Wes Anderson is one of the few filmmakers whose name alone is enough to sell whatever sort of passion project his mind can conjure. With The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, Anderson has delivered the greatest example of a straight-to-streaming delight. The 39-minute film is, well, wonderful.
Based on Roald Dahl’s The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More, the new film from Anderson is a joyous and curious storybook come to life. It abounds with personality, resulting in an outstanding cocktail of Anderson’s and Dahl’s magic.
The film opens with Ralph Fiennes as the British author himself, sitting in his lovely little writing nook. Suddenly, Fiennes turns to the camera and begins orating the story of Henry Sugar — a rich man who is neither a good man nor a bad man — nearly word-for-word. From there, we are pulled into the story of the titular man as he learns about a person who can see without his eyes. Featuring outstanding performances from Benedict Cumberbatch, Dev Patel, Ben Kingsley, and Richard Ayoade, The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar travels from hospital rooms to isolated jungle huts to glamorous casinos. Each actor is destined to be in a Wes Anderson film, and none disappoint.
Henry Sugar is as faithful an adaptation as you can ask for. The text itself jumps off the screen, as each performance is primarily concocted of direct text recitals to the camera. It is filled with hilarious comedy, whether it be physical or spoken. The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar’s most outstanding trait is its understanding of itself. It knows its limitations, but it turns those limitations into its strengths. Take the pacing, for example. From the very outset, the viewer is pulled into the text and the world of Henry Sugar with an onslaught of words. Its pace is relentless, a constant onslaught of storytelling that invites total immersion into Anderson’s world.
When filming an adaptation as faithful as The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, there is a high possibility for a sense of stiffness, as if the only reason the film exists is to give a visual rendition of a book. Somehow, though, Anderson’s short transcends that pitfall. The movie is undoubtedly Anderson’s, despite being entirely dedicated to Dahl’s text.
This level of faith illustrates something more intense than reverence for the author — which Anderson undoubtedly feels. Henry Sugar’s level of faith invites a viewer-participant relationship. We, sitting on our couches at home watching our computer, TV, or phone, are drawn into the story. We are participating in the story as much as we are being told it. The movie feels deeply personal by directly addressing the viewer and speaking like it is a book. It’s as if we are gathering around the library and listening to our favorite teacher read. It’s as touching and sweet as it is complex.
The complexity of the film isn’t something out-of-this-world; of course, it’s a 39-minute short. It’s amazing at being itself and is entirely comfortable in its own skin. There is never a moment where it feels like the movie feels too bloated or too thin. To be fair, though, there is much to dissect and discuss around the film. There are layers to each scene, whether that be within the shot itself or the entire narrative. Each story contains a treasure trove of stories, emotions, good lessons, and wrong lessons. There’s a density to Anderson’s work that is literally and thematically illustrated to a wondrous extent in Henry Sugar.
With Henry Sugar, Anderson also showcases a keen talent for exposing layers of personality and emotion in his subjects. Each character feels as alive and as complex as a 39-minute film allows. We feel the trials and tribulations of Imdad Khan’s past, understand Henry Sugar’s psyche, and experience the wonder of Dr. Chatterjee. This is as much a testament to the wonderful acting as it is to the wonderful direction.
Here, Anderson breaks the rules of filmmaking to inject personality and tension into his short. A traditional film production course would likely argue that speaking into the camera for 39 minutes isn’t a great method of storytelling. Anderson responds: “Hold my beer.” The film, which feels somewhat experimental in its construction, simultaneously captures the magic of Dahl’s words and Anderson’s direction. It’s uniquely persistent, commanding a viewer’s attention for the entirety of its runtime.
It’s here where it occurs to me that The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar — Anderson’s first of four Roald Dahl-adapted shorts coming to Netflix in the near future — comes off as a perfect usage of the streaming platform. Anderson, a notable and largely beloved filmmaker with name recognition, was granted the permission and funds to create a beautiful, small film outfitted with wonderful actors. It’s a small movie, but it’s better for it. With Netflix, the movie can command the attention of a vast audience; the streaming platform is perfect for a 39-minute film that breaks the rules yet is largely inoffensive.
In The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, Wes Anderson delivers a hilarious, touching film that is, in the most general sense, a good time. But it’s also a supreme example of what separates Anderson as a filmmaker. The title says it: it’s wonderful.
Review Courtesy of Carson Burton
Feature Image Credit to Netflix via Variety
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