Litbrit and Son One*, at age five, in 1997."There are different ways to read the Wild Things, through a Freudian or colonialist prism, and probably as many ways to ruin this delicate story of a solitary child liberated by his imagination."--Manola Darghis, NYT
Son Three, (age 10):
One part made me embarrassed: when they threw dirt clods at each other. Because I thought that was fun...wait, maybe I was too old for this movie. I shouldn't think that was funny, but I did.
My favorite part was when Max was running and rolling around with his dog, at the beginning.
No, wait, I also liked when Carol showed Max the beautiful village that he made, with all the little people and the mountains. It reminded me of Max's Lego village. Oh, and also, that snow village I made for you, Mama. And the saddest part was when Carol destroyed all of that. I felt the saddest of all at the end of the movie, because I wanted Max's adventure to go on more and more. I wanted to stay with Max and the monsters forever.
Son Two (age 13):
My favorite part was when they built that massive fort. And how they made a system of underground tunnels that showed there was more going on than just what you saw on the surface. To me, the monsters represented Max's friends--he had no friends at home; his sister was a total jerk to him and told him to go play with friends when she knew he didn't have any friends; and here were these monsters who loved him and made him king. I thought two of the monsters were most important to Max. Carol felt like Max was a lot like him, in a way at least, and they trusted each other right away. The other one was KW, who was always nice to him, and seemed to understand him, but Carol did not seem to like KW, which was really about him not being able to express his feelings to her, so it was easier to just act as though he didn't like her and to shut her out.
I thought KW's owls were like yin and yang, wisdom and doubt. They were two sides of the same person, really--isn't that how yin and yang work, Mama? [Yes, my darling.]
I thought it was really sad how Max's mother and sister treated him. Claire [Max's sister] let her friends hurt him and when they completely destroyed his igloo, she didn't do anything about it and went off with them as though nothing bad had happened. She didn't seem to care, well, maybe for a moment, but she went off with them anyway. I found it really sad when Max left at the end and they were all howling together as his boat sailed off--well, not sad, but moving, definitely. He knew he had the monsters as friends now, that they were there, but that he also had his mother and his sister waiting for him.
I loved how the bond between Max and the monsters grew as the movie went on. At first, they were afraid of each other and suspicious, but by the end, they all loved each other even though they fought. They loved and also accepted each other.
I think Max felt completely different at the end of the movie than he did at the beginning. The monsters eventually loved him for who he was, not for his attitude or him pretending to be a king or anything. It didn't really make sense at first, because the monsters were destroying everything randomly and Max was destroying stuff too, but then they went from destroying to creating, and everyone pitched in and came together.
The image that sticks with me the most is that scene where they're walking through the meadow with the floating pink flowers [apple blossoms] and Carol was telling Max that the world was his, but okay, not that twig. And not that rock. Not everything.
Son One* (age 17):
This is the kind of movie that you just can't talk about. Okay? If you talk about it, you've missed the whole point of the movie.
Mr. litbrit aka Roberto (age 54):
My favorite image was...hmm...it would have to be the pile where they [Max and the various monsters] all sleep together. Because they were all looking for a sense of security and belonging and they found it with each other, even if it was temporary. That moment you can feel complete trust for another, and togetherness, that's when you can sleep like that, in a pile.
In fact, that's something I really appreciated about the film, how Max's dream--his subconscious journeys--reflected elements from his real life. Max sleeping with his monsters--himself--in a pile recalled the piles of stuffed animals he slept with in real life, back at his house. The tiny, intricate worlds that Carol built and was so proud to show Max--those were pretty similar to the little worlds Max built for himself in his room and outside, in the snowy yard.
Early on, I liked the "Let the wild rumpus start!" part, because that was such a typical moment for boys, when we let go and release energy and have fun. The thunderous sound effects, the balls-to-the-wall brawling and physical contact, the way the monsters flew through the air like missiles, and the way things crunched and thudded and slammed--those were so real to anyone who's ever been a boy, you know? That's how we guys behave when you women aren't looking, and sometimes when you are.
I loved the look on Max's face when Carol showed him his special village, with the flowing water and the tiny creatures, and I completely related to that sense of wonder at making a whole world, just for yourself.
I also related to the moment where KW threw the rocks at the owls, and you thought they were dead but no, they were fine; that's something hard to explain but little boys do feel that, the impulse to do something unexplainable without realizing you might hurt someone or something. The lack of awareness that there are consequences. I also related to, but at the same time regretted, those impulses in the mud-clod fight scene. The glee on the faces of Max as the Bad Guys flew into the air; the way everyone turned on the goat monster when he said he'd had enough--okay, here was the weak guy: let's get him! Boys understand this--it doesn't make it right, but it's something we can understand really well.
Deborah (aka litbrit, age 49):
First and foremost, I am compelled to say that Where the Wild Things Are, which I watched through a membrane of memory and tears, is a masterpiece. That much is certain, as well as this: Spike Jonze and Dave Eggers** are geniuses. Now, I'm not at all sure that this intense movie would have resonated with the six-year-olds to whom, at various points in my journey as a mother to three, I read Maurice Sendak's masterpiece in book form. Nonetheless, Wild Things has unquestionably and deservedly earned a position on my Top-Ten Movies of All Time list. Oh my goodness, readers, go and see this lovely and affecting film. Please. Please go and see it.
As in Sendak's book, the movie Max is an imaginative, creative, and deeply lonely boy. He is an outsider, a solitary figure who finds affinity and thrill in the tunnels, forts, and hideaways he creates from his frozen surroundings and mountains of stuffed animals. And people don't get him. No, Max isn't physically hurt when his sister's friends destroy his igloo-fort--he's devastated; he's enraged. And his tears are less a momentary show or tantrum than a moving, troubling firestorm of anger, indignation, humiliation, and loss.
It was at this point that my tears began flowing with gusto, and I simply gave up trying to contain them. Son Three, who sat next to me as he is wont to do, quietly pushed up the armrest that separated us, leaned into me, and clasped my hand for the following hour.
As book-Max does, movie-Max runs away from his pain and anger. His dark and gorgeous imagination takes him on a journey wherein we, the lucky viewers, are brought face-to-face with the embodiments of Max's various demons--his monsters. And oh, what wondrous and inspiring monsters they are.
I don't want to say too much more, other than this: please see this lovely, lyrical film. If you've ever been--or loved--a creative child, it will resonate with you like no other movie in recent memory.
* Son One is now seventeen. He still won't talk about this film, and it has been a week now.
** Full disclosure: I have met Dave Eggers and his brilliant wife Vendela on a couple of occasions. Had I not met and conversed with him, my opinion of his writing would be no different--he's a genius.
Also at litbrit.
