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The Art of Writing Bios & Acknowledgments

I don’t know if you’re like me but before I start reading a book, I love reading the author’s bio and acknowledgments. I think you can tell a lot about writers by what they include in their bios, who they thank and how they do it. Sometimes, I know right away if I’m going to like an author just from these things alone. It’s part of the reason I first became a fan of Harlan Coben and David Rosenfelt—they write hilarious acknowledgments.

But some authors barely include any details in their bios and their acknowledgments are nothing but a laundry list of names, resembling an acceptance speech an Oscar winner is reading from a sheet of paper without any passion or enthusiasm. I think, Come on, these people contributed something so significant that you needed to mention them but couldn’t drum up the energy to say why? Would you send a thank-you note without mentioning what it’s for? And while you’re at it, isn’t there something interesting you’d like to say about yourself besides where you live?

To be fair, privacy could be a factor. Perhaps someone gave the author insight on living with venereal disease and would prefer that fact not be broadcast. Or maybe the writer would like to thank someone for bailing him out of jail but doesn’t want to include too many details about that rough time before he became a published author. Or it could be the reason he’s grateful to someone is so precious he doesn’t want to share it with the world (and shouldn’t have to).

Too much information is a turn-off, too. I once picked up a book with four pages of breathless acknowledgments of everyone the author had ever met since exiting the womb. By the time I got to top of page three and the mention of third cousin Jody’s brother-in-law’s unbelievable generosity in once giving the author a glass of water, I was considering seppuku. I never made it to the rest of the book.

I say all this knowing that being on the flip side isn’t easy. I’ve had to write bios and struggled with how to strike the right tone and how much detail to include without sounding like a pompous windbag or hermit with no life. I usually ended up with something random like, “Elyse likes soup and the Bee Gees, not necessarily in that order. Due to a childhood incident, she’s scared of walking over manholes, even when they’re covered, and was once propositioned by a prostitute in Berlin.” (All true.) I hoped these personal details were more interesting than a dry list of accomplishments but it’s possible people just thought I’m a moron.

So I pose the following questions to you: As a reader, how much do you like to know? If you’re on the fence about trying a new author, is there something that person can reveal in a bio or acknowledgment that would push you over the edge? That s/he loves dogs? Knitting? Is an Ultimate Fighting champion? Knows Oprah? Conversely, could they turn you off by telling too much?

Am I the only nerd sitting around thinking about this stuff?

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Music Review: GLEE soundtrack

Oh man, I’m so excited to be able to access my blog again. I had some weird issue with WordPress for the last two days and was unable to edit or write any new posts.

But I’m also happy because I’ve been listening nonstop to the Glee soundtrack, Glee: The Music, Volume 1, which dropped this week. I’ve been dancing around my room, singing along at the top of my lungs (I think neighbors called animal control) and now I’m writing about it in case you’re still not sure what all the fuss is about.

First, let me say I usually like musicals about as much as I enjoy eating a bag o’ glass with a Tabasco chaser. It annoys me whenever the narrative comes to crashing halt for some guy to burst into song in a cornfield because he just figured out he’s in love. Go find her and tell her already! In the four minutes it takes him to sing and prance about with a hoe to represent the object of his affection, the girl could be accepting a job in a foreign country or marrying another guy. Come on!

Despite this, I love Glee and look forward to it every week. I even get grumpy when it gets pre-empted by baseball (the show returns next Wednesday, November 11). That’s because the musical sequences are cleverly worked into the plot so they don’t slow down the pace. The recent dance number featuring the entire high school football team doing Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” on the field? All part of an exercise to loosen them up. And a teacher twirling in a wedding gown, singing “I Could Have Danced All Night” from My Fair Lady? She was testing if she could actually move in her dress to the song she wanted for her first dance.

