The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar

Benedict Cumberbach and Ralph Fiennes in “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar.” IMDB photo 

Wes Anderson has done it again.

Last summer he snuck the wiggy sci-fi comedy “Asteroid City” onto movie screens moments before everyone caught Berbieheimer fever. In a sly way, “Asteroid City” was a combination of the two films that were destined to rewrite box-office history.

Like “Oppenheimer,” it offered its own version of America's dangerous faith in technology to combat the Cold War paranoia of the '50s. And like “Barbie,” it hid its worrisome themes in pastel plastic wrapping.

Of course, being a Wes Anderson creation, it felt like it could have just as easily been a fable or fairy tale imagined by a child.

Anderson's new “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar,” was, in fact, imagined by Roald Dahl. Ralph Fiennes stands in for the author in an all-male cast also featuring Benedict Cumberbach, Dov Petal and Sir Ben Kingsley, enjoying a comically light-hearted final chapter in an acting career that pinnacled with his Oscar-winning portrayal of “Gandhi” 40 years ago.

Running a mere 37 minutes and playing on Netflix, “Henry Sugar” has modest aspirations. It's a flavorful appetizer on the eve of heavier movie award season feasts coming soon.

As portrayed by Cumberbach, sometimes in red pajamas, Henry Sugar is not the real name of a British idler. Henry, the author observes, isn't a bad man … but not a good one either. Blessed with family wealth, he's mostly concerned with enlarging it. Gambling, not necessarily by the rules, is his preferred method.

When he comes across an account of an Indian yogi who practices the art of seeing without using his eyes, Henry realizes that mastering this skill is his path to limitless fortunes in the casinos he frequents.

As with “Asteroid City,” Anderson turns Dahl's droll wordplay into a plot like nesting dolls – stories within stories within stories. Fiennes serves as the first narrator, introducing the character and setting the scene in his fastidious writing studio. His speaks in clipped, double-time cadences that the other characters pick up as they take over the narrative, which moves from England to India and back again. The distinctive verbal rhythms are reminders that fictional characters all speak with one voice – the author's. To bring home the point and add to the fun, many of the actors play more than one role.

The rapid delivery of the lines makes you wonder, briefly, if Anderson is scrimping on run time in the name of economy. But of course he isn't. It's just a way of calling attention to the words themselves, bursting with Dahl's delight at his own wit and verbal gymnastics.

Anderson brings the same sort of giddy whimsy to the look of the film – children's book illustrations come to life, literally dropping onto the screen like gaily painted stage backdrops.

Luckily for all – beginning with Henry Sugar himself – there's a moral to the story that redeems his previously wasted life. Insisting to the end that what we've witnessed is true – except for the names and details that have been changed – filmmaker Anderson not only attests to the powers of Roald Dahl's imagination, but even more so to his own.

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