When I heard a movie was being made from Where the Wild Things Are, I didn't expect much. A sweet and gentle book filled with terrible roars and gnashing of teeth and Max in his wolf suit the wildest thing of all -- how could a feature-length film do anything but ruin it?
Then my daughter texted me a few times about how it was getting ready to open, and then I read a few early reviews about how remarkable the movie was, so I suspended judgment -- until about 20 minutes into seeing the movie.
If you're thinking about seeing it, stay home.
If you're thinking about seeing it with children, read them the book instead.
In the book, the wild things are deliciously wild. In the movie, they're not wild at all. They're angry and/or whining. I've had more fun at funerals.
In the book Max, the wild things, and Max's mom are all kind, and the key word is "mischief." There's nothing mischievous about the movie. An observation by my grandson summed it up when he said, "Nobody changed." But that's nothing regular antidepressants and a good psychiatrist couldn't fix. Too bad nobody involved with the movie knew it's a love story with a funny beginning, a cheery middle, and a happy ending.