But the reason I’m addicted is the phenomenal cast. When Lea Michele, who plays Glee Club diva Rachel, opens her mouth, pure magic comes out. Her voice can probably cure illnesses. Matthew Morrison, who plays the love-torn music teacher, Will, busted out in the last episode, performing “Bust a Move” while showing off eye-popping dance moves.

That song’s included on the soundtrack, which features some of the show’s most memorable numbers to date (Volume 2 comes out December 8). My faves: “Don’t Stop Believin’ ” (might as well download it directly into my frontal lobe), “Somebody to Love” (I think Freddie Mercury would’ve approved), “Take a Bow” (defiantly sung by Michele) and “Sweet Caroline,” which seduced me completely when Puck (Mark Salling) sang it to Rachel though he’s usually an ass.

In the time it took me to write this, the disc has looped around twice already and I ain’t stoppin’ it. The neighbors might have the cops bust down my door, but first, I’m gonna bust a move.

Nerd verdict: C’mon, get Gleeky

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Movie Review: PRECIOUS

After seeing Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire (limited opening, Nov. 6), I think the Academy should just hand over the Best Supporting Actress Oscar to Mo’Nique right now because that race is sewn up. Hers is one of the bravest, most blistering performances I’ve seen in years; it’s breathtaking in its monstrosity.

Photo courtesy of Lionsgate

Precious (Gabourey “Gabby” Sidibe) is an undereducated teen living in Harlem with her abusive mother, Mary (Mo’Nique), who’s on welfare. Precious is also pregnant with her second child by her father (yes, you read that right). Kicked out of school, she gets sent to an alternative school, where a sympathetic teacher (Paula Patton) inspires her to read and write and reclaim her life.

You may be thinking you’ve seen this story before—youngster who has been written off by the system meets a tough-but-compassionate mentor who turns his/her life around—and you’d be right. But director Lee Daniels, working from a script by Geoffrey Fletcher, takes it to a whole ‘nother level of rawness and Mo’Nique, known primarily as a comedian, goes there with him.

Photo by Anne Marie Fox

The award season is just getting revved up in Hollywood and there are many more contenders I need to see, but I don’t know how anyone can top Mo’Nique’s portrayal of the mother who’s jealous of her own daughter for stealing her man. When she was on screen, I just sat there gaping, wondering where she pulled all that evil from. Mary is like all the scariest mother figures you’ve ever seen on screen rolled into one, with the level of cruelty taken to the 24th degree then multiplied by a thousand. Mo’Nique’s performance, however, is second to none and if Oscar voters don’t give her a statue, somebody’s throwing the competition.

Sidibe is no slouch, either. In her feature debut, she plays a child whose eyes are much older than her years, who’s uneducated but not stupid, who’s been beaten by life but refuses to stay down. When I saw her in person after the movie (see notes below), the vast difference between the actress and the character makes the performance even more impressive.

Photo courtesy Lionsgate

The supporting cast is also noteworthy—an unrecognizable Lenny Kravitz as a kind male nurse, Paula Patton (without noticeable makeup, she’s more beautiful here than I’ve ever seen her) as the teacher who goes beyond the call of duty to give Precious a chance at a better future, Xosha Roquemore as a classmate who provides much-needed levity, and the de-glammed Mariah Carey, who’s surprisingly good, playing her scenes as a social worker in a no-nonsense manner that doesn’t quite disguise the judgment in her eyes.

Daniels, Sidibe, Patton, Fletcher and producer Sarah Siegel-Magness did Q & A after the Variety screening I attended. Interesting tidbits gleaned:

