‘Where The Wild Thing Are’
I happen to feel like Kenneth Turan, who did the review on NPR News, did not get the movie. He said neither parents nor children are going to like it.
Somehow it completely missed his frontal lobe, slithered past his heart and gut and landed in a pool of (no imagination); taking everything exactly how it is presented with no creative thought process of his own.
I cannot imagine watching a movie waiting for everything to slap me in the face crying “look at me, listen to me.” I watched the details alongside the clatter and the silent depth of emotion sprinkled with the folly allowing my mental juices to go along with the imaginative ride I was taken on.
I loved this movie. I get this movie. I easily flowed along the lines of his mother’s toes hiding behind her stockings to the stacking up of limbs, heartbeats and knarly toes; resting in the comfort of loved ones in one big monster lump.
I get the moods of each character. Tell me you couldn’t relate to the selfish, out of line, dysfunction every character relayed and I will say you are not looking very close at yourself. People do things and say thing that are not always who they truly want to be, then out of nowhere people will say the perfect thing, do the most noble thing. This is human nature.
This boy’s eyes show anger, confusion, compassion, hope and love. Max Records couldn’t be more perfect.
In the end he returned to what was familiar. He decides he could rest easily in a house full of chaos and love. He could accept all these traits and still find comfort in the mist of his mothers love. She falls asleep at the end not out of neglect, but out of release; release of anger that turned into fear that thankfully lead to relief. The boy understands his mother is as human as he is.
She is simply exhausted from a night of no sleep.
The simplicity of the moment is enough.
The movie captured Maurice Sendak’s sense of adventure and content for what this journey called life is all about.
…he sailed off through night and day and in and out of weeks and almost over a year to where the wild things are…
…and sailed back over a year and in and out of weeks and through a day and into the night of his very own room where he found supper waiting for him.
I happen to feel like Kenneth Turan, who did the review on NPR News, did not get the movie. He said neither parents nor children are going to like it.
Somehow it completely missed his frontal lobe, slithered past his heart and gut and landed in a pool of (no imagination); taking everything exactly how it is presented with no creative thought process of his own.
I cannot imagine watching a movie waiting for everything to slap me in the face crying “look at me, listen to me.” I watched the details alongside the clatter and the silent depth of emotion sprinkled with the folly allowing my mental juices to go along with the imaginative ride I was taken on.
I loved this movie. I get this movie. I easily flowed along the lines of his mother’s toes hiding behind her stockings to the stacking up of limbs, heartbeats and knarly toes; resting in the comfort of loved ones in one big monster lump.
I get the moods of each character. Tell me you couldn’t relate to the selfish, out of line, dysfunction every character relayed and I will say you are not looking very close at yourself. People do things and say thing that are not always who they truly want to be, then out of nowhere people will say the perfect thing, do the most noble thing. This is human nature.
This boy’s eyes show anger, confusion, compassion, hope and love. Max Records couldn’t be more perfect.
In the end he returned to what was familiar. He decides he could rest easily in a house full of chaos and love. He could accept all these traits and still find comfort in the mist of his mothers love. She falls asleep at the end not out of neglect, but out of release; release of anger that turned into fear that thankfully lead to relief. The boy understands his mother is as human as he is.
She is simply exhausted from a night of no sleep.
The simplicity of the moment is enough.
The movie captured Maurice Sendak’s sense of adventure and content for what this journey called life is all about.
…he sailed off through night and day and in and out of weeks and almost over a year to where the wild things are…
…and sailed back over a year and in and out of weeks and through a day and into the night of his very own room where he found supper waiting for him.
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