Where the Wild Things Are is a masterpiece. An arthouse masterpiece about the sorrows of growing up. A sensitive, beautiful masterpiece about the pain of being a bright, creative, lonely, troubled child. A brilliant masterpiece about the search for love, acceptance, stability and comfort.

Spike Jonze has made a movie that is intensely personal; for the first time in his short (but weirdly lengthy) career, it feels like Jonze has put himself on screen completely. Max, played by Max Records, is a sweet, bright, loving, creative boy who is also angry and unable to communicate his feelings and scared and very, very lonely. He's so open to the world that it leaves him vulnerable, and when he gets hurt he wants to hurt back. But he's not a bad kid; when Max has acted out he understands what he's done, and he feels genuinely bad about it. Raised by a single mom with a sister who has drifted away from him, Max is on the cusp of leaving the purest part of childhood - the part with forts and unabashed imagination and wolf suits - behind, and he's afraid of the change he sees coming. He's afraid of the change already there, of the mother who is seeing a new man and the sister whose friends are suddenly more grown up and casually meaner. Max is a physical kid, one who bounds and jumps and burrows and rolls down hills. It's pretty likely that Max is going to get older and discover skate boards, and punk rock. In many ways Where the Wild Things Are is the secret origin of Jackass. Or the fairy tale version.

The Jackass quality isn't just in the character of Max; Where the Wild Things Are has the look of some of the better Jackass material, much of which was directed by Jonze. Jonze hasn't hidden his own style away in adapting Maurice Sendak's seminal (and seriously short) children's book for the screen, but has instead made the work his own. He hasn't bowed to preconceived concepts of what a kid's movie should look, sound or smell like and has instead made a Spike Jonze movie that is about kids. Narratively loose and emotionally free-associative, the film is highly impressionistic and... well, for lack of a better word, arty. Does that make for a good kid's movie? I don't know, but it does make for a damn good movie.

Sendak's book has never held a real place in my heart, and with such a short length I have also suspected that the people who are attached to it are actually attached to the things that went with it for them - the time of their life when they read the book or had it read to them, the creative flares the illustration sent up into their imaginations. And the reality is that Jonze, working from a screenplay by David Eggers, hasn't much adapted the book as he has adapted that nostalgic experience, but tempered through the truthful vision of a grown-up. The main elements of the story remain (how could they not, since the book only contains a few dozen words? Cutting for time was not ever an issue), but are enhanced and enlarged and are now seen through a new prism, one that's more grounded and true. Jonze doesn't flinch from the joy or the pain.

I've written four paragraphs and haven't said a single word about the Wild Things themselves. Max comes to the Wild Things when his situation at home gets untenable; having bitten his mother in a rage, Max runs away from home and, as any child would do, gets in a boat and sails across the ocean until he comes to a strange island, inhabited by giant, furry (and feathery) monsters. These monsters, one part Henson man in suit creations, one part CGI facial movement and one part excellent voice acting, are the heart and soul of the film. Eggers and Jonze have envisioned a diverse and believable clan of beasts and the technicians, artisans and actors have brought them completely to life. I don't know when it was that I stopped looking at the Wild Things as puppets and just as characters, but it it wasn't long after they were introduced. We talk again and again about CGI characters, but these amalgams feel like the real future of created characters - physically present in the scene but manipulated and enhanced by computer programs to nudge them to the next level. Real objects made realer.

And made alive by the voice acting. The Wild Things are a weird, prickly family who fight amongst each other and who are giant children themselves. Their leader is Carol, voiced by James Gandolfini; I don't know if the Carol character always had a runny nose or if that was added by CG after Gandolfini's nasally performance, but it's perfect, and that small detail encapsulates the seamless magic of these characters. Gandolfini himself is incredible in the role, playing Carol as Max's Wild Thing alter ego, a character who just wants his family together and whose vulnerability causes him to lash out with violence and anger. The bond between Carol and Max is wonderful and heartbreaking and real, and in a more perfect world we'd all be looking forward to Gandolfini's Supporting Actor nomination, because he's just that good.

The rest of the Wild Things are excellent as well, although none get as much time as Carol. Some of the voice cast is unexpected, especially if you haven't looked at a cast list before walking in; Chris Cooper and Catherine O'Hara are special standouts while the fact that Forest Whitaker voiced the character he voiced knocked me on my butt at the end credits. Each of the Wild Things has a personality type, but over the course of the film each of the monsters becomes more than just the type. While not all of them have real arcs - Max is more changed by the Wild Things than they are by him, in many ways - all of them stand apart as full characters through simple action and expert voice work and animation.

