Oscar's Underdogs: 2010's Deserving Longshots

As many of you know, I’m a bit of an underdog type of guy. Even if I really enjoy a grand-scale motion picture that deserves award recognition, there’s still inkling in my blood to cheer on those less likely to win. In 2007, it was Atonement in hopes of overtaking No Country for Old Men. In 2003, Lost in Translation over Return of the King. And in 1997, either Good Will Hunting or L.A. Confidential over another of James Cameron’s brassy outings, Titanic. Thankfully, that’s not the case this year; the 2010 Academy Awards are dominated by a picture, James Cameron’s Avatar, that’s a colossal slurry of computer-generated effects scattered atop a familiar story and thematic bluntness – one I certainly feel shouldn’t take away top honors as a Best Picture from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. So, who do I feel should win in this and several other categories, even though I’m almost certain they won’t? Well, let me tell you, though the title The Hurt Locker is going to grow rather redundant.


Best Actor: Jeremy Renner in The Hurt Locker

In one of the more underappreciated performances of the year, Renner’s turn as bomb diffuser Will James is brazen, complex, a little bold in spots but ultimately a fiery depiction of the kind of gravitas soldiers have to muster in battle. He makes us realize that there are thrill junkies out there that thrive on the adrenaline rush of battle; plain and simple, some men are simply built to find purpose in digging deep into tension. Renner’s turn gives us an insight into the emphatic drive behind one of such characters.


Best Supporting Actress: Anna Kendrick in Up in the Air

Her quirky charm drives the movie. Kendrick creates a character out of Natalie Keener that projects the blind knowledge of booksmart upstarts without a grasp on the way things ultimately run. She’s the embodiment of what’s actually wrong with some of modern culture’s operations, a chirpy resource-cutting machine with a vision of non-interpersonal whims – something that’s not welcome ina world of large-scale firings. When she begins to deconstruct as a result of seeing what face-to-face interaction really means in the human resource spectrum, Kendrick’s sharp wit and rays of humanity enchant.


Best Cinematography: The Hurt Locker

I’ll take pulse-pounding, claustrophobic, sweaty realism over videogame-style, overtly-bold falseness any day of the week.



Best Animated Feature: Coraline

Sure, I enjoyed Pixar’s Up to a weepy, tender degree, but the brilliance with Henry Selick’s stop-motion/CG fantasy piece is bar none the finest piece of animation created this year. It’s creepy, heartfelt, and thoroughly mesmerizing to the eyes. A testament to its brilliance is in the fact that we forget each and every one of the characters are voiced by at least moderately famous people, including Dakota Fanning as Coraline. Stunning.


Directing: Kathryn Bigelow for The Hurt Locker

Alright, many assume this one’s really going to happen, and I hope so. Her ability to deftly deliver an experience that adds meaning and thematic resonance by backing away from political stances – using pure thrills as a testament to the veracity of war – is worth every ounce of gold that Oscar’s made of. For a film’s actions to truly speak louder than its words, that’s quite a feat. Maybe I shouldn't be looking at this as an underdog pick, but it's hard to deny the Hollywood momentum behind what Cameron's done to filmmaking -- and the current presence of 3D in cinema.


Adapted Screenplay: District 9

For a science-fiction film to pound away with political themes, harsh symbolism, and thoroughly enveloping atmosphere from a 6-minute short film created on mere pennies, "Alive in Joburg", that’s a testament to adapting of the highest accord. It's like unleasing lightning in a bottle when seeing Blomkamp's finished product, a neo-political take on oppression and general human angst against things they don't undestand. Up in the Air’s deserving as well, but it can’t stop an inherent cheering for this brilliant science-fiction film’s success.


Best Picture: The Hurt Locker, Bigger Longshot: District 9

The 2010 Oscars would be labeled a resounding success if either of these motion pictures were recognized for their quality. The Hurt Locker makes us feel the war; District 9 makes us feel emotion for beings from another planet. One speaks to reality, the other speaks to creativity. Even up until now, it’s hard for me to discern which one I’d rather see take home the grand prize at the Oscars. Honestly, either one will be a pleasant win, but they’ve got to surmount the likes of Cameron’s grand-scale, boxoffice-dominating Avatar to succeed. Fan favoritism and the Academy's need to seem "hip" might just sway them. Will their voters instead look towards competent, original filmmaking? Here’s hoping.

