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Monster's Ball

Full disclosure: I've only read "Where the Wild Things Are" - Maurice Sendak's much-beloved, nine-sentence children's story - one time. And that was about four days ago. It just wasn't part of my childhood bookshelf. Don't judge. That being said, I may be the best (or worst) audience for Spike Jonze's beautifully audacious and sadly flawed film adaptation. On the one hand, I don't have a deep-rooted affection for the source material, so I don't approach the original text with the unabated reverence that many do. On the other hand, I don't have a deep-rooted affection for the source material, so I don't entirely understand the veneration in the first place. That being said, Mr. Jonze has done yeoman's work bringing Mr. Sendak's wonderfully edgy vision to vivid, CGI-enhanced life. If only he had kept it a short story.

To be sure, Mr. Jonze - the acclaimed director of such quirky gems as "Being John Malkovich" and "Adaptation" - had his work cut out for him. How do you take a children's book that's about as thick as a Diner menu and turn it into a big budget, full-length feature? And how do you do it without offending the book's legions of fans? Well, if you're Mr. Jonze, you partner with an equally hip writer like Dave Eggers and attempt to fill out Mr. Sendak's world with all sorts of life lessons and clever allusions.

The film's young protagonist, Max (impressive, if oddly-named, newcomer Max Records), is first seen in his signature wolf costume running rampant through his suburban home, chasing the family dog...with a fork in his hand. Later, pouting about his harried single-mother's gentleman-caller, Max screams "Feed me, woman!" Max is truly a "wild thing". Then, the filmmakers opt for a truly bewildering choice. Rather than being sent to his room (where, in the book, Max will imagine himself into the land of the Wild Things) Max runs away from home. He runs out the door of his house, into the darkness of the night with his mom (Catherine Keener, doing what she can) hot on his heels. Making good his escape, Max slides down a ravine and finds himself alone. There, his journey across the sea begins. By taking Max's adventure out of doors, rather than in his bedroom, the script adds an element of real danger to the story. Perhaps that was the intent but, knowing the story as little as I do, it seems to be a significant departure from the spirit of the source material.

Once in the titular land, the filmmakers earn their paychecks. The "Things" themselves are a wonder. A combination of practical puppetry, CGI-enhanced facial expressions and well-known vocal actors, the Wild Things are a pleasure to behold. Sure, at first the sound of Tony Soprano's voice coming from one of the beasts is jarring, but why shouldn't it be? And yes, giving the creatures names like "Carol" (James Gandolfini), "Judith" (Catherine O'Hara) and "Ira" (Forest Whitaker) is an odd choice. But visually, the film really takes off here. When Max utters his famous, "Let the wild rumpus start!" it's a joy.

Once the rumpus ends, however, the creatures (and Max) collapse into a pile and slowly doze off. In a way, so does the film. Completely departing from the source, the film concocts a story in which the Wild Things attempt to build a home for themselves and, as a result, Max learns the meaning of family. It's a worthy attempt, but it doesn't quite work. As good as young Mr. Records is, the journey is too rote. And even seeing the Wild Things brought to life becomes old hat in the end (and why do they howl like that?).

The film reportedly has Mr. Sendak's blessing, and rightfully so. The filmmakers have brought his book to the screen with the utmost reverence. Perhaps that's what holds it back. The film adaptation lacks a certain something. Something more than Mr. Sendak's prose or his unique illustrations. Something that readers have taken from Mr. Sendak's pages. Something that can only exist in the imagination. Something truly Wild.