Daniels said at first he “was looking for the truth” in his casting, auditioning over 400 girls for the title role, including kids he met on the street and in subway stations. He finally decided against casting an actress from a similar background because that “would have been exploiting the real Precious.”
Daniels found Sidibe in an open call. She’s a bright, articulate 26-year-old who cut a college class to audition.
As upsetting as the movie is, Daniels said the book is even tougher. If he had filmed the book as is, the movie “would’ve been X-rated.”
Carey had to learn to walk by fully using the bottom of her feet because she’s so used to “walking on her tippy toes” from wearing high heels. Daniels asked her to come stripped down and leave her entourage at home.
Fletcher at first wrote the script under a pseudonym since that’s what the author known as Sapphire did when she wrote the novel (Precious is loosely based on one of Sapphire’s former students). That idea was eventually abandoned. Fletcher then met Sapphire during a completely random encounter when he found himself sitting next to her on the subway. He recognized her, introduced himself and said he was adapting her book.
Sapphire is a scholar and poet who’s completely unimpressed by Hollywood. Daniels stalked her for nine years before she gave him the film rights.
Patton did this movie for her mother, a teacher with 35 years in the Los Angeles United School District.

Nerd verdict: Precious is a gem in the rough

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Scariest Book I've Ever Read

Since tomorrow is Halloween, I thought this would be a good time to tell you about the first and last time I ever read Dean Koontz.

I’d been in L.A. for only a few months and about to move into a new apartment with two other people. The lease didn’t begin until first of the month, which was also when phone and electricity would be turned on, but the landlord said we could move in early. My roommies said they’d wait but I thought I’d be a badass and moved in three days early.

I’ve never had trouble being alone for long periods of time as long as I have a book. So, I went to a used bookstore in North Hollywood to look for a cheap paperback I could kill three days with. A copy of Koontz’s Whispers was sitting in the bargain bin. I’d never read him but a friend was always recommending his books (I should’ve considered that my friend loved scary movies with guys named Freddy and Jason in them) and the dollar-price was right. I took it home with me and attacked it that afternoon. What else was I gonna do? Nobody to call and no TV to watch.

I sat on the floor of my new bedroom—I had zero furniture, not even a bed—under a window and read. For hours. And hours. I remember being vaguely aware of shadows passing by the window above me as the day got long and the sun started descending. But I kept reading. Because it was getting really good and scary. I didn’t even stop for lunch.

Suddenly, it was dark. I only noticed it because I could no longer see the words. I went to turn on the light and belatedly remembered there was no electricity. I also realized the temperature in the room had dropped precipitously. With the sun on my back from the window, it had been sufficiently warm in the apartment during the day. But now it was evening in February and my clothes felt too thin.

And I was sitting in the dark, alone, with a creepy-ass book in my lap. I had no cell phone to call anyone (this was early ’90s), nowhere to go. I don’t remember specific details about the book but the plot had something to do with a stalker who shows up at a woman’s house to kill her. A woman who’s alone, exactly like I was that night.

I wanted to go downstairs to get something to eat but looked at the dark chasm that was the winding staircase and thought, Forget it. Did I mention I didn’t own a flashlight? I was sure someone would grab me on the landing and no one would hear me scream.

After cowering in the dark upstairs for another half hour or so, I decided to try and sleep since there wasn’t much else to do. Plus, I needed relief from the escalating Whispers-induced paranoia in my head. I curled up on the floor with my blanket, certain my roommates would show up in a few days and find me as a corpse, cause of death being an actual intruder or heart attack from massive fear.

Don’t remember how I managed to quiet my brain enough to sleep but next thing I knew, I opened my eyes to a bright shiny morning. I’d never been so happy to see sunlight and all my limbs still attached. Went downstairs and ate a sandwich like a lion in the wild on a downed gazelle. Newly energized, I went back upstairs and finished Whispers because I don’t like leaving things unfinished. But after that, I never read Koontz again.

What’s the scariest book you’ve ever read? Happy Halloween!

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Michael Jackson's THIS IS IT

Watching This Is It, I felt like a cave person being exposed to fire, thinking, “Fire. Good,” because I lacked the vocab to adequately describe what I was seeing. This documentary of rehearsal footage for Michael Jackson’s tour-that-never-was gives an idea of how incredible the spectacle would have been. The pyrotechnics, props, and dancing are eye-popping, but the most amazing special effect is MJ himself.

