Where the Wild Things Are (2009)

“Where the Wild Things Are” is a rare, beautiful film. It well may be the best film of the year, and certain to bring on some hate. Similar to the Maurice Sendak book, this “Wild” film is about children, not necessarily for children. Nor is it for whimsical adults who lie to themselves and others that all of childhood is sweet, innocent and fun.

The very best scene in the excellent film comes early in the 100-minute running time. Young Max (Max Records) is building a snow fort and longing for his older sister to play with him. But she’s a teen now, and at nine, Max doesn’t get that she has moved on from childish goofing. When her teen friends visit, Max starts a snowball fight with the older boys. You can see the pure joy in Max’s eyes – the big kids are playing with him! -- even as he's pelted. Then one teen jumps onto the fort's roof, smashing it flat with the boy inside. Max rises, covered in snow, sobbing angry, devastated hot tears. Raging mad, and unable to do anything.

The scene devastates. I can remember being that upset child, and I can well recall that look on my younger brother’s face when I similarly did him wrong. I cannot recall a more realistic scene in a Hollywood film about children. Nor a more realistic boy. Max is impulsive, stubborn, bursting with insane energy and sudden snaps of lethargy, he demands attention from his busy mother (Catherine Keener) and can’t comprehend why she can’t give it, his moods swings from happy to sad in an instant. He hates frozen corn, saying it’s not “real corn” in perfect nonsensical child logic. This “Wild Thing” is absolutely true.

Nonsense? Find me one real moment in crap such as “Yours, Ours and Mine” or “Stepmom.” Those films tackle childhood struggles with saccharin and the false notion that if we just pretend everything is happy, then it is. Bull. Spike Jonze, director of “Being John Malkovich,” calls that bluff in a feat of miraculous bravery. He has created yet another masterwork that strikes the heart the further it twists the mind. It certainly follows no pattern of any other childhood-themed film I’ve ever seen. Neither did “E.T.”

If you’ve read the book, you know the story: Young Max acts many a mischief, and attracts the rage of his mother, who sends him to bed. Sans supper. There, he dreams himself as king of an island of wild, rampaging monsters … until he longs for his dinner, and his mother. When he wakes, dinner is waiting and still hot. (What a beautiful story about love, anger and forgiveness, by both mother and child.)

Jonze’s screenplay, co-written by Dave Eggers, uses the book as a launching pad. Each island monster has been fleshed out, with the leader (voiced by the magnificent James Gandolfini) standing in for Max’s temperamental, work-in-progress self. The other monsters fill out various personality traits – the big sister who’s found new friends and wants to leave home, the monster who feels ignored and alone, representing another part of Max. The boy in wolf’s clothing then takes on what he previously could not do: Build an indestructible fort. Alas, his monsters, similar to many a child, won’t follow rules. They wreck havoc with petty jealousies, misunderstandings and fragile feelings, and as children play with each other, rules and alliances change on a dime, sometimes with no logic involved. As in the book, Max needs to grow up to cope.

The island and the creatures bring to mind the late Jim Henson’s kiddie classic (and quite scary at age 10) “The Dark Crystal.” (It’s no mistake that Jim Henson’s creature shop built the monsters.) The creatures are absolutely believable (only their facial movements are CGI), and look “real” – as far as a boy’s imagination goes. The sets are wildly intricate affairs, crazily shaped and almost Seussian in nature, as if built by a child's imagination. This section of the film apparently stumped Jonze for two years as he squabbled with studio brass. None of those struggles show up on screen, though. The entire production, cinematography and music (by Karen of the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs and Carter Burwell) is a child-centric delight.

Max Records as the title character is brilliant. There doesn’t seem to be a false note in his performance, which is free of all the cute banter that gets dumped on most children in Hollywood films. (I really like “Home Alone,” but it's bunk.) When Max rages, I can see myself at various ages, smashing a truck built out of Legos against a wall because my older brother demands its parts, and taking hammers to Matchbox cars to make crash ups more “realistic.” And I sure as hell raged at my mother. Every kid has. Even when he’s comfortable snuggled in a ball at the bottom of a monster pile in pure child joy, Max seems real and in the moment. (I dearly love the book, falling in step is easy.) In a small, quick role, Keener is equally fantastic.

The final scene is just as heartfelt as the book’s. On the page, mom is never seen. Here, Max comes home from hiding place to find his mother frantic worried. (We don’t learn how long he’s been gone, an hour? Two?) As he eats that hot soup so important in the book, mom -- exhausted -- falls asleep at the dining room table. And Max watches her, silently. Like the book, it’s a beautiful scene about love and forgiveness, and trying to grow up. And Jonze and Eggers (who knows rough childhoods) know that none of this easy. Or perfect. Or pain free. But it can be magical. This is Hollywood at its best. A

500 Days of Summer and The Proposal (2009)

Rom-com double feature time, with one love that will last, another just a junk ring painted gold. The low-down: “500 Days of Summer”plays cool with the rules of its genre, while “The Proposal” is all about the rules. Straight jacket time. I saw both in one weekend, one stayed with me, the other, not. Here we go:

