I used to go to the movies all the time.

I would hit the multiplex at least once a week, maybe more, and sit back and enjoy everything from “Return of the Jedi” to “Ace Ventura” to “Lord of the Rings.”

Along the way, though —in the midst of full-time jobs and family and sleep and other things — those visits became less and less.

When I do make it to the theater, however, I try to make it count by choosing a film that I know — well, at least think — will be halfway decent. I don’t have the time to waste on a stinker.

And so, last weekend, I was excited.

My girlfriend Kristy is a school teacher, and her knowledge of children’s books is extensive.

She asked if I would be interested in seeing “Where the Wild Things Are,” the new film based on the classic book from Maurice Sendak.

I said I would.

Sendak both wrote and illustrated the picture book, which won a Caldecott Medal in 1964.

I remember reading it at my school’s library and being fascinated.

I was even more fascinated by the idea of a movie and went into it with high expectations.

From the beginning, I wanted to like it, but I didn’t.

I wanted to like it in the middle and the end, too, but I didn’t.

I was excited when I left the theater, not because I had just watched an amazing movie, but because I was leaving a lousy one.

Kristy loved it and still thinks it’s a brilliant adaptation.

I thought it was trash.

My main issue with “Where the Wild Things Are” is that it’s sad and its characters — nearly all of them — are unhappy and at times mean.

Also, the monsters on screen aren’t even close to as great as Sendak’s drawings and reminded me more of something swiped from the old TV shows “Fraggle Rock” and “The Banana Splits.”

The film, like the book, tells the story of Max, played here by child actor Max Records.

Max is a little bit of a problem child, and when his mother makes him upset, he dresses up in a wolf costume, growls at her, then runs as fast as he can through the neighborhood to the ocean. There, he gets on a sailboat, washes up on an island and after climbing a towering cliff, gets to the forest where the wild things are.

He then doesn’t want the creatures to eat him, so he fakes like he has magic powers and the scary looking things then turn Max into their king.

I’ll stop there.

Since I wanted to like this film, I spent some time afterward reading reviews, mostly good ones, about it. One parent commented that they appreciated it because it didn’t sugarcoat the way kids behave.

He had a point.

With all of those fuzzy Pixar movies and other animated films, we are so used to thinking that kids movies should be cute and positive all the time that we forget that kids do have temper tantrums.

What I have realized is that — to the best it can be done — “Where the Wild Things Are” is a good adaptation of a book that wasn’t meant to be all sunshine and roses.

It’s a look into the darker side of a child and how children sometimes just prefer to be in their own little world, complete with monsters.

While I do admit that I like the movie more now than I did when I was watching it, I will say that parents would be nuts to take anyone less than 10 to this movie.

The creatures are creepy, and it can be very, very sad.

For older kids though, those 11 to say 15, they might enjoy it and realize that sometimes they can be scary, too.

David Richards is the editor of the Austin Daily Herald.