I will risk wandering into a proverbial landmine in order to express here what I wish to. After all, the subjects of entertainment, childhood, and especially the combination of the two vary in definition from one person to the next. But such a risk I accept now, fresh from a viewing of the film “Where The Wild Things Are”. I wish not to accomplish here what a movie review tries, and I don’t feel like pushing ideas of an ideal childhood, because they will be no doubt be wrong. But I will inform you, that no matter what walk of life you consider it, we are collectively overthinking it. It being just about everything. Firstly, the film, in all it’s simplistic glory. A typical film review here would do nothing but gloat of the reviewer’s pedigree of stingy selectiveness, slap a grade on it and tell you if it’s worthy of taking your family/children/girlfriend/fellow teens to disrupt the theater. It takes but a few minutes to be completely transported to your 10-year old self. (We’ll call this the Desmond effect.) I apologize for the female readers who will here be excluded, but suddenly you are the young boy you once were. From there the film becomes symbolic, yet not overly metaphorical, sweet and unique. Wild things speak and act just like children. The film is NOT innocent, just as children aren’t TRULY innocent. But it is shining with simplicity. And what “Where The Wild Things Are” is trying to tell us, among other things, is that we’re overthinking it.
The childhood depicted in the first 15 odd minutes of the film are, at least for me, what childhood was indeed like. No videogaming, TV watching or screen-viewing of any kind. Activities were extruded through the tubes of imagination. Don’t get me wrong. It was immature, it was volatile. Lacking siblings meant I lacked some of the social weaning I’m so often reminded I lack. But in order to foster creativity, TRUE, unadulterated creativity, one mustn’t over think it. Simple snow. Fortresses made from blankets. Lego figures occupying crude cardboard universes. Of all the times one might feel compelled to regret their childhood (including of course the hardships that come with commonly troubled family life, or perhaps the afore mentioned awkward social interactions), the time of brash creative adventuring should not be included. It looks as though I’ve fell face first into my first landmine by preaching how you should raise your child. I’ll conclude by stating: Insert creativity here, and look! Out comes creativity. This formula works in a few other examples I guess, such as the executive producing Baby Einstein DVDs 30 years from now. (Insert Baby Einstein DVDs, and look! Out come Baby Einstein DVDs!) Granted, there are many reasons and excuses for carrying out childhood in other ways, and I don’t wish to diminish them. However my bias lies in giving free reign to simplicity.
Once engrossed in Where The Wild Things Are, a happiness surrounds the child-like and strange behavior of the films characters. Here is where we are extrapolated out of our saturated worlds of entertainment, political correctness and fairness. One can argue that we are over thinking the way that we pursue happiness. By the films end, one feels as though the petty fighting, over-criticism of overflowing media left and right attempting to please the human race is being over-thought. (without being self-depricating, this website, with it’s sarcasm and overtly loud coloring, is certainly not free from this grouping) We could collectively do well to re-examine the things that made us happy as children. In turn, we can help to refine ourselves into better full-grown kids.
