Where the Wild Things Are is not a film for kids. It's about them.



And let me tell you: if you want to be a better parent to your own wild things, if you want to find patience when you're ready to scream, if you can't remember how scary it was to be young and lonely and out of control, go see this film.

When the screen went black on the last brutally honest, heart-wrenching scene, all I could muster was: "Wow."



We walked out of the theater, into the cold cold rain, and I shoved my hands into my pockets. Hugged my coat closer to my body. Unable to speak over the lump in my throat. Incapable of explaining how the film knocked me flat.



We drove home and I spaced out as the wipers went back and forth and Kent wanted to talk. "What about this..." "What did you think of that?" "I thought it was great when..."



He wondered when I was going to talk.



"You liked it, right?"



How do you say, "Of course," when you're still trying to catch your breath?



I went to bed thinking about the film. I woke up doing the same.



It is one intense flick. Full of anger, frustration and raw, unchecked emotional turmoil. Sometimes beautiful. Often ugly. It was like Spike Jonze put a camera in my kids' head and pushed record.



Our babysitter told us when we returned that the movie got some bad reviews. That critics complained it didn't hew to the original story; some called Max a 'brat.' Both criticisms irritated me last night but now they flat out rile me up.



I mean, the original story has like, what, all of about nine sentences? Any film adaptation is going to require embellishment. So, Max didn't get sent to his room in the movie, he ran away? So what?



And a "brat?" Really? I'm thinking someone who never had a child wrote that. Or someone who never understood their child.



Maurice Sendak's Max is mischievous, rowdy, creative, kooky, scared, lonely and angry. Onscreen Max is all of that writ large.



Moviegoers can legitimately complain that the film has no plot. If you need a traditional story line, this one isn't for you. But if you're moved by stunning visuals and connect with emotional honesty, I think you'll be bowled over.



Kent nailed it when he described it as one long, free-verse poem.



Josephine and Desmond have connected with "Where the Wild Things Are" in a  big BIG way. Kent calls it the portal through which they make sense of the conflict in their heads. At 3, they're still babies but want to be big. The middle ground frustrates them. ENRAGES them. So they inhabit Sendak's world and stomp like the Wild Things and ROAR! like Max and threaten every day in one instance or another to EAT US UP!



I saw them up on the screen last night. Gentle kids scared of the world. And themselves.



I saw myself too:  as the child I was, as the mother I want to be.



Max flees his house, runs through the neighborhood streets and into the dark woods after a clash with his mother that ends when he bites her. She's aghast at the anger and yells. He's horrified by what he's done and cries.



I pushed my mother once. Pushed her so far that she shouted the "F" word. It was the first and ONLY time I ever heard my mother say that word and it was my fault.



Like Max, I ran from the house. Tears streaming down my face. So ashamed of what I'd done. So scared of the reaction I created. I ran to the field and sat under a tree.



Max runs to the woods and has an adventure.



The film is filled with scenes of rage and destruction but also small acts of quiet beauty. In one, that nearly slays me for its simplicity, Max lightly touches his mother's feet beneath her desk. "Tell me a story," I think she said.



Max breaks my heart. But his mother smashes it to pieces.



I don't know the actress who played her. Don't feel like looking it up. But I tell you, she killed the role. The looks of anguish, horror, patience and, in the end, gut-busting love that she conveys with her eyes, her smile, her face....



"Wow."



The kids have been playing upstairs with Kent while I've been writing this, and it's been a rough morning. A typical one, really. I can hear arguments and accusations, outbursts and wails.



"You baddie stupid," Desmond shouts at his twin sister.



"WAAAAHHHHH!" Josephine screams back.



STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP



Then, something happens and Kent is outraged. Esme gets sent to her room.



"Don't hit!" Desmond growls angrily.



"Bad Papa," Esme shouts.



A door gets slammed.



Big emotions. Raw, exposed feelings. Wild things!

Dana blogs at Feast After Famine.