2023 is the year of Wes Anderson. Five films that he has made have come out this year (more if you count all that material from his back catalogue bastardized for those A.I. monstrosities that made the rounds among the worst people on social media). And it is remarkable how inventive and interesting each of them are. Four of them, each under forty minutes long but totalling about an hour and a half, came to Netflix this weekend one day after the other: a series of adaptations of minor Roald Dahl short stories -the kind you likely wouldn’t have heard of unless you were a particularly enthusiastic Dahl fan. It’s not the first time of course Anderson has pulled from the classic British children’s novelist -Fantastic Mr. Fox is one of his most celebrated movies. But with this series, he endeavours to translate the more adult work of Dahl -the stuff beyond Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Matilda, and The BFG. Works that clearly have a deep resonance with him.
The principal of these films -the longest and the one that the other three feel like supplements to- is The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, which presents a very Grand Budapest Hotel style of nested narratives; starting with Dahl himself as played by Ralph Fiennes telling the story of a miserly man who through a book transcribing the story of a man who learned to see without using his eyes, endeavours to learn this skill himself to become a master gambler. Benedict Cumberbatch plays the eponymous Sugar -a pseudonym for a man who’s real identity is never revealed, while Dev Patel plays the Indian doctor whose journal he finds, and Ben Kingsley is the mysterious man he encounters who relates his own tale of coming into that capability. Also in the film is Richard Ayoade as the guru this man learns from. Each of these five cast members play at least one additional minor character over the course of the film.
This adaptation (and each of the others) relates the source material in a very exacting way that movies usually can’t get away with. Each first person narrator speaks straight to the camera except when required to speak to someone else, including a bulk of expository text replete with colourful descriptions and including every article of “I said” or “he said”. This in concert with the highly stylized dimensionless sets gives the impression of a dramatic recitation on an elaborate stage more often than a film of the book in question. And in this format it is riveting. Due to the directness of the script (part to Anderson’s credit, part to Dahl’s), the precise performances of the actors, and Anderson’s customary yet unique visual style and pace, each film maintains the charming energy of an aesthetically inventive, richly produced play. And Anderson leans into this –with every entrance and exit a stage door and using props, like a transparently painted box, in lieu of special effects. The lack of a fourth wall, though particularly conspicuous, works greatly to this effect as well –inviting the audience into the act of storytelling. And naturally, the distinct sharpness of the text comes across incredibly well through Anderson’s singular presentation; the language is fun and compelling to hear –these movies enthusiastically celebrating Dahl’s diction and wit. Certainly more authentic than Fantastic Mr. Fox, especially where fidelity and tone are concerned.
The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar really is a wonderful story too. It ultimately seems to be Dahl’s own interpretation of A Christmas Carol, and though marked by a particular silliness, Anderson of course takes naturally to the poignancy as well –in the tales of both Sugar and the man whose power he learns to replicate. Though it may seem a skimmed-over lesson, the notion of greed being limited by boredom is a comforting one –and that doing good with one’s power and resources is only natural. Anderson’s second narrative venture to India is more successful than his first; his old Calcutta/Satyajit Ray image of that world far more appropriate and less stereotypical in this consciously artificial doll house aesthetic. It’s overall such a sweet, funny and eminently likeable little parable that feels fully contained –the lack of resolution both literal and meditative for the man who could see without eyes found instead in his successor several decades later. And in spite of the seeming rigidity to their deliveries, each actor is wonderful –conveying emotion and personality with subtle finesse.
This company of performers, joined with Rupert Friend, populate the rest of this short film anthology (as it ought to be viewed rather than as four separate entities). Each of these are a mere fifteen minutes in length, but do some wonderful things in that span of time. The first is The Swan, featuring Fiennes again as Dahl, and Friend as the in-story narrator –the grown-up version of a child called Peter Watson, tormented by bullies. They make him lie on the railroad tracks in front of an oncoming train, and then they shoot a swan and goad him into trying to fly using its wings. It’s ultimately a very bleak story, though told exceedingly well -Friend giving it the weight and pathos it earns even as he leans into comical tones doing impressions of the bullies. This film also employs a very atmospheric paper puppetry device to get across the eerie dimensions of the story.
The Rat Catcher is comparatively light, largely narrated by Ayoade as a journalist in a small English village, and featuring Friend as a mechanic and Fiennes as the very rat-like rat catcher who ingratiates himself uninvited and proposes extermination by way of thinking like and understanding the world of the rats. It’s a film that goes to a couple surreal places -one great bit in the climax feels explicitly like a classical monster movie, but also comes with a severe comment relating to the malevolent connotations of the rat catcher. Indeed, each of these films has a fascinating, deeper point to be made, and makes them potently. There are some strong, distinct visual choices in this one, including a stop-motion rat.
The last short is Poison -the story of a man called Harry (Cumberbatch) involved in some government capacity in India during the British Raj, who is paralysed one night in his isolated home by a venomous krait he suspects is lying on his stomach under the covers. Narrated by an underling (Patel), a great Indian doctor Ganderbai (Kingsley) is called to assess the situation and remove the snake safely. Much like the last, this one plays like a comedy throughout until the moment of truth, when it is revealed to be a stern comment on, even perhaps a microcosm, of British colonialism in India. Looking up the story, it’s curious to note that while Anderson’s general faithfulness is extremely consistent, he eliminates one observation from the end of this story that soberly changes the impression it leaves you with.
Each film concludes with a little message giving minor context about Dahl’s writing process and inspiration for the respective work. And you forget by the end this was a man known for his children’s stories. Anderson’s intent with these films it’s pretty clear was to shed a light on some meaningful lesser known stories from a writer he admires. Indeed, they do have the desired effect; and Anderson’s lens proves a uniquely captivating and effective means of bringing them to life. No adaptation is quite so curious as this anthology in how it undermines the seeming limitation of the film medium to literature. And I hope it isn’t the last to experiment in such a way.
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