Dissatisfied with Burton's Creative but Vapid 'Alice'

Directed by: Tim Burton, Runtime: 108 minutes
Grade: C-

When Tim Burton's in his element -- the melancholic verve of Edward Scissorhands and Sweeney Todd -- he's an artist of the shadows that makes us appreciate glimmers of hopefulness, but when he crawls out of that hole for something with more of a vibrant slant, like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, he's tongue-tied, awkwardly dreary and abandons control over his craft. Alice in Wonderland, his vision of Lewis Carroll's body of work, is a mish-mash of "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" and its sequel, "Through the Looking-Glass", that exists on some middle plane in the director's tonality. What comes out of Burton's work, a knotted mélange of hyper-inventive computer effects and stiffly unsatisfying characters, manages to burst with color and bore in the same dreary breath. Though Wonderland's an oddly beautiful place, and a handful of cherry-picked scenes dip into our capricious indulgence, there's not nearly enough sincere sparkle to give it all purpose.

Those expecting a live-action version of the '51 animation might be dissatisfied. We find Alice, played by newcomer Mia Wasikowska, now a young adult weaving through the upturned, coddled aristocrats who looks at her unkempt looks and dreaminess with disdain. Imaginative and perplexed by the world, she wonder what it'd be like flying in the sky as birds soar above the dance area of the garden party she's attending, instead of fixing her attention on her obnoxious arranged suitor. When she discovers that this little shindig is orchestrated for their engagement that she knows nothing about, she takes a page out of her now-deceased, daring father's book and acts on crazed instincts: she jolts after a certain, familiar white rabbit into the woods and away from the stiff hoopla, arriving at a rabbit hole that she mistakenly tumbles down. When she arrives at the bottom, her persistent dreams of Wonderland -- ones she's explored before -- seem to be coming true once again.

As an infused combination of Lewis Carroll's book that picks and chooses for its bidding, Alice in Wonderland has its moments where Burton seems like he's going to get it right. Her tumble down the rabbit hole dazzles with spectacle, smashingly using CG-imagery as she swirls down a vortex to the waiting room. Once in the waiting room to go into Wonderland Underland, she shifts in size -- large, to small, and large again -- in a cockamamie puzzle; visualizing this is very tough, but it's believable due to ample usage of real production-design and splashes of CG-work. We've seen these scenes before in other film adaptations, namely Disney's psychedelic '50s animation, but their realization in a live-action environment hits a deceptive balance between tangible and computer-generated foolery. Moreover, once she steps into the wide air of Underland, a sense of blow-us-over whimsy takes hold of our cinematic concentration, luring us into this dreamed-up world.


This take on Lewis Carroll's inspired environment explodes into a bizarre yet disheartening beauty, one that holds our attention when nothing else does; Burton runs the gamut of color, from gloomy grayscale dilapidation with splashes of bold color during the tea party sequence, to sunset-drenched pathways through forests. The artistry succeeds in painting a dream-like world that's alluring, almost euphoric, to our eyes, while also spilling with a sense of malnourished joy. This concentration on landscape follows Alice wherever she goes, from the Red Queen's construed, gothic hub of operations -- one that has a moat filled with floating decapitated heads that's, in its morbidity, splendid -- to the glowing trees leading up to the White Queen's celestial construct. Underland's quite the sight, whether for its beauty or its bleakness.

If Burton had stopped with the computer-generated mischief at this point, we might've had a strong outing for Alice's ventures. Instead, he reaches deeper into his satchel of creativity and pushes the envelope, overreaching the bounds of respectable artistry into excess. Sony Picture Imageworks' lackluster animal creations, aside from their host of voices, simply stick out like sore thumbs from the sumptuous atmosphere. Cheshire Cat is, admittedly, rather entrancing as he spins through the air and speaks with a sultry rumble through a mouthful of dagger teeth; however, almost everything else -- from the fencing mouse and the smoking caterpillar to the assortment of hares, rabbits, porcupines, dogs, and large cat-like beasts -- neglect to give us anything beyond what we've seen in other fantasy epics, expanding to a point that comes so close to farce that we lose our patience with the world's peculiarity. A stellar vocal cast, including Sir Alan Rickman as the caterpillar and Michael Sheen as the White Rabbit, disappointingly gets swallowed up because of this.

