Where The Wild Things Are, the children’s book penned by Maurice Sendak, is a true classic of its genre. It has apparently sold the best part of twenty million copies since being released in 1963. If, like me, you are embarking on a career in primary education, you ought to be kicked right out of the profession for not being familiar with, and fond of, the book.
The story is as brief as it is fantastic, and centres on Max (who amusingly shares the same name as my dear brother) being sent to bed without his dinner for threatening to eat his mum up. His bedroom turns into a forest, and he sails off to the land of the Wild Things.
The film adapts this, and necessarily adds plenty of detail to flesh it out into a feature-length event. They have adapted it in a way which doesn’t stray far from the original plot, whilst creating new content which sits worthily alongside the old. It’s also remarkable how well the team have created cinematic versions of the delightful cartoons in the book itself.
As a James Gandolfini fan, I was delighted to hear his voice behind one of the wild things. Although I am biased, I thought he was brilliant here. The real plaudits obviously go to Max Records, the youngster playing the part of the boy who shares his forename. He was incredibly convincing, and seems to have a lot of promise.
Perhaps the most surprising thing about this film is how sad it is. I expected it to be touching; there’s something overwhelmingly powerful about the way Sendak evokes the essence of childhood in the novel. But this film is sad. It nearly became the third film in history to force tears from my eyes. (The first was Lion King when I was ickle, and the other was The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas just a few months ago).
Anyhow, it would have been easy to make a mediocre, or even poor, film in contrast to the splendour of the book, but the cast and crew have succeeded in creating a picture which is just beautiful. Five stars.