When Maurice Sendak wrote and illustrated “Where the Wild Things Are” in 1963, it was more a simple paean to imagination and to family bonding than a covert psychoanalysis. At the time, however, even The New York Times noted the possible Freudian subtext. Although Sendak’s story was minimal (only 10 sentences), it was the author’s exquisite illustrations that captured the hearts of millions.

A picture may be worth a thousand words, but how to equate a picture to a 100-page screenplay? Expanding those 10 sentences into a full-length feature film is a daunting task. And just how well director Spike Jonze fills those subsequent moments will be a very personal assessment for each of us. (For the record, Maurice Sendak was very much taken by Jonze’s interpretation of his book.)

“Where the Wild Things Are” is the story of Max (played by an adroit Max Records). The lonely, stubborn Max is scolded by his mother (Catherine Keener) and runs away not only from home but far into his imagination, where he’s befriended by a family of—well, wild things .

These creatures aren’t exactly monsters but are hardly human either—bearish, gnomelike creatures both cuddly and cumbersome, clearly figments of Max’s precocious mind.

For the next hour or so, Max and the monsters frolic and roam. Interestingly, much of the film transpires without much significant plot structure; the wild things bicker and sometimes whine (while it becomes increasingly clear that each beast represents a facet of Max’s own personality).

Spike Jonze has created a nearly flawless cerebral landscape, and one never perceives the wild things as merely actors in fuzzy suits. The actors are real, by the way, their expressions phenomenal computer-generated creations—and, for me, Jonze al most achieves that mystical alternate reality that catapults a fantasy into the sublime.

Almost , but not quite—yet for reasons I’m not sure I’m able to articulate. Because there’s so little depth to the plot (a dirt clot fight being the film’s biggest action sequence) or because the beasts speak in such suburban tenor, “Where the Wild Things Are” remains, for me, a tad shy of immersing me in its reality.

It doesn’t quite attain the dizzying illusion of Guillermo Del Toro’s “Pan’s Labyrinth” or the delightfully bizarre “MirrorMask,” two films that utterly hijacked my imagination.

Perhaps occasionally frightening for younger children (under 7 or 8), the film’s more subtle, mature elements (rejection, loneliness, jealousy) may also elude younger minds. Then again, this is really more an adult film about childhood than a children’s film about daydreaming. And adults may choose to view the film on any number of levels, even as an utterly psychoanalytical vehicle. I suspect the deeper one digs, the more rewarding and revealing may be the experience of viewing this daring, dark tale.

A generation ago, Charles Bronson broke a cinematic barrier with the (then ultra-hip) vigilante thriller “Death Wish.” What followed was a slew of wannabe vigilante retreads, mostly horrific efforts. But a few years back came Jodie Foster in the strangely watchable (bulbous flaws and all) “The Brave One.”

Also strangely watchable (bulbous flaws and all) is F. Gary Gray’s “Law Abiding Citizen.” In a nutshell? It’s “Death Wish” again, with yet another twist.

When Clyde Shelton’s (Gerard Butler) wife and daughter are brutally murdered, Clyde asks only for fair justice.

But when hotshot assistant D.A. Nick Rice (Jamie Foxx) plea-bargains one killer to an early parole, Clyde isn’t happy.

Turns out Clyde is ex-CIA brain, wealthy now and quite clever.

Clyde sets out for justice, not only for his family’s killer but also for those who helped the man escape the system.

Okay, so this one’s sort of like a slasher film but one in which we’re actually sort of rooting for the bad guy. (Hey, it worked with “Dexter,” so why not here?) Even from prison, Clyde and a mysterious cohort gradually knock off the bureaucrats, much to Nick Rice’s chagrin and consternation.

Of course, we gradually realize that Clyde’s a little too deranged even for our amusement, and he must be stopped (before he slaughters an entire city). Then again, it is Philadelphia.

Walking out of the theater, you begin to ponder the 101 reasons why such a scenario is so incredibly far-fetched . . . but there’s something about a vigilante thriller that just seems so alluring.