The trailer and opening scenes of “500” stipulates this is a boy meets girl, boy loses girl story. No romance here. Talk about a smack on the forehead. I love those. Shattering the traditional genre timeline, this tale is a roses-packing version of “Memento,” following a romantic dreamer (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) and a realist (Zooey Deschanel). The cracked time line is a beautiful disorder as the guy recalls his relationship with a gal named Summer, good, bad, ugly and all three together, to realize the truth about love. Do they stick? Do they break up? Watch it. Scenes are played out repeatedly, but with different insight, while others split the screen between “expectation” and “reality.” A near brilliant head and heart trip, it’s far more real than anything you’ll see elsewhere -- see below -- that includes a hilarious Hall & Oates rock-out complete with animated birds. It may be all overly hip and cool, but I loved it. A-

Alas, “Proposal” flies with every dusty romcom rule on autopilot, including the third-act airport dash. Does anyone ever actually do that? Yet despite its reek, stars Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds as the girl and the guy, and Betty White (God love her!) as the granny, raise this film to bearable restraint. Bullock hasn’t been this likable in years, and plays the standard role of bitch-career woman with verve and vulnerability. Although I hate the sexist stereotype. Ryan is the straight guy here, with perfect deadpan reactions. The pitch: Bullock ’s high-and-mighty NYC book editor faces deportment back to Canada for a green card violation, so she scams whipping boy assistant (Reynolds) into marrying her. He hates her. Off they go to Alaska to meet his nutty family to set the con in place. And, whattya know, they fall in love. Like I said. Dust. Autopilot. Boring. Thank God for Betty White, and the game leads. B-

Year One (2009)

There are a few laughs in Harold Ramis’ Old Testament spoof “Year One,” but only a few. I laughed at a “chase” between two oxen-pulled carts. ... And not much else. Leads Jack Black and Michael Cera play the same dudes they always do (Black = prankster devil, Cera = virgin nerd). Plot? Black’s knuckle-dragging Zed eats Eden’s forbidden fruit, gains knowledge, and with Cerra’s Oh in tow, stumbles into the book of Genesis. The Cain and Abel bits actually are quite funny, with David Cross and Paul Rudd playing the brothers. Hank Azaria is a nutty Abraham. Monty Python, on its worst day, took a 2x4 to religion. Ramis uses a damp dishrag. The whole thing ends in a Sodom that ought to be smote by God. Not for sin. But for boredom. C-

Quarantine (2008)

“Quarantine” is an American re-make of a European film called “Rec.” Rules stipulate that American remakes suck compared to their original foreign counterpart. There are exceptions: “Insomnia” for instance. And this film. (I have not seen the original. But will.) The set-up is simple: A TV news crew follows a firefighter company for a routine “you are there” news assignment. Yet a simple call – a medical distress – turns ugly, then horrifying and then hellish as a zombie virus spreads inside a cruddy apartment building. The entire film is shot from the view of the news cameraman (Steve Harris, barely seen). This trick gives the viewer an off-the-cuff hell ride, although the “random” placement of the camera gets a little too planned at the film’s climax. The violence is bloody nasty without being sickly, and the actors make fantastic work out of “I’m going to die!” roles. The lingering mysteries, unsolved fates and sparse facts add to the claustrophobia. For a “Z” genre flick, this gets a B+

The Soloist (2009)

Somehow “The Soloist” got bumped from an Oscar-contender winter 2008 release to a ho-hum spring 2009 release. It’s a shame, even though the film (inspired by a true story) doesn’t really hit the Oscar caliber mark that its creators were hoping for. But it’s damn good, despite some sappy heart-yanking moments where two soaring birds represent … the soaring sprits of two men. (Ugh!)

The unstoppable Robert Downey Jr. plays “Los Angeles Times” columnist Steve Lopez, who stumbles upon a homeless schizophrenic (Jamie Foxx) playing a two-string violin with the grace of God Himself. Lopez wants to help this street musician, but the questions – Can he truly be helped? Does he want help? – roar loudly. Forget the sap and the creaky ending (director Joe Wright made the same mistake in his “Atonement”), this is an actor’s film. Downey delivers.

As the talented Nathaniel, Foxx again fires on all cylinders, especially in flashback scenes depicting his crumbling while a student. The film wrecks the theory put forth by some (such as Rush Limbaugh) that the poor and homeless are lazy and need only “get a job.” Bastards.

Instead, “Soloist” suggests (despite a fumble or two) that the homelessness is a far more complicated problem than any newspaper writer, activist or movie can ever hope to solve. B

Dead Again (1991)

“Dead Again” is a pounding homage to Hollywood whodunits of the 1940s/50s, topped with a sly self-aware icing. The film bounces between post-World War II and present day Los Angeles as it follows a gumshoe detective (Kenneth Branagh), a damsel in distress (Emma Thompson), a frantic European composer (Branagh again) and his new wife (Thompson, naturally).

The plot’s 37 dozen cliff-hanger shockers and the scissors-as-weapons obsession get sillier and sillier as “Dead Again” (come on, even the title’s a laugh riot) races and leaps toward a climax that is both wonderfully over the top and a nod to early Hitchcock. No matter. Director-star Branagh stages shocker scenes with perfection – they leave your jaw hanging even as you (most of the time) laugh out loud. Patrick Doyle’s score practically knocks the characters off screen, happily so.

There are nitpicks: Two characters age 50 years, yet appear more covered in moldy cream cheese than elderly. And even by “spoof” standards, Branagh’s American accent is scissors-in-the-eyeball painful. No matter: This is back when Branagh and Thompson were the It Couple of Hollywood, and I dare anyone not to go around barking, “Dese are fer you!” for days on end. A classic thriller, I watched this constantly on VHS while a high schooler. A