Where the Wild Things Are

I believe no detail went untouched in Where the Wild Things Are. I sat in the theater last night bouncing my left leg up and down during the previews, like an impatient child, excited and afraid that my experience would not be great. I was wrong.

The personality of the movie began immediately with Wild Thing's signature horns sketched onto the Warner Bros. logo. I smiled.

Max was casted perfectly. He's got this cute, ruddy-cheeked, bratty, yet sweet and innocent demeanor going on that made me want to just pick him up and adopt him . . . for like an hour, then give him back. As cute as he was, he was a brat and acted out and was out of line. But while you think you want his mother to smack him and send him up to his room, you also feel sad for his lonely position, longing for the father who reminded him that the world was his, Love Dad. This of course had me tear up for the second time in the first 30 minutes.

As you know, Max goes to a place where he meets huge, intimidating creatures who believe he is a king, as he claimed to be. The relationship he develops with each monster was more than you get in the book, especially with one in particular: Carol. Through Carol, Max sees how his actions can affect those close to him and sees how difficult he can be to love.

This movie made me laugh, cry, smile, reflect on how childhood can be so overwhelming sometimes that the only thing you want to do is just roar. Maybe not all of us have actually outgrown that, maybe we shouldn't. Maybe that's what made this movie so wrecklessly enjoyable. I'm for certain, however, you should go see this.