Where the Wild Things Are
Directed by Spike Jonze
Two and One Half Stars
I suspect that many lifelong fans of Maurice Sendak’s acclaimed children’s book, “Where the Wild Things Are”, have already formed in their minds a masterpiece of a film. They’ve become fans of it on Facebook weeks before its release and will exchange catchphrases like “it’s gonna be awesome” as they stand in line to see it. It is a testament to the human imagination, I suppose, that many people will leave the theater convinced they’d seen that masterpiece, regardless of what transpired on screen.
Spike Jonze’s “Where the Wild Things Are”, an adaptation of Sendak’s immortal children’s book, is very much about that kind of imagination. It is an emotionally poignant movie distracted by wildly inconsistent characters and obtrusive camerawork. Jonze does a wonderful job in his film recalling the essence of a nine year old boy, but he does a poor job of really bringing this particular one to life.
Max Records assumes the lead role of Max, a young boy with a penchant for applying his fantastical ideas to his not-so-fantastical reality. Most notable is his ability to internalize great tragedies out of ordinary familial conflicts, which is the type of incident that sets the real story in motion. Max’s mother (Catherine Keener) is, for all I can tell, a loving a devoted parent. She empathizes with Max when his sister’s friends smash his snow fortress, but promptly and responsibly punishes him for his revenge. She also has a boyfriend (Mark Ruffalo), which brings to mind the potential trauma of losing a father in some way or another.
When Max flees into the night and into his fantasies after a spat with his mother, it isn’t because she is an abusive or neglectful parent (as would have been the case in a lesser movie), but because Max likes to think she is in order to fuel his wild imagination. Then Max sails away on a sea of fantasy to an island where the wild things are. They are most unhappy, and he determines to help them.
Why are the wild things unhappy? Because this is Max’s fantasy, you see - a scapegoat the film falls back on a few too many times. “Where the Wild Things Are” eventually begins to feel like a game with a child who keeps changing the rules. Sure, it’s an accurate depiction of the mind of a child, but it’s not much fun to participate in. This inconsistency subjects the wild things to bizarre mood swings and choppy relationships. Even Max becomes more and more of a mystery as the tale proceeds. Instead of learning more about him, we begin to doubt what we thought we already knew.
“Where the Wild Things Are” is a beautiful film, full of gorgeous landscapes and exciting images, but it’s difficult to get a good look at any of it, because Jonze’s queasicam is out of control. The camera shakes gratuitously, disorienting and nauseating the audience for no apparent reason other than to needlessly doll up the production with the whimsical notion that the whole thing was shot with a handheld camera.
Queasicam shots have become a technique that lazy filmmakers fall back on when they have nothing exciting to shoot but want to manufacture the illusion that they do. It has become a common practice in gunfights and car chases, over-simulating the sensation of displacement within the action. But Jonze does have something exciting to shoot, and I was quite frustrated that I couldn’t get a clean look at it. This could have been an infinitely better film if Jonze had busted out the tripod and actually composed a shot.
That said, there is a beauty to Jonze’s imagery, and the essence of Sendak’s artwork has been effectively translated to the screen. If I seem a bit upset at “Where the Wild Things Are”, it is because, like you, I was very much hoping for a masterpiece, and am convinced that there is just such a masterpiece barred away within this film, trying to break free and roar.
Spike Jonze’s “Where the Wild Things Are”, an adaptation of Sendak’s immortal children’s book, is very much about that kind of imagination. It is an emotionally poignant movie distracted by wildly inconsistent characters and obtrusive camerawork. Jonze does a wonderful job in his film recalling the essence of a nine year old boy, but he does a poor job of really bringing this particular one to life.
Max Records assumes the lead role of Max, a young boy with a penchant for applying his fantastical ideas to his not-so-fantastical reality. Most notable is his ability to internalize great tragedies out of ordinary familial conflicts, which is the type of incident that sets the real story in motion. Max’s mother (Catherine Keener) is, for all I can tell, a loving a devoted parent. She empathizes with Max when his sister’s friends smash his snow fortress, but promptly and responsibly punishes him for his revenge. She also has a boyfriend (Mark Ruffalo), which brings to mind the potential trauma of losing a father in some way or another.
When Max flees into the night and into his fantasies after a spat with his mother, it isn’t because she is an abusive or neglectful parent (as would have been the case in a lesser movie), but because Max likes to think she is in order to fuel his wild imagination. Then Max sails away on a sea of fantasy to an island where the wild things are. They are most unhappy, and he determines to help them.
Why are the wild things unhappy? Because this is Max’s fantasy, you see - a scapegoat the film falls back on a few too many times. “Where the Wild Things Are” eventually begins to feel like a game with a child who keeps changing the rules. Sure, it’s an accurate depiction of the mind of a child, but it’s not much fun to participate in. This inconsistency subjects the wild things to bizarre mood swings and choppy relationships. Even Max becomes more and more of a mystery as the tale proceeds. Instead of learning more about him, we begin to doubt what we thought we already knew.
“Where the Wild Things Are” is a beautiful film, full of gorgeous landscapes and exciting images, but it’s difficult to get a good look at any of it, because Jonze’s queasicam is out of control. The camera shakes gratuitously, disorienting and nauseating the audience for no apparent reason other than to needlessly doll up the production with the whimsical notion that the whole thing was shot with a handheld camera.
Queasicam shots have become a technique that lazy filmmakers fall back on when they have nothing exciting to shoot but want to manufacture the illusion that they do. It has become a common practice in gunfights and car chases, over-simulating the sensation of displacement within the action. But Jonze does have something exciting to shoot, and I was quite frustrated that I couldn’t get a clean look at it. This could have been an infinitely better film if Jonze had busted out the tripod and actually composed a shot.
That said, there is a beauty to Jonze’s imagery, and the essence of Sendak’s artwork has been effectively translated to the screen. If I seem a bit upset at “Where the Wild Things Are”, it is because, like you, I was very much hoping for a masterpiece, and am convinced that there is just such a masterpiece barred away within this film, trying to break free and roar.
Rollan Schott
October 16, 2009
Originally Featured in the Daily Nebraskan
I've ever read the book but I know it's supposed to be really good. I want to read it then see the film.
ReplyDeletePlum