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THIS IS IT A sadness permeates the opening scene in the behind-the-scenes documentary This Is It, but it has nothing to do with Michael Jackson's death. Instead, the sequence – filmed, like the rest of the movie, while Jackson was very much alive – centers on the talented young dancers and singers who auditioned to be a part of the King of Pop's planned series of London concerts. As each person describes the thrill of being included in the Jackson legacy – many of them tearing up as they speak – they comment on how much this opportunity means to them, with a couple stating that this concert even gives them a newfound purpose in their unfocused lives. It's a heartbreaking sequence, considering that Jackson's death meant that none would be able to live the dream that seemed within their collective grasp. It's a smart way to open the film, filling audience members with emotion before the man himself takes the stage to prepare for his mammoth undertaking. After all, many folks (myself included) turned away from Jackson once he made the complete transformation to tabloid freak, and, to be sure, certain audience members are sure to experience a initial wave of nausea as this physical grotesquerie with a dubious history gets ready for his close-up. But then an amazing thing happens. It starts with the music, those generation-spanning hits that have the power to produce instant bouts of affectionate nostalgia. Then there come the dance steps, not as fast and furious as before, but still deft enough to catch the eye. And finally, there's the sheer spectacle, the showmanship that was arguably as responsible for keeping MJ in the light as any other aspect of his carefully built persona. Combined, these element make resistance futile, and for two shimmering hours, all the ghosts of scandals past melt away, leaving in their wake a boy whose only desire is to dazzle. Ultimately, This Is It doesn't quite feel like a documentary, nor does it seem like a concert film. It's clearly a love letter to the fans, but, perhaps more importantly, it's an olive branch to the latter-day critics, cynics and naysayers, all of whom have probably shown up to bury Jackson, not praise him. But the joke's on us. The movie keeps sensationalism and sordidness at bay, and by doing so, it allows us one final look at the Man in the Mirror, an unblemished view that reflects back nothing but a desire to let the music play. ***1/2
WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE In tackling Maurice Sendak's beloved children's book, writer Spike Jonze and his co-scripter Dave Eggers have a difficult problem to overcome. Because Sendak's book is so slender – certainly not enough to fill a 100-minute movie – the pair had to build on characterizations, alter some connecting tissues, and concoct entirely new scenes. The end result isn't a bastardization of the literary classic, but neither is it a further canonization of the acclaimed source. It's the sort of film certain to be poked, prodded, discussed, dismissed and/or deified. But ignored? Never. Max Records plays young Max, a troubled child not very adept at dealing with anger or frustration. After a spat with his single mom (Catherine Keener), Max bolts from the house, soon stumbling on a body of water where a small boat awaits him. Max sails away and eventually arrives at an island inhabited by large, furry beasts who alternate between sounding like confused children and neurotic adults. Max especially bonds with Carol (voiced by James Gandolfini), the most temperamental of the monsters, but he enjoys spending time with all these behemoths as they play various games and generally have a good time. But petty squabbles erupt among the beasts, and Max, who's been made their leader, clearly doesn't always have the answers or advice that the others hope to hear. Technically, Where the Wild Things Are is a stunning achievement, and the beasts – a combination of costumes and CGI – particularly look astonishing. But there's a reason why Sendak's book runs only a few dozen pages, and by blowing up the story, Jonze has in effect stripped it of much of its wide-eyed wonder. Both the book and the movie are children's tales sporting a dark underbelly, but the film version, unlike its predecessor, is often too literal, resulting in a suffocating atmosphere that further undermines the simplicity of the tale. Like the wild things inhabiting Max's world, it's fascinating but also lumbering – and (to paraphrase The Troggs) it's unlikely to make everyone's heart sing. **1/2
