Last night I saw "Where the Wild Things Are". A movie review, how quaint! Allow me to describe for your the sheer fantasticality that I witnessed in the span of just under two hours.
To be honest, "Where the Wild Things Are" was never really one of my favorite books growing up. I know it touched quite a few people in its day, but I was more of a Berenstein Bears kind of girl. Despite this, the movie was superb (a word my Planning teacher likes to use a lot, scrawled out at the corner of my poster assignments. Used to much it has been reduced to a level of redundancy. What does it mean now? Alright. You did alright). It was beautifully filmed, and entirely true to life. I think everyone watching could relate to it. Max lied--why did he lie? You know why. If you were he, you would've lied too.
The beginning showed stunning reality with graphic shots of the little boy's face crumpling as tears spilled down his cheeks. Cue confrontation, and then the monsters. The Wild Things themselves were genius. I was particularly pleased and surprised at how real they were, and how wild. They weren't just a bunch of big, hairy, hug machines. They genuinely wanted to eat him. There were several tenuous, almost scary moments where their wildness really came out. Where you weren't sure if everyone would live to the next dirt clod war or not. More or less, they were people, and had issues just like the rest of us. They, of course, could rip off each others arms...
Over all a beautiful movie. And that's all I have to say.