Written by Andreas Babiolakis

It’s no secret that Wes Anderson has one of the most unique styles in all of film, and even still that doesn’t always yield the best results. While I’m one of the rare supporters of Asteroid City and find it a bit more meaningful than most have, I think this release and the good (but not stellar) The French Dispatch has seen a once solidified voice now feeling like an echo chamber of ideas and voices in schizophrenic fashion. Since his story-within-a-story-within-a-story worked so well with his magnum opus, The Grand Budapest Hotel, it appears that Anderson has tried to strike gold again to little effect with endearing-yet-shortsighted releases ever since (excluding the terrific Isle of Dogs: it doesn’t deserve this scrutiny).

These following attempts to recreate what worked so well in The Grand Budapest Hotel have felt like slightly missed marks until yesterday. In the same way that Anderson has reoriented himself with the help of a short film that fared better than a feature film released the same year (while I like The Darjeeling Limited, Hotel Chevalier is unquestionably the better of the two releases because of its candidness and French New Wave richness), it seems that he is steering himself back on track again with a short film released the same year as Asteroid City. Here’s The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar: the second time that Anderson has adapted a Roald Dahl property (The Fantastic Mr. Fox is one of the best adaptations of a Dahl story that you will ever find, so Anderson already felt like the right person for the job here). Instead of a well of storytellers that clash with one another, Anderson’s attempt at having multiple narrators coexist feels like a successful Inception exercise; the deeper down we go into this multifaceted tale, the more we learn about each of the storytellers that are still present from the layers above.

Before we even get into this fable, it’s worth noting the excellence of the five actors that are present here. All of them take on two roles that resemble two things. Firstly, there’s a milieu of authorship throughout these stories; just because one storyteller is done speaking, that doesn’t mean that their side of the story is done once and for all as their voice still lingers nonetheless. If Ralph Fiennes is Roald Dahl, his popping up as a gruff policeman is perfect because this obviously represents the author’s affinity for characterizations of unlikeable people, so his own sense of humour is injected into the one-note, temporary moment of discomfort. Secondly — and this leads into the true magic at the core of The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar — this short film performs like an old radio drama in the day and age of both streaming and podcasting. With these five actors performing double duty (next to Fiennes are Benedict Cumberbatch, Ben Kingsley, Dev Patel, and Richard Ayoade), we buy into the concept that this would have made for a perfect radio drama if the masses were still into them.

And yet The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar convinces us that we are. A clever tactic Anderson uses early on is having the camera pan ahead of Roald Dahl, and his voice is stuck in our left speaker. As he corrects the mismatched spatial awareness, Dahl can now be found in the middle of the frame behind a window, and his voice is correctly placed in the middle of the mix. With this trick so early into the short, we are invited to pay close attention to what we are hearing, and the sound mix and design of Henry Sugar is a major part of the illusion; it almost feels heightened so we are forever conscious of what we are hearing, despite how gorgeous the visuals are. Even the Foley sounds feel just a bit more crisp or tangible than they usually do (they’re meant to feel realistic and as though they are a part of what we are seeing, not like they are the focal point like they are here). With our sole attention on what we hear, we can follow along with the constant narration that goes on throughout these forty minutes without feeling bored. And so we proceed.

We hear Dahl discuss the story that he has written about the titular Henry Sugar (Cumberbatch): a stingy bachelor who steals a book about a revealed, money-making secret. This story is pieced together by Dr. Chatterjee (Patel) while he was interrogating the traveling magician Imdad Khan (Kingsley): someone who can reportedly see while his eyes are closed. Khan relays how this is not a trick but an actual achievement and how he learned from his own practices and what he was taught by The Great Yogi (Ayoade). Does it seem complicated? The way Anderson relays all of this information is surprisingly simple to follow, no matter how deeply into this history we go. What is most important in the confinements of this review is the notion of being able to see beyond what our eyes perceive for us. The way Khan teaches himself is quite literal, and so Sugar is misled by what he wants to learn and what he hopes to accomplish through this ability (he wants to scam casinos by being able to read cards while they are face down).

What the short film informs us is rather the metaphorical implications: our eyes only tell us one thing, and it is up to us to “see” more in other ways. As Sugar hopes to con the entire world, he finally can see not with his eyes closed but with them wide open. He is not who he once desired to be. He would rather give to the world, and it’s this kind of philosophy that Khan believed in as well by disclosing how he learned this ability to the world. Sugar, too, wants to share his wealth with the world and we quickly learn that not everyone is as aware of their surroundings as Sugar now is. As we wrap up with Dahl at his chair (exactly where we started), it’s clear that Dahl — who insists this is a true story (but we know it isn’t) — isn’t quite sure how to see with his eyes closed himself, but he wishes to share this sentiment with his readers. Now, Anderson is performing the same duty to us.

What a beautiful short film. While our ears are entertained as if we are listening to a new podcast with many of Britain’s strongest contemporary thespians, we are seeing sets being pieced together and pulled apart like we are actually at a theatre instead. Then we get the constant narration that creates the illusion of what our minds experience while we read substantial literature, but the all-hands-on-deck approach brings us back to Anderson’s quest to make this a reinvention of the radio drama. It isn’t any of these things at the end of the day. This is a film, but just barely under the forty-minute minimum to be considered a feature so even then it is only a short film (a wise choice; as much as I love this release, I think a feature version would be a bit exhausting whereas Henry Sugar is exactly as long as it needed to be). Whatever this amalgamation of storytelling devices is, it is remarkable: a reminder that important messages must still be told no matter what the medium may be (hearsay, conversation, writing, cinema, podcasting, music, et cetera). What could have easily been Anderson’s little trinket for his fans has instantly become one of the best Anderson releases in years. The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar is impressionable, gorgeous, nurturing, spellbinding storytelling through the means of deconstructing what a good story even is. The Academy Awards usually avoid prominent shorts from established filmmakers for its Live Action Short Film category, but this film must be considered. No matter what you want to deem The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar as a tribute, release, or experiment, it’s impossible to feel anything but astonished by it: its most definitive label.

Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Toronto Metropolitan University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.