I saw this movie yesterday, on an IMAX screen, with a friend who was leaving her apartment for the first time since taking an abortion pill in her kitchen 36 hours earlier. She changed her pad in the theater bathroom while I waited outside holding our snacks.
We made a checklist of tasks to complete in this outing:
- Laugh
- Weep
- Eat theater popcorn covered in brewer’s yeast from home
Those things were accomplished and so I think the movie was good. I cried about this beautiful unique child wearing a silly sweater while sitting so patiently in class while no one appreciated his exquisiteness and only the day before his igloo had been crushed although he had totally brought it upon himself, but that is true of most of the worst things in our lives. I cried because I wanted one of those little besweatered babies so I could love him and appreciate him the way he deserved to be, and then later I cried because after he bit his mother, I no longer wanted one at all and was reminded of when I verbalized to the fucking cunt of a dog that I’m currently dog sitting that I was going to take her out into the backyard and slit her throat.
Look, guys, it’s been a long week.
There is something Gabe Delahaye said once about this movie:
Where the Wild Things Are is all about the inescapable nature of life as it’s presented to you, not only by the laws of reality, but within. All of us must face up to the world as it is given to us, for worse but also for better. Max eventually grows homesick in his kingdom, and despite his “unhappiness” at home (tangential and vague at best, in the book, probably elaborated in the movie for dramatic impact) he returns of his own desire, to find hot supper waiting no less.There is no self-created replacement for being genuinely loved.
All of us here in Seattle are heartbroken (most likely I am projecting, but that is how it feels). All of us think that maybe, probably, you only get one in life and sometimes that one moves to Africa or marries a forty year old or is an alcoholic or won’t leave upstate New York and then what do you do? (To be fair, all of us in Seattle are also very young.)
I could not even experience the unconditional (if not fleeting) love that comes from being a dog or cat lady because if any pet asked too much of me (i.e. be fed before happy hour rather than after) I would murder it in the backyard. Someone just bring me a sadness shield instead.
