Yesterday, I went to go see Spike Jonze's adaption of Where the Wild Things Are. I had been anxiously awaiting this film for a long, long time already. And it was a stunning film; that of great quality cinematography, and an equally enchanting musical score by Karen O. Beautiful and dreamlike. But I left the theatre feeling a bit sad and lonely. It might have been the overwhelming amount of rude preteen chattering throughout the entirety of the film, or possibly even my attachment to Maurice Sendak’s book that I kept gravitating towards, but I felt downright miserable at some points of the movie. The emotional depth was definitely something I wasn’t prepared for, and with that being said, this is NOT a film for children 10 and under. Where the Wild Things Are exposed the heartbreaking end of childhood innocence, but it also celebrated its eternal essence lingering within each of us at the same time. Some childishness has definitely been reignited in my jaded and stressed eighteen-year old body.
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And it is really quite beautiful.
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mkp.
