For anyone interested, I'm currently organizing an angry mob to storm the gates of Spike Jonze's house this coming Friday night with a possible post-lynching pit stop at Dave Egger's home should time and weather permit. A coffee and finger snacks meet-and-greet will be held an hour before we leave in the cafeteria of the local Presbyterian Church on Main Street. Please bring your own pitch-forks, rusty old rakes and torches as I don't have enough of these things at my disposal for everyone. Donations of lighter-fluid, ropes and large rotten tomatoes will be greatly appreciated. The sign-up sheet for this event is hanging out in the hallway. Thank you.
Yeah, so it probably goes without saying Man and I went to see Where The Wild Things Are last night. We even paid the extra few dollars to see it at the IMAX theater in Harahan so my disappointment could be delivered to me in sharp three-dimensional colors and realistic sound.
I don't know... Sometimes I wonder if things like this are a little over my head, but I still can't figure out where in the ten sentences of the original book did it say that the Wild Things were emotionally needy, socially inept, co-dependent and slightly schizophrenic boorish things prone to getting butt hurt and whiny during the one (and only!) wild rumpus in the whole movie.
I also never read that the Wild Things got romantically involved with one another, let alone suffered bad breakups where both parties acted like angst-ridden teenagers, storming off to lament alone, leaving a trail of broken posessions and terrible cliche' in their path. Frankly, that one girl (Did WT's even have a gender?) was a grungy flannel shirt and a copy of "Pretty Hate Machine" away from being the quintessential pain in the ass alternative chick of 1992.
You make this all go away....
No, seriously, could you? 'Cuz this sucks!
I understand what Spike was trying to accomplish with this movie, but that just serves to annoy me further. Not everything needs to be a social commentary. If I wanted to be preached at about the state of today's affairs I'd have gone to see Michael Moore's latest self-slap-on-the-back docu-ganda. I went into WTWTA wanting to be entertained, not chided for living in a world of broken homes and indifferent siblings. I expected to be brought back to a time when imagination was the key to escape, to happiness, to various worlds of joy and abandon.
Frankly, any child who would imagine a world of awkward moments and sniveling co-dependence to escape to is seriously disturbed and should be evaluated by a professional when he gets home from the Whiny Things' Isle.