Today's Soundtrack: A missing kid, 'Wild Things,' and Arcade Fire
Today's Soundtrack is an occasional feature trying to wrap the events or mood of a day into a song or two. Today's artist: Arcade Fire.
By Ben Collins, Globe Correspondent "He was in a box. In the attic. The whole time." Oh, you know at this point. He was, then he wasn't, then he never was. Every news network in the world dropped regular programming to follow an empty helium balloon for two hours. His name wound up being Falcon. The whole thing was pretty upsetting in the end.
Because you couldn't relate to any of it.
All right, maybe one part. We all want to know: What was going on in that attic? How far could this kid's imagination could have possibly gone?
Maybe that's one reason why a couple hundred people went to the midnight screening of ''Where the Wild Things Are'' at the Loews Theatre on the Boston Common last night, rubbing shoulders with one another at a sold out show, every other person crying, all equally unprepared for how sad this thing was going to be.
We probably should have been ready for this kind of sobfest. All of the promotional material hovering around the movie shows how painstaking it was to make sure every word provoked that sort of acute emotional response that makes you want to be nine-years-old all over again.
Here's the children's book's original author, Maurice Sendak, with director Spike Jonze and Newsweek, for example:
This A.V. Club article says it took weeks for the movie's writers Jonze and Dave Eggers weeks just to storyboard and name some of the characters.
Jonze even enlisted the Gods of Epic Trailer Music, Arcade Fire, to provide the soundtrack to the preview.
And even that was making people cry.
Check it out for yourself. (And here's the same band in the chill-worthy Benjamin Button trailer here, which is probably better than the movie itself.)
In the end, I watched about four total hours of missing children finding their way home yesterday. The two hours with a furry, 10-foot-tall James Gandolfini in it was, somehow, the least surreal part.
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