The man was a genius. He was not only able to visualize things most people can’t imagine, he had the talent and means to bring them to life. His passion for entertaining is obvious, the stage truly his home. It was moving to see how kind he was to his crew and how much he inspired them, how they loved him for it, and what a perfectionist he was without being a nightmare. He worked harder than anyone and the few times he disagreed with his musicians or director Kenny Ortega, he was respectful about it and always right.

My favorite numbers were “Smooth Criminal” and “Thriller,” which incorporated Jackson into filmed segments leading into live performances. For “Criminal,” Jackson inserted himself into that signature scene from Gilda with Rita Hayworth singing “Put the Blame on Mame” and stripping off her gloves (Jackson catches one). For “Thriller,” he was reinventing the video in 3D. After more than 25 years of watching countless others perform that infamous monster dance, it’s quite, well, thrilling to behold the mastermind himself doing it again and see that he’s still got it.

And that’s the thing—at 50, Jackson still had It, the ability to wow me and turn me into a little kid again. I can’t think of many entertainers from my childhood who can still impress my more cynical adult self. The sense of loss is slightly mitigated by the realization that Jackson will probably be with us for a long time, like Elvis and Marilyn. People will continue to organize “Thriller” dance-a-thons and new generations will attempt the moonwalk. The documentary’s title notwithstanding, I don’t think this is it for Michael Jackson.

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OD'd on PC

This past weekend, I wore my nerd badge proudly and indulged my reading, TV- and DVD-watching, M&M-eating, CD-listening, pop culture-loving tendencies. Here’s what I covered.

DVD — Chéri

Michelle Pfeiffer stars as Lea de Lonval, an early 20th-century Parisian courtesan who takes Chéri (Rupert Friend), the teenage son of a former rival, under her wing to teach him the ways of the world. A weekend turns into a six-year affair which ends when the boy’s mother (Kathy Bates) arranges for him to marry a girl closer to his age. Lea and Chéri pretend they’re okay with moving on until they realize they can’t.

Pfeiffer is as radiant as ever, showing the vulnerability beneath the proud and elegant facade. Friend’s titular character, however, comes across as a spoiled rich brat and borderline stalker. I didn’t get a sense of true love from these two; it’s more like Lea just doesn’t want to grow old alone and Chéri only wants what he can’t have.

Lea’s gowns are resplendent and Alexandre Desplat’s score is melodious as always, but I expected more from director Stephen Frears and screenwriter Christopher Hampton (adapting stories by Colette), both of whom had worked with Pfeiffer on the superior Dangerous Liaisons. Nerd verdict: Respectable in parts but not that endearing.

CD — Pete Yorn & Scarlett Johansson’s Break Up

Last month, my friend Tomas made me aware of this album over at his blog, make.see.eat.do, and I finally had a chance to listen to the whole thing. If you were envious of Johansson before because of her bodacious looks and acting skills, you’ll positively want to push her down the stairs after hearing her sing. Because she can, quite impressively. Her retro smoky tones blend well with Yorn’s emo voice on this album of mostly catchy, toe-tapping, folk-rock tunes. This isn’t some misguided star trip a la Don Johnson or Bruce Willis; Johansson (who was asked by Yorn to collaborate) is better than some “singers” out there and should do more albums.

Don’t believe me? Watch the video below for the first single “Relator” (you’ll need surgery to get it out of your head afterward), then go to www.lala.com and register to listen to the entire album for free by entering the actress’s name in the search window. (This only works for U.S. visitors. If you’re overseas, search YouTube for other videos like this one.) Nerd verdict: A recommended Break Up.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eRtydnIycCY]

TV — White Collar & Grey’s Anatomy

White Collar, USA’s latest original series, stars Matthew Bomer as Neal Caffrey, a convict who excels in the kind of crimes for which the show is named. In order to stay out of jail, he makes a deal with the FBI agent who finally nabs him to let him help solve cases, using his expert criminal mind. Bomer is handsome with his piercing blue eyes and does a capable job, but he lacks the extra oomph that makes an actor a breakout star. Tim DeKay is solid as Agent Stokes, the straight-up guy who’s frustrated by and a little envious of Caffrey’s lifestyle. The show doesn’t offer anything new but I might tune in again if I’m home on a Friday night and there’s nothing better to watch. Nerd verdict: Lightweight criminal.