Losing our enchantment with Underland isn't a good thing, because Alice herself doesn't really seem all that interested in her adventure -- and neither do we, as we meander around the film's bloated focus and dire lack of wit. It's understandable that a girl who's frequented this dream-like world wouldn't be wide-eyed and bushy-tailed at its magic for the countless time, yet there's a dour, drone energy to Mia Wasikowska that drains the visual chaos of its fervor. Her "buttoned-up" mannerisms syringe out the environment's fancy, making all of these gothic visions of snarling beasts, loony tea parties, and dueling forces of good and evil about as dull as a dream that you try to remember but can't. And if Alice isn't inquisitive, then we're not inquisitive; there's so much magic in the air, awesome sights all around her and things that should make her sweat, smile, and stand on her tippy-toes, but her apathy to her "Wonderland" translates to our apathy for Underland.


Like clockwork, Alice stumbles onto all of the Wonderland staples, including Johnny Depp's Mad Hatter and Helena Bonham-Carter's Red Queen of Hearts. Depp's wacky get-up actually tickles my fancy a bit, with the wiry hair, flamboyantly odd make-up, and bulging color-shifting eyes, but his many-sided psychosis is distracting -- and far too frequent. He's an odd mish-mash of an incoherent, skivvy-driven spin on Willy Wonka, a pinch of Jack Sparrow, and a bit of Robert Shaw's Quinn from Jaws with off-kilter vocal shifts, which result in a maddening hatter that infuriates in all the wrong ways. Bonham-Carter, on the other hand, amazes with her rowdy delivery of tyrannical Iracebeth the Red Queen, braying "Off With Their Head" repeatedly and shifting to a pouty annoyance when not. It's in Burton's visual creativity that she weakens, as the rendering of her thrice-sized large head leaves us wishing that they would've left her deflated and leaned on the stellar make-up work. The same also goes for Crispin Glover as the Red Knight, who fumes awkwardly next to Bonham-Carter and even more so when on digital horseback.

Burton has to shake us awake from the inert mess of CG-razzmatazz he's cooked up, and thankfully he does as he approaches its conclusion; the finale offers a display of mayhem that brings grand-scaled action in focus, even if it makes us wonder if this Alice is somehow really the oldest sister of the Narnia kids. A huge square-off on a battlefield-sized chessboard ensnares our attention, clanking in disarray as we attempt to focus on the resolution at-hand as young Alice reaches her "growing-up" point in the narrative. But it's in a way that's far too familiar, harking to the film adaptations of C.S. Lewis' work for inspiration as it pleas to the audience with easy-to-digest fantasy bedlam, and the promise for something daring and brimming with tenacity foils into little more than a disappointing memory of the words scrolled into Carroll's books.

Alice in Wonderland was viewed in 2D for this review.

Classic Musings: DeMille's Cleopatra ('34)

Though we've seen several strong on-screen projections of many dynamic historical figures, Cleopatra's story is one that's evaded an ideal translation. Cecil B. DeMille's Cleopatra, a grand and flashy exercise in production brilliance with Claudette Colbert in a non-stereotypical role, comes the closest.

When Elizabeth Taylor captured attention with her lavish projection as the Queen of the Nile in the '63 rehash of the story, she projected the character with leftover spunk carried over from her Cat on a Hot Tin Roof performance -- but didn't quite sell getting the viewer's attention in the way all the stunning cinematography and production design would've hoped. Even with a massive runtime, an infinitely escalating budget, and the essence of C.B. DeMille as a blueprint, it still couldn't step above being merely a spectacle of production design. Whether it was the emergence of firm concentration on women's right around the time or the director's sheer prowess as both a director and a circus ring leader of sorts, DeMille's Cleopatra still remains the best telling of the Egyptian queen's sultry chess game with Roman figures.

Taking place around 30 BC, a significant date in history, we follow Cleopatra's maneuverings as she worms into the heart of Julius Caesar by stroking his ego and indulging in his temptations -- all in a ruse to keep her installed as the ruler of Egypt in the midst of Roman civil war. Though she seems to be acting solely in Egypt's interest, there's no doubt that she's drawn to these powerful figures and, in most cases, allows emotional investment to also come into the picture. The successes of her power play for Egypt's longevity, however, begin to fritter away once Caesar falls in the Senate. She then must gather her composure and perform some on-the-spot thinking to keep herself poised in the center of boisterous, war-fueled Romans, those eager to purge their beloved network of feminine wiles and any other outside forces desiring to mingle within their infrastructure. Instead, she kills them with kindness, luring the likes of iconic lover Marc Antony under her whims as she struggles for the endurance of the Egyptian people amid political transition.

