I know how ridiculous it is to say something like, “Where the
Wild Things Are is one of the best kids’ movies in the 70 years
since The Wizard of Oz.” So I won’t. But I’m thinking it. And
limiting the scope and comparing the film’s worth to others from this
year seems insufficient, because Where the Wild Things Are is a
remarkable achievement in filmmaking.

Wild Things is, of course, based on Maurice Sendak’s great
1964 children’s book, notable as a vehicle for film adaptation because
of its sparse verbiage — only 10 sentences long — ample
imagery, and lots of blanks to fill in between pages. The film is
widely divergent from the story without seeming to contradict anything
— in effect, quite unfaithful to the word while magnifying the
intent.

Max (Max Records) is a boy of boundless energy, imagination, and
emotion who runs afoul of his mother (Catherine Keener) while she has
her boyfriend (Mark Ruffalo) over. Max runs away, hides out, discovers
a boat, sails across the ocean to an island, and discovers the wild
things. Max tames the giant beasts with his bravery and claims that
he’s a king. They submit to his rule when he convinces them he’s
conquered beings bigger than them and promises to shield them from
sadness.

The wild things are fully realized things of beauty — costumes
created by Jim Henson’s Creature Shop, filled out by “suit performers,”
with CGI-enhanced faces. They’re voiced by James Gandolfini, Lauren
Ambrose, Forest Whitaker, Chris Cooper, Catherine O’Hara, Paul Dano,
and Michael Berry Jr., and they’re given complex identities by the
script from Spike Jonze and Dave Eggers.

Jonze (Being John Malkovich, Adaptation) directs, and
this is his most mature work yet. Known for showy, inventive visuals,
Jonze shoots Wild Things in a relatively restrained manner, with
handheld cameras communicating the energy of the action but without
affectations getting in the way. (The joyous score from Karen O. and
Carter Burwell amps up the oomph even further.)

Wild Things is profoundly emotional. In connecting the
imaginary story with Max’s real world, it’s also, perhaps radically,
Freudian. Max is full of anger, loneliness, and fear. He’s scared of
the adult world just beyond his comprehension. He’s terrified of the
impermanency of the cosmos. He feels exiled in his own family. He longs
to be bigger and more powerful. And he’s jealous of those who have
control over their world, though he’s starting to suspect his mom isn’t
infallible. Max Records convinces, and he carries the film as a
straight man much like Judy Garland did in Oz.

I suspect kids will identify with what Max is going through, and the
extent to which that’s true will determine if Wild Things is a
masterpiece of children’s cinema or just a masterwork about being a
kid. It’s certainly jaw-droppingly ambitious, often brilliant, and
unceasingly effective.