Over on ABC, this week’s Grey’s Anatomy episode had the kind of action-packed, pulse-quickening drama that called to mind the show’s best episodes from seasons past (i.e. the “Into You Like a Train” crash ep in which two people were impaled on the same pole and the doctors could only save one). A patient dies amidst the chaos in the ER after a nearby fire and Chief Webber interviews the doctors to determine who’s responsible. The camera swirls like a Tasmanian devil through the scenes, throwing the viewer into the confusion and leaving no time for the kind of angsty stuff that can drag the show down. The Rashomonian element of the doctors telling conflicting stories about the same events made it fun to try and figure out who made the fatal mistake. It also made me hope that Izzie never returns. I didn’t miss her at all and found Alex’s repeated phone calls to her super annoying. Nerd verdict: Heart-poundingly good.

Book — Daniel Judson’s The Violet Hour

This noirish thriller, set in the Hamptons, unfolds over three days as auto mechanic Cal tries to hide his pregnant former boss from her abusive husband while searching for his friend, Lebell, who has gone missing after leaving a trail of blood in his apartment. Cal wants nothing but an orderly life to prove he didn’t inherit criminal tendencies from his father and brother, but as he gets more involved in his friends’ crises, he wonders how far he’s willing to go to keep them out of trouble and even save their lives.

Hour grabbed me from the first minute with its mysterious opening paragraphs about a deadly female assassin. The pace is non-stop, the language rat-tat-tatting through one plot development after another. This book reminded me a little of Charlie Huston’s debut, Caught Stealing, another crime noir with a lean style in which an innocent bystander is driven to violence after inadvertently crossing paths with bad guys.

The novel isn’t perfect; it’s a little too coincidental that all the bad stuff happens to different friends of Cal’s on the same weekend. Judson also has a tendency to overuse commas by inserting adverbs and prepositional/adverbial phrases in awkward places, disrupting the flow of his sentences. Witness:

Closing her eyes, she held still for a moment, or tried to, ended up, despite her efforts, wavering a little.

And:

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, and when they did, she saw, beside the house, in its shadow, both the motorcycle and the Lexus.

But Judson’s characters are dynamic and his plot riveting enough that I was willing to overlook this quirk. Not only that, I now want to read Judson’s other novels, too. Nerd verdict: Hour goes by fast and is time well spent.

What did you read/see/hear this weekend?

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Winners of Michael Connelly's 9 DRAGONS & BRASS VERDICT

Thanks to Random.org, the following 5 winners were selected:

Ybnorml
Jonnie H
Carol M.
Eddy
Beth C

Each person will receive one hardcover copy of 9 Dragons and one paperback of The Brass Verdict. Click on “contact” in the top right corner and send me your snail mail info. Please do this even if you’ve won something from me in the past because I don’t keep your addresses on file (I just sell them to spammers—kidding!). Hachette Book Group will ship the books to you directly.

Thanks to all for participating. If you didn’t win this time, don’t fret. Stay tuned for other giveaways coming up soon!

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Bouchercon Daydreams

All week, I’ve been reading reports about Bouchercon 2009, which took place last week in Indianapolis. (To my international readers: It’s an annual mystery convention held in a different U.S. city every year where fans can hobnob with writers.) The festivities sound like a blast (check out blogger Jen Forbus‘s recap), making me really eager for next year’s B’con in San Francisco, which I plan on attending.