Likely, it's the substance of Cleopatra's nature that has withered some of the character's intrigue in cinema over the years. Though she's an empowered soul, she grabs a hold of feminine lures in order to get what she wants. Certainly, that has all but disappeared from modern culture, right? Wink, wink. Drink, dance, and riches are the tools of her manipulation, along with well-placed seductive glances from the corners of her deeply-shadowed eyes -- something directors like DeMille take artistic license with, but likely wasn't far off in the actual figure's repertoire of tactics. Her simple manipulators, however, also illustrate a paradigm difference between male-driven society and Egyptian culture during the time period, as well as showcase Cleopatra's intelligence through seemingly simple-minded, sex-fueled whims. It's an odd balancing act, as it communicates a skewed message: she's playing a smart game, yet also playing it with carnal motivators.

DeMille, completely in his element, knows exactly where to focus attention regarding this power structure, and does so magnificently with Claudette Colbert. Occurring the same year as her unexpected Best Actress win for It Happened One Night, she adds a slightly quirky allure to the character that makes it nearly impossible for the audience to resist her charm. She makes her wooing advances an entertaining, pleasant thing to watch, never dipping too far into vaudeville-inspired cheekiness to detract from the scene but never taking it too seriously to make it feel stiff. There's a certain "eat, drink, and be merry" demeanor about her whims that could get lost in trying to give the film a dramatic poise, but not in DeMille's hands. Colbert's stunning to watch as Cleopatra, both in her dramatic scenes and in her lighthearted moments.

She's almost the most stunning thing about the whole shebang, coming in right behind DeMille's signature lavish production concepts. Victor Milner won an Oscar for his cinematography in '34 for Cleopatra, and rightfully so; a big part of soaking in the film is rooted in bouncing the audience's attention from one stunning element to the next. The art deco set design in particular is enough to make modern designers quake in their boots, showcasing both lavishness and attention to detail in a way that bombards the viewer with intricate Egyptian and Roman design elements without feeling too overdone.

Intricate costume designs etch out its signature personality even further, especially Travis Banton's work draped over Cleopatra herself. Though her gold-encrusted gowns and headdresses are awe-inspiring, it's the incorporation of jet black into the grayscale image that really trumpets visual allure. But, more than that, her costumes are also surprisingly risqué for the time period, projecting designs that accentuate her form in ways that stay truthful to the open-airiness about Egyptian attire and remaining, just a pinch, on the provocative side. Claudette wears these garments with so much authenticity and gravitas that it really makes us grasp how she'd be able to swoon her way into grasping victory in testosterone-powered political endeavors.

As to be expected, Colbert's initial scene as Cleopatra wooing Marc Antony is a stunner. It's in this that DeMille almost works as the ring leader in a circus instead of as a legendary director. Before the eyes of two alcohol-infused and starkly different historical figures in the midst of a power play, he parades a pack of women mimicking the movements of cats and a stalwart pair of chiseled assistants supporting their dining table on their shoulders. It's a lengthy scene, one that aims to put both the audience in Marc Antony's seat as his metaphorical armor comes crashing down via an onslaught of jewels, maidens, and ego-stroking from one of the world's most powerful women. And it works.

Herein lays the challenge. Cleopatra has three focal points: the character herself, the lavishness revolving around her presence, and the men in her life swooned by her magnetism. It seems like each director that tries to tackle the story doesn't really know what to do with all-powerful yet easily-swooned men, and DeMille's Cleopatra is no exception -- though they're handled well enough to hold concentration. Essentially, they're lowered to the levels of pawns underneath Cleopatra's fingertips, which make it difficult to really buy into them being strong individuals since the entire story swings on their manipulation. Warren William and Henry Wilcoxon both present Caesar and Marc Antony with the right sort of gusto while upstaging other men, yet they both skew towards awkwardness once their temptress enters the room. As with most things revolving around DeMille's cinematic eye, both are visual spitting images to historical depictions (especially Warren William, who appears to be a near spitting image of Caesar) even if their projections aren't quite there.

