We all grow tired of our realities — the weight of peoples’ expectations, the feeling of needing to provoke others into reciprocating our love. Amidst all of this, who wouldn’t want to, say, sail off to run through the woods in their PJs and sleep in a gigantic pile of down-covered limbs and furry backsides?

Spike Jonze (Adaptation, Being John Malkovich) once again does just what he wants in his film adaptation of Where the Wild Things Are, one of the most beloved bedside stories of all time; he executes a minimum of editing in his fantastical vision and preserves his stylistic edge. Meanwhile, he reminds us how the playgrounds of our creativity can help us to recognize flaws in the ways we treat other people as well as remind us that, at the end of the day, we’re all only human. Whether it is between king and subject, monster and kin or mother and child, love is beautifully imperfect.

The film is by no means the storybook, as is true with any production inspired by literature. But honestly, the book allowed for a lot of cinematic freedom: boy gets angry, sails to the land of wild things, becomes their king and abuses them and then sails back home while trying to avoid getting eaten — not a whole lot to work with.

Jonze’s rendering elevates character interactions and emotional density of the original plot to an unexpected level. Max is portrayed as a young boy attempting to understand and interact with the world around him, harboring that awkward, child-like love for his family while lacking the maturity to show it. He retreats from a passive-aggressive, petty adult world to an imaginary place populated with creatures he first believes to be as wild and as ostracized as he is.

Rather than vanquish these internal monsters, Max opts to befriend them. In time, he finds this family of “wild things” to be much like the people he left back home, and his own means of escapism begins to echo his emotional reality. Max’s own actions, frustrations and discontent manifest themselves in Carol, who throws a tantrum at the first sensation of abandonment. He struggles for a means to salvage the bonds between Carol and his pack, rescuing himself in the process. Before returning home to a hot supper and his mother’s sleepy, loving grin, Max stumbles across self-help in a fantastical world full of relationships that parallel those of his waking life.

Jonze’s picture translates Sendak’s watercolor-washed world into live action. Many of the panels are monochromatic, punctuated with spots of warm color; for instance, as Max and the Wild Things are building Carol’s dream fortress, the camera pans over a gray arch of brush with a sprinkling of red blooms. While the film’s rendition of Max’s iconic wolf-suit was adorable and peerless, the graphics certainly aren’t as amazing as they could be, given the cinematic technology at our present disposal. They are not meant to be realistic, but are merely the familiar corpulent beasts with wide, expressive mouths and onyx eyes. They hover just above the semblance of illustrations while still being able to interact with a real live Max.

With lines like, “I have a sadness shield,” the dialogue is certainly on the cheesy side, though as a reflection of a child’s mind, it has every right to be; the honest, unembellished language mimics the world of Max’s imagination.

The score’s modern blend of slow piano, mellow humming and a children’s choir invokes an appropriately whimsical atmosphere. The soundscape is credited to Karen O (Yeah Yeah Yeahs frontwoman) and The Kids, whose tracks span across songs that are uplifting to those that are achingly nostalgic.

Needless to say, the film has its share of shortcomings. There is a slight excess of shaky-cam and the orientation of objects and characters in space is somewhat unimaginative for the widescreen. And at certain points, like when Max dodges giant dirt clods on a barren-looking battlefield with massive creatures, one wonders if the kid was going to make it out of his imagination alive. I had to wonder, was this a kids’ movie or Saving Private Ryan?

Much like the book, the film has been challenged by critics and audiences alike for being somewhat subversive and much too dark for a children’s story. Perhaps the production’s crosshairs do not fall on the kids of today, but rather on the generation that grew up with the lovably rebellious Max. But Jonze’s collaboration with author Maurice Sendak does put a few elements into perspective — for instance, the shock factor of KW hurling stones at her owl friends, who evidently enjoy being violently thwacked out of the sky, is characteristic of Sendak’s love for nonsensical Laurel-and-Hardy-esque physical comedy.

Whereas the book maintains a sense of adventure, its film counterpart is more mature in its approach to the themes of forgiveness and unconditional love.

Sendak’s classic provides the skeletal plotline — minus the part when Max is chased off the island by his hungry “subjects” — and the visual reference for this story about selflessness, reconciliation and the taming one’s inner wild things.