Where ARE the wild things?

They're raging inside my tear ducts and breaking my heart strings. Because I certainly reacted to this film last night.

I set myself up to react in such a way. I have been captivated by Maurice Sendak's magic since ... wel, I can't remember that far back into my memories. What I can recall is how this captivation has intensified into my adult years. Not because I am nostalgic of my childhood; quite the opposite. I have a strong realization that childhood (read: my childhood, for I can't assume everyone's to be the same) was not as we adults glorify it to be. Mine was confusing, anxious, curious, terrified, worrisome, irrational. And that is exactly what I got from the film last night.

I'll be upfront immediately and say it wasn't the best film I've seen. But there were enough elements (or enough personal hype) to make it as magical as the book. A different kind of magic, however, it was reassuring knowing Sendak had co-produced the film (and for me, Dave Eggers as a co-screenplay writer).

I'm not great at articulating why I appeal so strongly to this book/film. Others have said far better than I could how the film has made me feel. If someone asks me what I thought of the film, my reaction is mixed. You can't read my face and understand, and I'm sorry to say my words can't do the feelings justice. It conjures up the pain of the hundreds of goodbyes I've had to make in my life, and more poignantly, the most recent, hardest goodbye of my life. The scenery reminded me of places I've been; the Wild Things of people I know, and of myself. I admire how the Wild Things voiced their internal tormoil - something children do well, but as adults we force ourselves away from. Perhaps I enjoy it so because of my desire to lash out, destroy things, create things at will. Shout and howl without reason. This is something we associate with children because as a society we permit them the liberty to do so. As adults, we're expected to hide our emotions and get on with life. But my biggest query is: what is life if not emotions?

Anyway, I know this piece of art wasn't everyone's cup of tea. The company I took with me last night fell asleep at several points (though, bless him, he didn't grow up with the book and hasn't been under its spell since a young age). But it was beautiful, and it was heart aching for me. I cried, yes, I cried. At many points and for so many complicated, beautiful reasons. That's one thing I can do: be vulnerable. There is such a wealth of feeling, emotion, experience to be had from making oneself vulnerable to life.