Be that as it may, Cleopatra embodies the director's spectacular screen presence -- something that escalates further as treachery, war, and spurned love seep into the picture -- in a way that greatly overshadows its stumbles to become an enduring portrait of an oft-misrepresented historical figure. In the tradition of some of his more prolific works such as Ten Commandments or The King of Kings, firmly rooted in excellence with historical epics, it becomes an event picture that truly understands the mentality revolving around ancient extravagance. Cleopatra, more than anything, knew how to push buttons to get what she needed for herself and the country of Egypt, whether it be through matters of wealth or matters of the heart -- or both. DeMille's brassy style fits this attitude like a glove, which builds into a stunning film experience that hugely entertaining to behold. Is it a step-for-step mirror of Cleopatra's history? Nah, not really, but in DeMille's hands ... who cares?

Science-Fiction TV on DVD Roundup

"Defying Gravity" -- Grade: A

"As I mentioned in my review for District 9, 2009 was an excellent year for science-fiction as a medium -- especially when considering the moderately-budgeted, highly pensive two punch of D9 and Moon. "Defying Gravity" can firmly fit into that catalog of output. It's a collision of soap-opera theatrics and extensively thought-provoking concepts, thrown together into an astoundingly assembled television series. On top of that, it's brought to life by a great cast that gave each and every character life. Whether "Defying Gravity" will see any more content or not is uncertain, though outlook doesn't look good, but this first season still comes with high regards on its own. Those bothered by incomplete seasons with dangling, unbearably unanswered cliffhangers won't be off-put by the conclusion to this season, which wraps an installment to this story arc nicely."

Full Review of the first season of "Defying Gravity" at DVDTalk

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"FlashForward, Season One, Pt. 1" -- Grade: B-

"For the past several years, the creators of "LOST" have been giving a timeline as to when the show would be closing up shop -- a reality that's rapidly approaching. It begs the question: what's going to take its place as the crowning mind-numb, science-fiction based series? Several others shows have been vying for that spot, such as "Fringe" and "Heroes", measuring up to mixed successes in both storytelling and maintaining their audience. ABC, eager to keep this audience inclusive, have cooked up "FlashForward", another disaster-with-consequences story arc with a network of theoretical conjectures interwoven under the hood. By concept alone, the idea of a global prophecy that causes despair, happiness, fear, and violence alike is thoroughly compelling; however, if David S. Goyer and his crew want to continue, they've got to dig deeper into its elaborate speculation and veer away from the current rhythm of underexposure and exaggerated drama. With the level of construction present within its origin premiere, it certainly has the potential."

Full Review of the first half-season of "FlashForward" at DVDTalk

Spike Jonze Knows 'Where the Wild Things Are'

Directed by: Spike Jonze, Runtime: 110 minutes
Grade: A-

Flipping through "Where the Wild Things Are", Maurice Sendak's beloved children's book, should take you roughly four to five minutes considering that you don't longingly gaze at the intricacy of the illustrations. It's understandable for an author to be skeptical of transforming this brief experience into a feature-length film, something Sendak wrestled with until he came upon director Spike Jonze (Adaptation., Being John Malkovich) and his imaginative yet reverent aims. Jonze's creation, with Sendak in close proximity during the process, is an elongated take on the children's book that's as inspired and entrancing as the source, a somber but rapturously creative vision of childhood fantasy that's as tender as it is artistically captivating.

Naturally, the story is simple. Max (Max Records) is a confused, mischievous -- and, some might argue, spoiled -- boy who, while wearing a gray wolf's costume similar to Ralphie's in A Christmas Story, hops on a counter and yells to his mother (Catherine Keener), with her boyfriend (Mark Ruffalo) in the next room, "I'll eat you up!" Though not openly stated, it's assumed that this is a single-parent family and that Max's rage might swing on this fact. He defiantly flouts his mother's calls to go to bed, bites her on the shoulder, and bolts out the door in the heat of the moment, later finding his way to a boat on a river bank. After hopping in and going for a late-night sail to a distant island, he's greeted to the snarls, growls, and massive bodies of mammoth beasts wreaking havoc in a far-away forest upon his arrival, showing us that they're in angered disorder.

Max has a moment of fear upon first seeing the wide-eyed, large-toothed "Wild Things", which might be shared with the younger crowd in the audience. He gawks at their capacity for destruction in the forest, nervously lurking in the shadows in his own beastly outfit as he sees unthinkably large beings -- well, one in particular -- blasting holes in giant dome-like structures that they're calling homes. He sees a ray of himself in the beast's destruction, a random wildness that he identifies with, and runs in their midst to "help" in the bedlam. When the monsters first spot him, Spike Jonze bears the film's teeth; an important part of creating the mood comes in realizing that these beasts are dangerous to Max, which occurs when they all swarm around him with ferociousness in full force. It's in Max's knee-jerk assertion for them to halt, followed by his child-minded musings declaring himself a magical, dominant king, that the innocent whimsy at this picture's core grabs hold.

