I cannot imagine a more perfect artistic collaboration, and blend of sensibilities, than Wes Anderson and Roald Dahl.
The fact that this joint effort by filmmaker and author has long been posthumous — Dahl died in 1990 — matters not a jot.
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| While Henry Sugar (Benedict Cumberbatch) relates part of his tale to a policeman (Ralph Fiennes), both men briefly "break the fourth wall" and stare at the viewer, in order to emphasize a point. |
Dahl was a highly visible presence of television during his lifetime, mostly due to the UK’s Tales of the Unexpected. This series adapted 26 of his short stories over the course of its nine-season run from 1979 to ’87; these morbid little tales — patently adult, and often with twist endings — blended dark humor with murder, infidelity, blackmail and all manner of other beastly behavior.
Few people remember the first TV series Dahl hosted, the U.S.-produced Way Out, which ran a mere half-season in 1961, following Rod Serling’s Twilight Zone in CBS’ 10 p.m. Friday slot. Dahl’s unapologetically macabre horror series was far too gruesome for that era’s viewers, and was canceled shortly after airing its 13th episode, “Soft Focus,” the notorious climax of which scared the hell out of everybody (and still packs a punch to this day).
The current quartet of adaptations — “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar,” “The Swan,” “The Rat Catcher” and “Poison” — debuted on Netflix one per day, late last week. They also draw from Dahl’s adult-oriented short stories.
As is Anderson’s habit, his approach is — shall we say — unusual.
Recognizing that Dahl’s precise and marvelous prose style is responsible for much of the atmospheric magic in his stories, Anderson has these stories narrated — retaining as much text as possible — by Dahl himself (played with appropriate eccentricity by Ralph Fiennes), and also by the characters within the tale.
Fiennes’ surroundings are impressively authentic: seated within a nook of Dahl’s re-created “Gipsy House,” his desk laden with many of the totems and ephemera that were part of the author’s actual working environment. (One must marvel at Anderson’s rigorous attention to detail.)
“Henry Sugar,” starring Benedict Cumberbatch as the title character, is the longest of these pieces, at 37 minutes. It concerns a bored and self-centered aristocrat who, as a result of a book he steals, painstakingly develops the talent to see through objects. What he ultimately does with this gift proves unexpected.
Following Dahl’s introduction, the ongoing saga — initially picked up by Henry Sugar himself — is recited at a rapid, deadpan clip as the various actors face us, except when reacting to something or somebody else in the frame.
Occasional viewpoint shifts add a cheeky touch. When Dev Patel’s Dr. Chatterjee takes over the narrative — “Henry Sugar” actually is three stories nested within each other — he’s introduced during a tea break with three other doctors.
“There was a knock on the door,” Dr. Chatterjee says, facing us. “Come in, I said,” he continues.
But he faces the door while saying “Come in” — in character — then swiftly pivots back to face us, when saying “I said,” thus resuming his role as narrator. The result is mildly disorienting — deliberately so — but also charming.
The staging is theatrical and exaggerated, with backdrops sliding back and forth, and sometimes manipulated by visible tech hands. At times, though, this is heightened backdrop staging — special effects — in a manner that couldn’t possibly be accomplished in real life. Occasional scenes rely upon vintage rear projection, but handled in an enhanced manner that isn’t entirely old-school.
The actors aren’t so much emoting, as becoming part of the mobile scenery. The result feels like a staged audiobook. (Should we call it a videobook?)
Totally cool.
Anderson treats his cast like repertory players, with some actors appearing in several shorts, sometimes in multiple roles. In “Henry Sugar,” Fiennes mostly is seen as Dahl, but also pops up as a policeman. Cumberbatch is both Henry Sugar and a make-up artist; Patel supplements his Dr. Chatterjee with another sidebar character; Ben Kingsley is both the mysterious Imdad Khan and a casino croupier; and Richard Ayoade is a similarly mysterious yogi and one of Dr. Chatterjee’s colleagues.
“The Swan” is a disgusting little excrescence, with a deplorable non-conclusion — Dahl at his most misanthropic — and Anderson brings nothing to the table. Trust me: You’ll want these 17 minutes of your life back. (And this one absolutely is not for children.)
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| A newspaper reporter (Richard Ayoade, upper left) and gas station manager (Rupert Friend, lower left) peer nervously into a culvert, while the rather sinister rat catcher (Ralph Fiennes) explains that this is the perfect sort of hangout for his prey. |
But Fiennes is the stand-out of this piece: resembling, moving and behaving more rat than man, up to his sharply protruding two front teeth. It’s a marvelous performance; as the story proceeds, you’re swear that Fiennes is becoming a rat.
On the other hand, Anderson’s decision to keep some props invisible is out of whack with the eventual appearance of the aforementioned rat. Makes no sense.
“Poison,” also 17 minutes, is the story with the most history. It was written in 1950; the other three came toward the end of Dahl’s career. “Poison” first was televised as a 1958 installment of Alfred Hitchcock Presents, one of the 17 episodes directed by the master of suspense himself. It also appeared as a 1980 episode of Dahl’s Tales of the Unexpected.
The story is set in India, during the time of British rule, likely the 1930s (none of which Anderson specifies, and certainly won’t be recognized by anybody under 40). Timber Woods (Patel) returns home one evening, to find his housemate Harry Pope (Cumberbatch) lying rigidly on his bed, an opened book propped on his stomach.
Via tense whispers, Harry explains that he saw a small krait — a deadly venomous snake — slither onto his bed, and then beneath the covers; it’s now asleep on his chest. He has remained still for hours, and fears he cannot do so much longer. Woods summons Dr. Ganderbai (Kingsley), whose practice is nearby; he arrives quickly, and the three men try to figure out how to get the snake off Harry, before he gets bitten.
It's easy to see why this story appealed to Hitchcock; it’s a morbidly tense little piece. Anderson has a bit of fun with the sliding theatrical-style sets, and two stage hands get plenty of screen time, moving some objects and handing others to Woods and Dr. Ganderbai.
But Patel is the primary draw here, due to his staccato telling of the story, and the way — as before — that he slides smoothly from narrator to participant, and back again. Fiennes briefly pops up as Dahl, as he does in all of these lesser shorts.
In the final analysis, though, Anderson’s clever and ingenious touches are put to excellent use solely in “Henry Sugar,” which also is — by far — the most interesting story. It casts a long shadow, and the other three pale in comparison, both visually and narratively. (The conclusion of “Poison” is particularly oblique.)
I suspect Anderson made it a quartet mostly to have a finished package that runs a feature-length 88 minutes, which may not have been sufficient motivation. He simply doesn’t seem to care as much, for the lesser three.
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