Friday November 27th 2009
Spike Jonze’s Where the Wild Things Are has been a long time coming. As if the twenty-five fucking years it took to get made weren’t bad enough, everyone stupid enough to live in the UK is now waiting the grueling eight weeks (EIGHT!) it’s taking to arrive from the States.
Except me of course, because like some sort of infinitely jammy dodger, I’ve seen it.
Which allows me to tell you that the J-dog has done something very clever with this. He’s spent alottalotta money to adapt one of the most successful kids books of all time and then made sure that not one kid on the face of the planet is going to understand it. Normally, this sort of thing annoys me. I hate all the Dreamworks Animation ‘fart noises for the kids, topical references for the adults’ bullshit. But in this one case I can wholeheartedly say: FUCK THE KIDS.
Because I can understand it. I can understand its beautiful poetic reflection on the nature of childhood. I can understand its complex and reasoned characterisation. I can even understand what Karen O is saying when she shouts over the top of the movie every few minutes.
Not one for the whole family. And thank fuck for that.
[Four out of this post’s five paragraphs start with grammatically incorrect sentences. I should stick to what I’m good at: