There’s been talk of the movie for years, and come October we will finally see it in live-action, full-length form. Am I excited? Oh, crap yes! Am I making a pathetic attempt to hold back my excitement in fear that it will be less than I imagine? Yeah, that too. Because the book has permiated so many parts of my life I’m afraid the movie will be a huge disapointment.
I read the book when I was little. I read it a lot. It had place among all my favorites. It sat next to Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day; Sun Grumble; Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs; The Giving Tree; and The Magical Drawings of Moony B. Finch. When I became a nanny I revisited all the best books over again and Where the Wild Things Are was one of the most-read books for them too. Soren would ask me to read it over and over, saying the words along with me. London would get riled up and scream, “Let the wild rumpus start!” And then he’d run, shrieking, through the kitchen.
Whenever John and I come back to something we love after being away and missing it, like our stupidly comfortable memory foam mattress after a rough camping trip, for instance, we flop ourselves down on it and say, “And it was still hot.” And then we smile. It’s a perfect term of endearment for the comforts of home and returning after adventure, that feeling that swells in my stomach when I realize I get to be home again.
Now that the movie is coming out and teasers, posters, and random images are flooding the internet, I’m excited and a little wary. How on earth could it be as good? I watched the trailer with complete trepidation. Would there be a romantic storyline? (Please, please say no.) A villain ? How will the story be sustained for a good hour and a half? How? How? How?
Regardless, I think it will be pretty and it harkens back the to time in my childhood when Jim Henson and his crew ruled the kids’ portion of the silver screen. Don’t get me wrong. I really enjoy a lot of Pixar’s movies, but there’s nothing quite like live action monsters to spark a child’s imagination. Or an adult’s, for that matter.
