As a self-admitted Wes Anderson fan, I expected nothing less than to adore the short film The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar. But still, I was mired by the pretentiousness of his last few films. Anderson lately has felt as if he lost his whimsy in his quest to find purpose; it is easy to do so. But Henry Sugar recaptures the spirit of play whilst also telling a story rooted in moral questions. 

Based on the story of the same name by Roald Dahl, Henry Sugar is a tale about story. In total, there are four stories in one and, somewhat miraculously, they remain distinct.

The first story follows Roald Dahl and his writing. The second tracks the adventures of Henry Sugar himself. The third follows the account of a book Henry Sugar finds, and the final story is the autobiographical tale of said book. To say any more would spoil such a text-based story but know that the swift bits of comedy and the touching notes of melancholy make for a rich viewing.

As always, Anderson utilizes his knack for unusual direction to make an oddly compelling film. From symmetry to top-down shots, Anderson draws attention to the camera. It’s an odd quality in the world of film where the camera is supposed to be invisible, but Anderson is at his best when he breaks every rule provided to him. The colors of the sets and costumes are bright and brash, complementing the tone perfectly. 

The acting is absolutely wonderful. It is a strange thing to ask an actor to act unnatural, but Benedict Cumberbatch, Dev Patel, Ben Kingsley, Richard Ayoade, and Ralph Fiennes do so with a subtle brilliance that meshes both their roles as narrators and characters. They speak as if reading a book to children but let themselves have subtle moments in which they become their characters. They treat the audience as a character, and they never let go. The crew becomes a character as well, assisting the characters in their journeys. Whether it be costuming or moving the set, the cast moves the story forward, and it feels extraordinarily natural.

The film itself is a children’s book put to the screen. The film is a play: moving cardboard sets, shifting environments, offscreen characters, and reused actors. It’s a joyful thing in a movie, so playful. It felt completely natural to be in a fabricated little world for a story like this, and Anderson directs it beautifully.

The wardrobe is equally as whimsical as the sets, and the film delights in the absurdity of the changes. From exaggerated wigs to large face casts, every costume is made and worn with carefree love. The practical effects also proudly bask in their fantasy. Claymation is used in lieu of science, doors appear from nowhere, and a man floats above the air simply by turning the block he was sitting on. 

It is difficult to describe the screen without showing it, but that is the endearing quality of Henry Sugar; it must be seen to be understood. In an age of movies that seem like obligations of a studio rather than labors of love, Henry Sugar is a wholesome reminder of what the screen can be. It can be a portal to another world, a place of magic, or a time machine to the past. Let’s hope for more films like Henry Sugar.