Part of Jonze's truthful look at childhood is the way the he embraces pain, physical and emotional. Jonze brings the full kinetic fury of boys at play to the Wild Things, creating situations where actual physical damage is quite likely for Max. Max recognizes this - he even gets scared once or twice - but he doesn't seem to really care; the high-impact aspects of play are part of the Jackass aesthetic that Jonze has brought with him, and after watching Where the Wild Things Are you'll be hard pressed not to see Knoxville and friends as simply smaller versions of the Wild Things - harmlessly harmful. That acceptance of pain and danger is part of what makes Where the Wild Things Are stand out in a sea of safe kid's movies, movies where the threat of physical harm is usually vague or looming and not ever-present. But getting hurt is a huge part of a kid's life - scraped knees, bloodied noses and even a broken bone or two are the hallmarks of childhood, where you learn to push boundaries and test limits.

Scary as the prospect of being smashed under a dogpile of monsters or being eaten by an angry Carol is, scarier is the prospect of not fitting in. Of not being understood. Of being alone. Of seeing your family group fall apart. Of having change come in and take away everything you know. Of loving so much... and not quite being loved the same way in return. These are the pains that Jonze really embraces, and these are the pains the inform every moment of the film. Where the Wild Things Are is filled with melancholy, and every happy moment is bittersweet because you can be sure it will be offset by something hurtful or sad. And Max isn't just feeling the pain, he's inflicting it. In a dirt clod war he eggs on his teammates to keep pummeling a helpless and injured enemy just because they have the upper hand and they can. At the opening of the film Max is reduced to tears when his sister's big friends take a snowball fight too far and smash his snow fort; living with the Wild Things he does the same to someone more helpless than he was. Jonze doesn't comment on this, he doesn't go out of his way to draw parallels. And he doesn't have Max learn a lesson in a big eureka moment of enlightenment. Max just sort of slowly grows up and comes to understand what it is that he's done. And to understand the pain he feels and the fears he has.

That's the really beautiful part of the film. As gorgeous as Lance Acord's cinematography is and as moving as the soundtrack, by Carter Burwell and Karen O, is, the most beautiful aspect of Where the Wild Things Are is seeing Max slowly come to learn things that he never articulates but that we understand. It's a movie that's fundamentally sad at its core, but also uplifting and wonderful in its belief that love and forgiveness are more powerful than anger or recrimination. Jonze never hammers these points home but lets the movie slowly, quietly bring us to these points of understanding.

Remarkable at the center of this film is Max Records. He's playing a complicated kid in a weird situation and he does it well. Records is able to bring the troubled Max as well as the raucous, fun Max, running and jumping and yelling and playing with monsters. I know that this review has erred on the side of 'arty and thoughtful,' but there's plenty of wild rumpus in this movie, and while Max the character may not be the king of anything, Max Records is the king of boisterous backyard fun acting.

To be honest, Where the Wild Things Are connected with me on a deeply personal level. While I'm not a fan of reviews that are dripping with non-pertinent personal information, the reaction I had to the film was obviously informed by the deep, serious connection I felt to Max. When I was in 5th grade I was a bright, creative kid who was also angry and troubled. Just because I was smart and could write well and had a big imagination didn't mean I could really process the emotions of being the child of a single mother, or the loneliness and isolation I often felt. I lashed out, and the school principal demanded that my mother bring me to see a child psychologist, which just made me feel more alienated and broken. I never bit my mother, but there were moments where that didn't seem so unlikely. I eventually discovered punk rock (my friends discovered the skate boards. I was never the kind of active kid that Max is) and other Wild Things of my own, although it's obvious I never left some of those feelings behind. But watching this film was in many ways like watching the untold story of my pre-teen years, and the wave of recognition that washed over me was powerful. This isn't a story that usually gets told in movies - films have a very specific set of outcasts and troubled kids, and well-meaning angry creative fuck-ups like Max and me and Spike Jonze and probably you aren't in that set - and it definitely never gets told from the point of view of the kid.

Which isn't to say that my reaction to the film is all based on seeing parts of myself on screen. The film is a brilliant work of art, one that will work on anyone who is open to its offbeat charms. At the very least Where the Wild Things Are is a sumptuous visual feast, set in the beautifully photographed geography of childhood, where every thicket of trees is a primeval forest and every patch of sand is an endless desert. This is a film that deserves a raft of Oscar nominations, and surely the new ten film Best Picture category can find room for a fairy tale of real children and real bruised psyches and real love.

10 out of 10