After decades of nay-sayers who were certain it couldn't be done and several years of rocky test screenings and wary studio executives, Where the Wild Things Are has finally arrived on the big screen. No stranger to getting deep inside of other people's heads, director Spike Jonze has brought to life the fantasy world of the Wild Things with vivid imagery and physicality. And interweaving the task of being a king with that of living in community, finding happiness, and making everything okay—all while surrounded by a variety of both friendly and cantankerous beast—young Max's journey becomes a collection of both the simplest childhood lessons and a complex look at many values that we often have to be reminded of time and time again even long after we have forgotten how to pretend.

Fueled by anger and frustration with a lack of attention from both his mother and sister, Max's (Max Records) story begins when he runs away from home and sets sail into his world of make-believe. Once there, the first thing he encounters is the wild beast Carol (James Gandolfini) who is destroying the homes of his fellow Wild Things after his friend/crush KW (Lauren Ambrose) has left them. Frustrated with his own feelings of abandonment and unrequited love, Max joins the destruction. Of course, where there is frustration with the-world-as-is there is also a vision for and desire for how it should be. Cue Max's declaration that he is a king from a distant land, his subsequent nomination to be the king of the Wild Things, and his promise to make everyone happy. Begin Max's wake-up call to the fact that being king isn't all it's cut out to be, happiness isn't as simple as getting what you want, and conflict resolution generally isn't reached by responding to one roar with another.

From the beginning of the film, central to Max's journey is the notion that he is not only the center of the universe, but also the wisest one in it. As we see as the story unfolds, however, also central to his story is his fear that he may not belong in the universe at all and that even the greatest wisdom can't fix the cracks which he sees and feels all around him. As expressed by both Max and the newfound friends he makes in the Wild Things, both their anger and upset at the imperfection of the world and their outrageously grand and/or simplistic ideas of how to fix it may come off as no more than childish delusions and temper-tantrums.

But really, as adults, do we respond all that differently? When we feel denied the love or attention we feel we deserve, do we not tell ourselves we'd be better off without those friends or family members anyway? When we witness the cracks and flaws in all that surrounds us, do we not look to those trying to fix matters with disdain and the idea we could certainly do a better job than they? When we see what is wrong with our world, do we not immediately gear up to throw rocks at others but balk at the idea that anyone would have reason to throw rocks at us? And when we some days find ourselves overwhelmed with the hopelessness of our universe, are we all not all too eager to either give into escapism and destruction or turn to one of many gods who may happen to be there at the right moment but are obviously not up to the task?

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