I was so excited, I even came up with some panels and authors I’d love to see at the 2010 convention:

Lee Child discussing “Maximizing the Hurt in Your Fight Sequences”
Sophie Littlefield on “How to Write 50,000 Words a Day and Get Buff Arms While Doing It”
Charlie Huston on “Who Needs Quotation Marks?”
Harlan Coben on “Deadly Sidekicks Can Wear Pink”
Sue Grafton speaking about her next challenge, “Tackling the Chinese Alphabet”
Gregg Hurwitz on “Writing Your First Novel at Age 12, Getting Published at 12.5”
James Patterson on “Whittling Down Your Chapters to Just One Comma”
Robert Crais and Michael Connelly demonstrating “Effective Greco-Roman Wrestling Moves to Subdue Bad Guys” (This panel will cost extra)

If you’re planning on going, which authors and panels would you like to see?

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No Disclosure Necessary

Hey, check it out. After all the recent hoopla about the FTC’s revised guidelines affecting bloggers who write reviews, PublishersWeekly.com ran this article stating that an FTC attorney, Mary Engle,

said Saturday someone with a “personal blog, writing a genuine or organic review,” did not need to disclose how they got the book or assign it a value.

Engle also says clearly that the guidelines, “which don’t have the force of law” behind them, are aimed at advertisers and paid endorsers, and that the FTC has no desire to police the blogosphere or individual bloggers.

To this, I say, Yippee! Not that I was concerned before about getting fined up to $11,000 (seriously?) if I didn’t post a disclosure. The whole thing sounded ridiculous and that’s why I ran this fake statement instead. But I was annoyed by the previous news and here’s why.

I didn’t want to see people forced to make disclosures that basically say, “I’m a really honest person with loads of integrity. I’m not a greedy bastard who accepted a gym bag full of cash just to get you to buy something that sucks more than a colonoscopy. If you were on the fence before about whether or not to trust me, this statement should erase all doubts, right?”

C’mon. I trust we all have the sense to recognize when a review sounds “organic” and credible as opposed to coming from a paid hawker. (Hint: If someone wants you to send 3 installments of $9.99 to a P.O. Box in Richmond, VA for a teeth-whitening product that changed their lives, that’s probably an advertisement.) If you find me or anyone else suspect, you can just stop reading our reviews. We shouldn’t have to put up statements trying to persuade you to trust us. I am not a used-car salesman.

So, in light of this clarification (but more because I’m lazy), I won’t be posting a disclosure statement with each review. I’ll let you determine how credible I am.

Before you decide that, though, can I interest you in a gently used 1982 Fiat with a refurbished cassette deck and window cranks?

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Movie Review: AMELIA with Hilary Swank

Having seen the gorgeous trailer, I attended a screening of this movie expecting to be uplifted and inspired and all those other positive adjectives. Alas, it didn’t quite happen. Though this is not a bad movie by any means, it lacks some of the passion I imagine Amelia Earthart had for flying.

If you’re looking for insight into how she got that passion, you won’t find it here. We’re simply told that Earhart wants to fly so she can be free. From her alcoholic father? A miserable childhood? I don’t know because the film doesn’t address that part of her life, and I haven’t read the books—Susan Butler’s East to the Dawn and Mary S. Lovell’s The Sounds of Wings—on which Amelia is based. But fly Earhart does, in many spectacularly shot sequences that almost made me run out and sign up for flying lessons, forgetting for a moment I have acute acrophobia.

The movie does cover her rise to celebrity status and romances with both G.P. Putnam (Richard Gere) and Gene Vidal (Ewan McGregor), though they’re depicted quite chastely (the Vidal affair was extramarital), as if to say Earhart’s true love was in the skies, not with any man.

