Morgan and I went to see "Where the Wild Things Are" last night in town. I almost didn’t make it in time.
The movie was really good. It had moments of cringe-worthy awkwardness and others where you just laughed hysterically. It’s not a movie for six-year-olds. Rather, it’s a movie for adults who had "Where the Wild Things Are" read to them when they were kids (like me).
Really, the movie is about the innocence of youth being broken by the realization that we, as humans, have flaws, and that those flaws can make life hard for everyone around us. It also made me think a lot about how Max (the boy in the movie) is a lot like I was at that age. I had dirt-clod fights and made forts and told long, rambling, bizarre stories. That’s what boys did in my town. That’s what boys do, and should do, if given the chance.
If you want to see this movie, go ahead. Just don’t bring the little kids.
I’m going to head over to the library to see if they have any copies of that book on their shelves. Last I checked, both of Alfred Dickey’s copies were signed out.