Maurice Sendak's book sketches out the "Wild Things" with unmatched personality, so it almost seems obvious for Spike Jonze to get Jim Henson's Creature Shop to breathe life into these well-known faces. Well, they do so, and impeccably; with a mix of computer-generated effects and intricate visualizations, they ensnare their familiar looks with step-by-step precision. As they punch symmetrical holes in trunks, leap up to smash their heads on overlying branches, and pile together for comforting naps, there's a tangibility created that show an expected advancement in construction since Labyrinth and The Dark Crystal. But, more than that, they've constructed monsters that are frightening yet gentle, fearsome yet warming to our eyes. They're inviting, even after they threaten to eat Max up.


What Jonze and writer David Eggers have also done is given each of them names, personalities, and voices, something they obviously don't have in the book, and the marriage they find between the visualizations in Sendak's illustrations to the vocal work is pitch-perfect. James Gandolfini scruffily blurts Carol, the flailing, violent ringleader whom Max denies favoring, while it's hard not to recognize Forest Whitaker as the mumbling Ida, Catherine O'Hara as the sharp-tongued Judith, Chris Cooper as the affable bird creature Douglas, and the others. They're individual and charming, but along with that they reflect little facets of Max's own youthful brazenness -- as well as bits and pieces of friends and family he wishes he had back home. The scripting for their dialogue does reflect a children's book sensibility with bluntness of dialogue, but the sincerity of the characters speaks louder.

Where the Wild Things Are might focus on these wild ones running amuck, human and monster alike, but it's mostly about a child's need for escape -- and this piece of organic artwork that Spike Jonze has crafted is a realm where we're easily able to get lost. Shot in Australia with his Adaptation. and Malkovich cinematographer Lance Acord, the lush locations take us into an environment that feels as isolated as, well, a child's imaginary paradise should. Tall trees drench the visuals with a thick, natural essence, giving us beauty in a wooded area that looks like a snapshot of any kid's embellished memory of a magical forest. As they shift from desert dunes and dense rocky terrains, they sprawl out in all directions in a way that never takes us away from believing in this personal utopia. Then there's a scene where Carol shows Max his hand-built model of his idea of utopia, which uses a level of design creativity and meticulous, symmetric photography that's simply breathtaking. There's a lot of eye-candy here, but that's part of the whimsical grandeur of it all.

Simple, creative aims, along with a vibrant musical accompaniment, carry us through a potent emotional gradient between Max and his new pals that changes colors with the picture up until the end. He builds a tightly-woven relationship with Carol, the dominant Alpha-male sort of figure in the group, almost in the way he might with the father we never see. Along the way, there's a female beast, KW (Lauren Ambrose), that has estranged herself from the group -- especially from Carol -- because she's found two other "friends" in this world. The understanding and open-armed way Max handles her straying from the pack reflects the ways that he ought to have handled his mother's relationship with her new boyfriend, though he still tries to reconcile KW and Carol. He also has to make heads-and-tails about a goat-like creature (Paul Dano) being bullied and not listened to, which speaks to any kid stuck in Max's situation at home. Will kids overlook these figurative glimpses? On the surface, possibly, but they might slip unaware into their minds as they're fixated on Max's world.

That's where the magic of Jonze's "adaptation" lies, though it's more of an author-approved reimagining than anything; though the pacing drags due to a lack of story development, there's an overall experience in being entranced with Max's wild yet tender rumpus with the "Wild Things" that's delightfully mesmerizing. We're taken into the confines of his imagination for over an hour and a half, which is built in a way that keeps both younger and older audiences in mind. Children of Max's age and younger will sit back and marvel at the magic behind his trip to where the wild things are, sparking a sense of imagination in them that might just encourage their own picturesque invented realms. However, this experience takes on a completely different aura with those older folks familiar with the book, creating a nostalgic trip into the magical world that they likely duplicated for themselves as a younger age, and forgotten. From the second Max defies the odds and claims his authority over the cannibalistic "Wild Things" to the overwhelming affection for his mother that calls him home, this is a piece of artwork with a glowing heart and unyielding love for Sendak's book.