Hilary Swank turns in a respectable performance but she’s hampered by Earhart’s mannerisms and cadences. I’m a huge fan of the actress’s spunky, forthright acting style when she’s playing scrappy characters. Here, portraying an iconic real person from the 1930s, she’s forced to stay within certain boundaries and therefore doesn’t get to unleash her usual fire. McGregor, on the other hand, is sexier and more handsome than I’ve ever seen him (though his screen time is limited), while Gere does his usual squinty-eyed thing. Christopher Eccleston offers prickly but stouthearted support as Earhart’s navigator, Fred Noonan.

The thing I recommend most about this movie is its cinematography by Stuart Dryburgh. The scenes with Swank soaring through clouds, over luscious green hills and blue oceans, put viewers right in the cockpit and clearly illustrate why Earhart loved to fly. There’s a sense of wonder and elation about those moments I wish the rest of Amelia has. The sequence showing her final flight contains some suspense, but the movie about a woman who took risks and broke barriers mostly plays it safe and ends up breaking no new ground at all.

Nerd verdict: Amelia doesn’t soar as high as it could have

All photos by Ken Woroner/Fox Searchlight

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WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE from Kids’ Point of View

I’m happy to have my junior reporters, Aline and Mena Dolinh (11 and 8, respectively) back with their takes on Spike Jonze’s Where the Wild Things Are. I’d published an earlier review by contributing writer, Eric Edwards, who felt the film might be too disturbing for children. Here, Aline and Mena offer counterpoints.—PCN

Mena’s Thoughts

Courtesy Warner Bros.

I like Where the Wild Things Are very much. I think the monsters are very funny in the film. I like how they jump up and down and make noise and throw a lot of stuff around. But in the book, Max went to his room and the forest grew all around him. In the movie, he ran out in the street. I think it’s harder for you to go home when you run out in the street. If you just go off in your own room, you can always come back out when you want to, and it’s also easier for someone to find you if they’re worried about you.

My favorite phrase in the movie is at the beginning, in the scene when Max looks at the globe in his room and there is a sign at the bottom from his dad: To Max, the Owner of this World. The monster named Carol says the same phrase later when he shows Max his kingdom. I like Carol and I don’t think he’s scary. He’s a little like me. I think he’s sensitive because whenever he’s sad or mad, he destroys everything.

from Maurice Sendak's book

I like the sunny days that Max spent with the monsters. I know that Max will have to leave after awhile. The filmmakers did a good job copying the pictures of the monsters from the book, because after the movie I went back home and looked at the pictures in the book by Maurice Sendak again. I could pick out the monsters by name when I looked at the book, except in the book they’re just monsters with no names, and in the movie they have names. Although, there’s a bull with people’s feet on the book’s cover that has no name in the book and also doesn’t have a name in the movie. It’s so random that the monsters have generic names, except for Judith and Ira because I don’t know anyone with those names.

The fort in Max’s room at the beginning of the book, and the part with Max running downstairs with a fork after his dog, are right at the beginning of the movie. It doesn’t scare me to see the scene in the movie. I feel like I’m Max running down the stairs chasing his black dog (but in the book he’s a white dog) because the camera was jumping around really fast.

Courtesy Warner Bros.

I can’t explain everything in the movie, like the scene with a giant sheep dog suddenly appearing and running away on the sand when Max is taking a walk with Carol to see his kingdom. Why Alexander played with a cute kitten also doesn’t make sense to me. It’s so random because on that island, you would think there are only monsters and not normal animals. But overall, I thought the movie was funny and I enjoyed it.

Aline’s Take

Courtesy Warner Bros.

Where the Wild Things Are was an enjoyable romp for me. It’s a good family movie laced with the positive, untarnished themes of family, imagination, and good adventure. Despite some early scenes featuring the sensitive Max (Max Records) acting up, destroying parts of his sister’s room in a fit of rage, and running away from home when his mother doesn’t pay attention to him, most kids probably won’t be impacted by it at all.

