The 40-minute short film, based on a short story by Roald Dahl and starring Benedict Cumberbatch, is Wes Anderson at his best
Designed like a matryoshka doll where a story lies within a story, The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar is one of the four Roald Dahl-inspired shorts by Wes Anderson which is streaming now on Netflix. The colour palette of the short is as Wes Anderson as it gets — bright hues fill up 1.37:1 aspect ratio of the 16 mm film where (mostly) invisible theatre workers drag and drop extravagant, colourful props as characters deliver information to the camera with a deadpan expression, sans voice modulation or a hint of an emotion.
The 40-minute short film, which sometimes comes across a verbatim recitation of Dahl’s short story with props gently gliding in and out of the frame, has a few tricks up its sleeve. The film opens in Gipsy Hut in Buckinghamshire, London, of 1976, when Dahl wrote The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar. Ralph Fiennes plays Dahl, the author who breaks the fourth wall, directly addressing the viewers, telling them about why he wrote the story.
The fruitless endeavour called greed
Benedict Cumberbatch plays Henry Sugar, a miserly bachelor with a hefty fortune who loves to gamble and, like all rich people, only wants to get richer. He stumbles upon a book written by Calcutta-based Dr KK Chatterjee about the man who could see with his eyes closed. Tempted by the greed of making a fortune by gambling and using the trick to read cards, Henry reads the book in the hope of mastering the yogic powers of Imdad Khan, who is the gifted protagonist of Dr Chatterjee’s book.
Dev Patel plays Dr Chatterjee, the author who tries to demystify and uncover the secret behind Imdad Khan’s ability to see objects with closed eyes. Ben Kingsley plays Khan, who then narrates his experience of meeting a Yogi who could “float 18 inches above the ground”. Interestingly, Anderson decides not to use CGI to show the Yogi floating above the ground. Instead, he opts for a pyramid-shaped glass stool which reflects the colour of Yogi’s mat, giving an illusion that the sage is levitating. Perhaps, this was Anderson’s way of implying that the Yogi’s teachings were farcical and held no ground in the grand scheme of things.
Anderson also makes the creative choice to not depict violence on screen. When the Yogi supposedly hits Khan with a rock, the rock never leaves his hand — instead, Khan shows the scar on his left leg. The background score in these scenes is minimalistic. We hear temple bells ringing when Dr Chatterjee chases Khan on the streets of Bengal and a muted sound of applause at Calcutta theatre when Khan is performing his magic tricks.
Soon, Henry is able to master Khan’s tricks to read cards. A rich white man (mis)uses ancient Indian knowledge, indigenous to the community, to win bets while gambling. The social and dramatic irony is palpable here. The ‘eat-the-rich’ undertones persist in the short film but only till Henry realizes winning every bet possible would mean that there is no thrill, joy or excitement in life. He can own all the wealth in the world but that would mean losing the joy of living. Greed is indeed a fruitless endeavour which robs the joy from little things in life.
Existential dread, and a slice of magic
Henry is called out yet again, this time by a police officer played by Ralph Fiennes (who also plays Dahl in the film). “You have never been hard up a day in your life”, the cop tells Henry, giving him a reality check (and a much-needed reminder of his privilege). Henry concurs that using his wealth to build orphanages and hospitals would be a better thing to do than throwing off all his money from the balcony causing street fights and car accidents — yes, the bar is that low when it comes to writing redemption arcs for billionaires.
Henry decides to give up his fortune and use his wealth to build hospitals for “orphans who do not have presents for Christmas”. He eventually dies of a clot in his coronary artery. For a film which is filled with bright colours and seemingly optimistic and light-hearted themes of generosity and selflessness, The Wonderful Life of Henry Sugar might just leave you feeling existential dread. You might just end up questioning the purpose of life or existence itself.
Anderson makes an interesting creative choice in the film — he implies via his characters that the story of Henry Sugar is based on real events and that the millionaire did exist in real life (the original short story by Dahl is entirely a work of fiction). What prompted Anderson to change the end of the film and go for the “based on real events” trope?
Perhaps the surprise ending was Anderson’s way of reaffirming the faith of his audience in the existence of magic, thus implying that Imdad Khan was indeed a visionary who could see objects without his eyes and the Yogi was, despite his glass stool, a mystique who possessed yogic powers. At one point towards the end credits, we see Henry Sugar sitting on the same pyramid-shaped glass stool as the Yogi. It won’t be far-fetched to argue that the stool hints at Henry Sugar’s enlightenment.
Perhaps the whole point in life, despite the feelings of gloominess and existential dread, is to never stop believing in magic. That’s Wes Anderson for you!
