I don't think I've ever seen a movie on its first day of release.
Actually, it was Cranky who wanted to go. We had been to our local independent bookstore recently, to reread Where The Wild Things Are, a 1963 children's book by author and illustrator Maurice Sendak. We knew the movie was coming, and we wanted a little homework under our belts. Neither of us had especially been fans of the book, but we knew it was "nice."
Upon rereading it, we were captivated: Poetry, psychology, humor, wryness, happy ending.
So, the movie. How do you make a 94-minute movie out of 10 sentences?
Well, you write a little plot expansion into it. But you DO NOT mess with the real plot, which is about Max, the rambunctious kid, who comes to terms with his own behavior (rage, sadness, megalomania) after a little time out.
Gad, this account of mine sounds lame.
Here: I was weeping at the movie. The "rumpus" and everything that follows on the fantasy island is RICH with genuine childhood drama. The characters take on characters, much like the figures in your dreams never seem to be who they are, but they are. There's the "rage" Max, the "wimpy" Max, the "father" Max, all played by different monsters. And the mother... weep.
You've heard the term "acting out." Ho, boy. You'll see a bit.
I have yet to read a review that GETS this movie like I did.
I hope you see it. I hope you get it.