Wonderful by name, wonderful by nature. Wes Anderson’s 39-minute adaptation of Roald Dahl’s homonymous story is a truly gorgeous creation. Those in the anti-Anderson camp – and I get why he can rub viewers up the wrong way – or those who have tired of his oeuvre will surely be (newly) converted. That’s because the film manages to contain many of the director’s trademark tropes but at such a breathless pace, and in such a brief timespan, that it doesn’t have time to pall. Look away from the screen for an instant and you risk missing some charming detail or hilarious trick.
Anderson starts the film of Dahl’s short story – which is actually a story within a story – with the author himself (played by Ralph Fiennes) introducing his tale from the writing hut in the garden of his Buckinghamshire home, Gipsy House. Anderson creates a pretty realistic replica, and it is suddenly clear just what good a fit the writer and the filmmaker are. Incredible invention, keen intelligence, good humour and a light dusting of darkness are just a few of the traits the two men share.
