Dear The Internets,
I saw Where the Wild Things Are last night. I'm having trouble putting my thoughts together on it. I thought that if I slept on it, something might come to me, but nope...
I was very delighted to see the book come to life on the big screen. It was visually pleasing, the score agreeable. The set was magnificently stimulating, as were the costumes. The story was beautiful, sweet, and sad. I did cry, let me just put that out there right now! Tears will be shed.
My biggest issue with Jonze's vision is the fact that he developed an intricate expanded story with intricate characters then went on to let them deflate on their own towards the end. Also, the movie could have been shorter, much shorter. The sadness seemed to drag on for everrrr, with that many r's.
Even when Max was back home with his mother I was not happy. All I could think of was the fate of the creatures he left behind, and that they'd probably have more problems because of their encounter. No one was going to be okay. Not Max, not Carol, and definitely not the one-winged rooster, Douglas.
I'm not sure about everyone else but I left the theatre feeling empty and melancholy. Almost despondent? And with a big urge to read the classic book immediately so that I could rid myself of the burning affliction bestowed upon me by a brilliant man with very good intentions. Hmmmmmmm...
Definitely worth seeing for yourself. I may go a second (or third) time myself just to reprocess it.
Younger children and suicidal adults need not apply.
3.5 out 5 cupcakes; for being beautiful.