Wes Anderson recently released a series of Roald Dahl adaptations for Netflix that are remarkably theatrical. With a small cast and a limited budget, these adaptations could easily be replicated on stage. Characters directly address the audience, while stagehands change sets and costumes in plain sight. The analog nature of the action stands in stark contrast to the CGI-dominated cinema of today, forcing viewers to use their imaginations to fill in the gaps. But why does Anderson choose to tell these stories in such a way?
The Henry Sugar Quartet, as I like to call it, consists of four short films that were somewhat poorly handled by Netflix. Viewers had to search for each individual short separately, even though Ralph Fiennes appeared in all of them as a host and guide into Dahl’s macabre imagination. These adaptations are unlike anything Anderson has done before. Gone are the banjos, pastel colors, and existential whimsy. However, there is a purpose behind the series, closely tied to the prominence of Dahl himself. Anderson continuously interrupts the storytelling, prompting viewers to actively and skeptically engage with what is being presented.
This intentional distancing of the audience from the action is a result of Anderson’s tendency to layer stories within stories. His films, such as “The Royal Tenenbaums” and “The Grand Budapest Hotel,” often contain meta references and self-awareness. His most recent film, “Asteroid City,” even blurs the lines between play and film, taking on the form of a documentary capturing the making of a play. Each frame in “Asteroid City” is meticulously composed, reminiscent of Slim Aarons’ photography. Anderson’s movies deliberately highlight their artificiality, absurdity, and self-awareness, rather than trying to immerse viewers in a realistic world.
“The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar” is one of Dahl’s early inspirations for nesting narratives within one another. In Anderson’s adaptation, a narcissistic man played by Benedict Cumberbatch discovers a handwritten notebook that changes the course of his life. The notebook contains a first-person account of an encounter with a performer who shares his own strange biography. With painted backdrops and stagehands assisting with special effects and costume changes, “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar” unfolds like a pop-up picture book. The pace is fast, and the performances are understated. This adaptation dissects the construction of movies and plays, exposing their elements, tricks, and artifice.
The other three Dahl stories in the series are much darker, exploring themes of bullying, inhumanity, and sacrifice. Anderson stays remarkably true to the source material, with characters reading the text word-for-word. Each short film invites viewers to actively engage with the stories and contemplate their meaning. The series does not provide clear moral lessons or justice, but instead disorients and surprises viewers. It raises questions about storytelling itself and the moral complexities inherent in it.
Despite recent controversies surrounding Dahl’s personal beliefs, Anderson’s adaptations remind us of the importance of storytelling. While not explicitly defending Dahl, they explore the morally questionable aspects of storytelling and emphasize its significance. Anderson’s films encourage viewers to question what they are watching, to probe into Dahl’s intentions, and to contemplate the deeper meanings behind the stories. It is this active and curious engagement that ultimately leads to enlightenment and a deeper understanding of our humanity.
In conclusion, Wes Anderson’s Roald Dahl adaptations for Netflix are uniquely theatrical and engage viewers in active and skeptical viewing. They highlight the artificiality and self-awareness of storytelling, pushing viewers to fill in the gaps with their imaginations. Anderson’s deliberate distancing of the audience from the action prompts questions and inquiry. The adaptations delve into the darker themes of Dahl’s stories, questioning the nature of humanity and the sacrifices we make. Ultimately, Anderson’s adaptations serve as a treatise on the importance of storytelling and its ability to transport us to a more enlightened place.
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