Why The Wild Things Weren't

I've been thinking so more about why Where The Wild Things Are didn't really satisfy me. It has to do with the fact that monsters are so depressed, I think. Normally when people are depressed it's because they're angry but can't express it. The wild things, thought, have no problems expressing their anger. They're wild things. They punch holes trees and smash up each other's houses. It didn't make any sense that underneath it all they're really depressed. Its backwards. The other way around would have made more sense: Max goes to the island and finds the monsters mooching and morose, and then teaches them how to be angry again. Or better still: underneath it all, they're actually frightened. That's what everyone always tells me anyway, that beneath all anger is fear. I can see why Dave Eggars went for sadness: it's a more picturesque, literary emotion. Fear is a lot more primal; admitting to it is a lot harder. But it's where that movie should have ended up, with Max and the monsters working out what was really scaring the bejesus out of them.