All kids cry when they’re neglected or their fort is wrecked. They blow up at their family when they’re fed up with being ignored. Running away from home is exaggerated, but even if the original book didn’t include this plot device, it’s a common theme in children’s books. It isn’t something that will be planted into children’s mind and trouble them.

courtesy Warner Bros.

Max’s little boat sails day and night to the land of the Wild Things—a group of whimsical creatures that seem like a dysfunctional family. One of them, K.W., has apparently run away with her friends Bob and Terry, much to the disappointment of their leader, Carol, who appears lonely, misunderstood, and sad at first as he smashes their huts. Naturally, Carol is intrigued by the small newcomer. The rest of the film is basically lighthearted scenes of Max—King of the Wild Things—and his subjects jumping around to the music of Karen O, interlaced with emotional moments of Max finding out more about his new friends.

Courtesy Warner Bros.

Finally, when a planned dirt-clod fight backfires, Max and his subjects drift apart. Carol has a few mood swings, Max decides he wants to go home and makes an implied reconciliation with the others (they didn’t want to accept him as king earlier, but apparently respect him enough to join in the goodbye cries when he sets off for home). This part of the ending left me with many questions, such as, “Are the Wild Things back on good terms with each other?” “How has Carol’s character changed from meeting Max?” “Do all of them understand why Max had to leave?”

When Max gets home and hugs his mother, their reunion seems pretty resolved, but our last sight of the monsters is slightly confusing because Max’s relationship with them is somewhat unevenly treated by the director. While the characters have been expanded from the book, they aren’t played to their full potential. Carol’s sensitivity and source of frustration is never explained, Ira and Judith’s unusual romance isn’t shown much, and we never do find out what caused K.W. to leave or why she seems to be the most understanding of Max.

I guess you could say I was disappointed by how it turned out, but I suppose I shouldn’t have expected a full hug-and-make-up sequence between Max, Carol, and the rest of the monsters. Maybe such a tidy ending would have made it seem like Spike Jonze had underestimated the minds of his intended audience by giving them a family-friendly, watered-down, happy-mushy ending. Maybe from the director’s viewpoint, the ending was subtle and well handled.

Every good work of art, as they say, can be viewed a number of ways, and the bottom line is that Where the Wild Things Are is a good movie for young kids and art-house snobs alike. It doesn’t underestimate its audience like a squeaky-clean Disney film would, and manages to be fun and childish yet intelligent and dark at the same time.

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My Fantasy Fellow Jurors

Yesterday, I had jury duty and found Rumer Willis in my jury pool. This got me fantasizing about being on a jury panel full of famous people. Who would I want on there?

After some deliberating (I had a lot of time to kill), I came up with this list of 11 people I’d like to serve with and why:

Chuck Norris, because if anybody tried to bullshit him, he’d roundhouse them in the head.
Simon Baker, because he can read minds like he does on The Mentalist and tell when someone’s lying. OK, that’s reaching but c’ mon, it’s Simon Baker. Do I need to explain why I want to be sequestered with him?
Bono, because he seems to have a strong desire to do the right thing. Plus, he can lend me his shades so I can sleep through boring testimony.
Tina Fey, because she’s smart and sharp-witted so she’d make deliberations fun.
Jesus, because who would lie to Jesus?
J.K. Rowling, because she knows about good vs. evil. Also, she might write the plot of her next book on lunch napkins and leave them lying around.
Speaking of lunch, I’d want Wolfgang Puck, because he’d take the crappy food in the courthouse cafeteria and turn it into something edible. Yesterday, my beef stew looked like it had floating chunks of…never mind.
Cate Blanchett, because I just want to sit next to her amazingness.
Ann Coulter, because if deliberations go long and I get cranky, I want someone around I can slap without remorse.
George Clooney, because I want to dare him into placing a whoopee cushion on the judge’s chair.
Bruce Springsteen, because he’s the Boss and can serve as foreman.

Who would be on your fantasy jury panel and why?

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