SmackCrumpleBang!

Last night, braving the killer slush and freezing fog, I managed to corral Le Famille onto a train and off to magical Eastleigh to see Where The Wild Things Are (note: Eastleigh is about as unmagical a place as you can get. So unmagical that it crosses over into the alternate reality realm of awesome – but it has a big shiny proper cinema, unlike winchester.)

Since the trailer came out accompanied by the supreme Arcade Fire track ‘Wake Up’ from their splendid album ‘Funeral’ I have been dying to see this film (ooh – unintentional punnage – funeral, dying – am dark prince of comedy.)

Eastleighs hideousness provided the perfect context in which to see this film.  Cosily ensconced in the black fuzzy womb of the cinema, this film began and the grim icy outside world of TK MAXX and Nandos receded into nothingness.  Right from the outset Spike Jonze (jones? joooon-ze? johnze? I am not going to pretend I am entirely au fait with the pronunciation of his surname – but then, isn’t it more fun not to be?) Mr Jonze establishes an erratic ADHD aesthetic where complex linear narrative is abolished in favour of a truly childlike experience.  I can see why it has received such mixed reviews – it being a film which manages to be both neurotically complex and dizzyingly simplistic.  There are many truly bizarre moments, notably Bob and Terry (I won’t spoil it for you – it involves rocks and owls and is hilarious) and the intrusion of ‘real’ animals into the fantasy world of the wild things (giant dogs, confused looking cats and a racoon called kevin EDIT: racoon infact called Richard thankyou Lulu...)

The story bounds through woods, deserts and rocky expanses with all the anti-logic and fluidity of a dream – occasionally allowing the story to unfold into complex adult moments, sometimes skipping away from snatches of ‘reality’ just as a child would.

What is really interesting is how my fellow cinema-goers interpreted it.  We divided into two camps of opinion – either the Wild Things of the film represent different facets of Max’s personality, and as in ‘The Wizard of Oz’ the story is about him learning to understand himself.  Or  the Wild Things represent snippets of adult reality which children can’t process – instead inventing fantastical reasoning to explain behaviours.  Perhaps these are both true – either way its refreshing to watch a film which gives you the liberty to wonder and wander.

Maurice Sendak based the monsters in his 1963 book on his immigrant aunts and uncles – creating caricatures based on both their relative-bahaviour and broken english – on the guardian website he explains;

“They grabbed you and twisted your face, and they thought that was an affectionate thing to do,” he said. “And I knew that my mother’s cooking was pretty terrible, and it also took forever, and there was every possibility that they would eat me, or my sister or my brother. We really had a wicked fantasy that they were capable of that. We couldn’t taste any worse than what she was preparing. So that’s who the Wild Things are. They’re foreigners, lost in America, without a language. And children who are petrified of them, and don’t understand that these gestures, these twistings of flesh, are meant to be affectionate.”

Jonze Americanises his wild things, but retains Sendaks concept – the Wild Things of the film are the first puppets I have ever seen on film who are truly compelling and believable.  These puppets transmogrify into actors and actresses in their own right, who are expressive enough to hint at layers of emotional complexity – at love and friendship and a smorgasbord of neuroses that would give Woody Allen a run for his money.

I can see how children could be bored by this – it depends so much on nuance and subtlety, and culminates with an emotional ending performed by a small boy and a band of monsters on a beach that left us all genuinely moved.  But this film is not necessarily for children? It is a potent recollection of childhood – a film you can only truly appreciate as an adult (like all the great ‘childrens’ films)  It is a vivid dream about the human condition – moving through frustration / anger / fear / isolation / inclusion / empathy / hope / disappointment and forgiveness.  All children should see it, but sadly I doubt if most parents would appreciate that.

This is a must see in my opinion – as well as being satisfying for all the reasons above, it is also exceptionally beautiful – a flawless adaptation of Maurice Sendaks brilliant book.

Incidentally Sendaks surreal ‘In The Night Kitchen’ story remains one of my favourite childhood reads – and one of the wierdest.  The man is a genius.