when the wild thing stole my heart

I went to see Where the Wild Things Are for my birthday. With a little trepidation, of course. If you love a book dearly and know it damn near by heart, you feel protective of the story. Right or wrong, it is woven into your life and there is a wonky sense of ownership.

Simply put, the movie was wonderful. Those that criticized the pace as slow have spent too much time in the world of Transformers. This is a story. A story you tell your children as they drift off to sleep. The creation of Max's backstory was surprisingly illuminating and seamless. His behavior even more dimensional with those layers.

Among the more wonderful aspects was keeping the truth of Sendak's non-Manichean world. Love is mixed with fear is mixed with violence. When the monsters pile up to sleep it is warm and comforting and dangerous for Max. When he urges the dirt clod fight it is fun and exciting and hurtful. But the undercurrent remains an unsentimental love.

And this gem: Max's costume becomes filthier and filthier throughout the adventure. I can't express how delightful that is.

It is a reminder to me of my lifelong fear of and fascination with "rough-housing." God, that expression sounds dated. But here is the way it went: wrestling and fun-fighting started out with laughter and always ended with tears. With adults or just children. I began to fear chaotic energy because it was associated anger and hurt. I am sorry that I don't enjoy the wild rumpus enough.

That said, the story shook the kaleidoscope of maternal memories more profoundly. I'm sure I'm not alone in this. Nonetheless, that was my Wild Thing. My own boy. Swirling in a world of fear and love and anger. And guilt and sweetness. So clear a snapshot of the world from his point of view. The blur of love and anguish from that time came back into brilliant, harsh focus. It was overwhelming. Overwhelming.

So when a towering muppet with James Gandolfini's voice begins to cry, it was the last straw: I cried my fool head off in a public place. Thank god movie theaters are dark.

max! wild things! mischief!

I was skeptical but this looks amazing.

And if that weren't enough this just in:
"Sendak mentioned in a September, 2008 article in The New York Times that he is gay, and had been living with his partner, psychoanalyst Eugene Glynn, from 1957 until Dr. Glynn’s death in May 2007."
via wikipedia

Okay, it's not just in, as evident by the quote. Am I the last book-loving queer in North America to find this out?

How I love Max. I'm so making a wolf suit for my first grandchild. If and when that ever happens...no pressure.

post-eugene-post

Spent a long (but not long enough) weekend in Eugene, Oregon visiting my kids and hanging out with their friends. I love that I have children who can pre-sort the masses for me and cull out the best contestants. Almost without exception the people they like and respect are people I would want to count as my friends. And I was not disappointed. What a great time.

Of course, I'm fairly awash in post-visit blues. Not overwhelmingly, just normally. I like/love these two humans I helped usher into the world. They are (and I know this is not always the case with the fruit of our loins) my people. Bright, complex and funny. Full of intensity and ideas. Lovers of language and food and faraway places. In spite of my selfish moments of missing their presence close-by, I am delighted that they choose to take on the world in their very different but inspiring quests. Sigh.