Spike Jonze, Warner Bros (11/12/2009)

After a long and reportedly troubled development, writer and director Spike Jonze’s (Being John Malkovich) adaptation of Maurice Sendak’s seminal 1963 children’s book of the same name finally arrives on the screen. The result is an imperfect if wonderfully bold ode to childhood, and the power and pitfalls of brilliant imagination.

As such, Where The Wild Things Are is an anarchic children’s film that may not hold a great deal of appeal to a generation raised on brightly coloured, gag heavy and predictable computer animation (or their parents for that matter), who could be turned off by the film’s misbehaving and frequently violent lead character, Max, portrayed with a great deal of naturalistic skill here by the aptly named Max Records. Jonze takes full advantage of his lead’s youthful exuberance to tear through the deceptively mild-mannered opening credits and snatch away any remaining illusions that this is going to be a light, carefree jaunt into a magical kingdom filled with cuddly animals, generic messages and easy lessons.

The action gets rolling when Max, feeling sidelined by his overworked divorcee mother (played by the always authentic Catherine Keener) and the new man (Mark Ruffalo, in cameo mode) she’s invited for dinner, sets off a heated exchange. Being the wild thing that Max is, he ends up biting her. “What is wrong with you?!” she screams, and it at this stage it’s hard for the audience not to agree.

This clash sets the rest of the film in motion as Max, tearful and seeing the pain he’s caused, but not wanting to stick around for the inevitable consequences, bolts out the door into a misty night. His mother gives chase, but being small has its advantages and Max soon crawls through enough fencing and brush to find himself utterly alone, save for the company of a small sailboat tethered to a tree waiting for a captain.

Across a changeable sea, neatly reflecting our hero’s volatile moods, Max travels, ultimately running aground on a mysterious body of land in the midst of a terrific nighttime squall. Leaving his boat behind, Max scales a slick, craggy rock face toward distant lights. This sequence is surprising for the willingness, or perhaps fearlessness, it shows in Jonze and co-writer Dave Eggers (Away We Go) as they pitch their young star into scenarios you see less and less of in live-action films aimed at children.

Moments like this, scattered in large numbers throughout the film, demonstrate Jonze and Eggers’ uncanny knack for reaching back through time to wipe away the dust from their daydreams, accompanied by a pitch-perfect ear for children’s dialogue.

When Max finally reaches the camp of his new cohabitants (the wild things of the title) it’s here where audiences might typically expect a talking Jamaican lobster or sassy donkey to paint a sunny picture of the new world’s virtues and provide a bit of comic relief (something distinctly missing in a film of warm smiles rather than belly laughs). This vividly imagined island soon proves to be at least as dark and dangerous as the reality Max has left behind however. Here, just like in the real world, stones bruise, blood runs and limbs don’t always stay attached, as insults and neglect cut deeper than physical injury.

Witnessing the wild things through Max’s wonder-filled eyes, the creature Carol (voiced with wounded sensitivity and fast-boil rage by a fantastic James Gandolfini) lays waste to his fellow creatures' beautiful hive-like homes due to the departure of one of their kind and Carol’s former partner, KW (a languid Lauren Ambrose). The scene is one of a hippie commune gone bust. Again, not something you’d expect to encounter in a big-budget, mainstream children's film.

The rest of the Wild Things creatures are cut from the same hemp cloth, though each has their own distinct look and personality (helped in no small part by uniformly excellent voice work), and all are an aesthetic wonder to behold. Fluid, organic, dirty and fabulously expressive, they are never anything less than convincing as living, breathing playmates for King Max, whose cocksure stories of magic powers and former kingdoms wow his new friends. When asked what will be his first order of business as king, Max proclaims, “Let the wild rumpus begin!” And so they all run, dance, knock trees over, roll down hills, throw dirt clumps (and each other), build magnificent forts and finally end up in a large, cuddly pile. That is, before the love fades, shouts are exchanged, and everyone realises that life and relationships are hard work and require selflessness and sacrifice.

If there is a criticism to make of this film, it’s in the fact that it never really goes anywhere. As a child’s rambling, freeform daydream, the approach is spot on. Unfortunately however children don’t always make for the best storytellers. Jonze and Eggers would have done well to listen to the grown up storytellers within (as well as the nervous studio executives soiling their suits), and provide more structure, or perhaps outward conflict to go along with the expertly captured inner turmoil of their characters (and particularly that of Max, whose emotional journey from impulsive, lonely child to respectful, caring man is believable and compelling).

In the end though, the Wild Things weaknesses can be accepted in light of its numerous technical and artistic strengths. Perhaps more appropriate to an audience curious to unearth long buried childhood emotions than the children it seeks to portray, this is simple and brave filmmaking, and it may be quite a while until we see its wild likeness again.

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