I'm still sick.
But back at work, etc. and hopeful that I will get better.
To try and combat the sick, we went to see "Where the Wild Things Are" with the family. My son, who hates matinees (and why not? Why waste daylight? Who cares about the financial aspect? They are kind of depressing, matinees), didn't want to go. Nor did I: I thought I would be a sobbing mess over this thing that was all Spike Jonz and Arcade Fire and Max running away from home.
Not so much. I was completely unmoved. Now, my husband, Child of Divorce, was affected. I can certainly see why this is a film that might appeal to someone who, in the 70s, was dealing with a family breakup. For me, however, there was nothing affecting at all! I did love the crazy fauna-sculpture that the beasts create for Max, and I thought Max, the actor (his name is Max) was terrific. Not since Sally Draper's breakdown over Grandpa Gene have I been so impressed with a child actor.
No Arcade Fire, however! Only Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, who are a perfectly respectable but not kid-friendly band. The colors were "not like the book" according to my 11 year-old, and none of us cried. Sorry, Spike - at least two of us cry at movies. My husband may or may not have cried at "The Game Plan" with The Rock. And I was dubbed "Cries at Movies" during an early-90s screening of "Dances With Wolves". WHERE WAS MY CRY?
I think it was a matter of 1. figuring out the too-cool-for-school Dave Eggers plot conceits too early on (the beasts are Max's people in his world, his mom is trying and he finds out how hard her job is, she can protect him so much but he's out in the world now) (oh and PLEASE on the birth imagery - I actually laughed out loud at the blatant rebirth scene) and 2. the fact that the beasts were totally whiney and unappealing. They had fun for about a minute. The wild rumpus was promising and then....stopped. No joy, nothing. I was not awed. And I was really, really wanting to be.
We're holding out hope for "Fantastic Mr. Fox". Come on, Wes....move me!