No One's a King, They're All Children

'Where the Wild Things Are'

Review: 5/5

The opening scene in director Spike Jonze's adaptation of Maurice Sendak's children's book, 'Where the Wild Things Are' features the film's protagonist, Max, a young pre-adolescent whose energy only exceeds his imagination, ferociously chasing what seems to be a dog, but the cutting is so rapid and exhilarating it's hard to know for sure. This scene firmly sets the tone of Jonze's audacious interpretation of 'Wild Things,' an innovative and bold film that, in time, will be recognized as a landmark achievement in imaginative sovereignty, formally and aesthetically, that should have devout classical Hollywood cinema enthusiasts scoffing and discarding the emotional resonance this film produces.

The film plays distinctly by Max's emotional tones which generally dictate the plot developments, thereby creating a much more relatable world for children (though this realization may startle them). Max lives with his single mother and sister who, from his tender perspective, ignore him and disregard his requests for participation in his endlessly inventive attempts to fashion artificial worlds that serve as a fortress for his solitude. Frustrated that he feels abnormal, Max initiates a fight with his mother, bites her shoulder, and tears off into the night. Into another realm populated by 'Wild Things' that carry with them their own unfounded insecurities, and take a genuine liking to Max after he makes unrealistic promises about being a sort of saint. He's destined to save the 'Things,' whose world is made up of circular homes built of sticks, a rock fortress with tunnels, sand dunes, and a sun that dies. The world is cast in drab greys, browns, golds, interspersed with greens, and whites - an aesthetic palate that compliments the 'Things' and Max's constantly oscillating emotions. It's an uncompromising visual triumph and a candid plea for filmmaking ingenuity in the 21st century, shattering expectations of universal tradition and cultural labels. Max is unapologetically feral and violent, the 'Things' are vulnerable and thoroughly insecure, Max's sister doesn't jokingly dislike him, she ignores him altogether, and his Mother doesn't spout off inane cliches during the film's denouement. It's a daring amalgamation of vastly conflicted, anarchistic characters that all genuinely desire to be loved.

Even more anarchic than Max and the 'Things', is the film's loose narrative structure, which deviates from Hollywood formula. Yet, the film's content renders that deviation motivated: it's an escape to a world where we see through Max's childlike imagination - an escape from a world of rules and science, and into a land engineered only by sporadic imagination. This is not to say the film defies story to the point of theme deprivation. In fact, the film carries with it classic themes of love, forgiveness, and impatience.

In an era that this country is in now, an otherworldly film like this offers the purest, most authentic form of escape. If only we were as enlightened as Max.