sister and do to them what the wild things had nearly done to him. And when the police arrive and find him among the gnawed carcasses, he's permanently detached from reality, but happy withal: he's proved to the wild things he really belongs with them and they've welcomed him back to the island and he can live with them there forever. No such ending appears on screen; but maybe it's one of the deleted scenes on the DVD.
This movie looks like art. It has indie film acting, art film landscapes, and university radio station music in some nursery-cabaret mode. It also has giant, literal incarnations of the Sendak drawings, so designed and operated as to appear almost real: too real, as far as I was concerned. And like much art, or seeming art, it isn't meant for children. I would surmise that it's aimed at adults of the type who like to see children realize themselves. Should any of them have been attracted by its artlike trappings, I think they might question whether the messages of this movie--don't imagine what might be, resign yourself to what is, and to the little you are--will nurture anyone's best possibilities.
Or, as the first Eeyore put it: Over-rated, if you ask me. Silly stuff. Nothing in it.