igarettes, some coffee and chocolates; sharpened pencils – six of them; and a clean writing board are all that Roald Dahl needs before he gets started.

Seated comfortably on a sofa in his writing hut, with glasses settled on the bridge of his nose and a writing board placed on his lap, Ralph Fiennes – in Dahl’s signature balding but neatly side-parted hair – looks dead into the camera as he begins narrating the story of 41-year-old Henry Sugar, who is “rich and unmarried.”

Clocked at 39 minutes, The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar is one of Anderson’s four Roald Dahl adaptations that were released consecutively on Netflix in the last week of September.

Spoilers ahead.

Featuring a star ensemble cast, the short film is fast-paced and richly colourful. Particularly striking is the theatrical feel with sets and backdrops moving in and out of scenes as what appear to be stage support (essentially, actors) hand props, pacing in and out of shots.

Henry Sugar, played by Benedict Cumberbatch, comes across a book that describes the tale (word-to-word) of Imdad Khan, “the man who could see without using his eyes.”

Narrated in the words of Dr Chatterjee played by Dev Patel, the film runs a story-within-a-story theme, making it all come together with the ensemble cast seen entering and leaving the plot at various instances. Imdad Khan’s story motivates Henry Sugar, played by Ben Kingsley, to master the skill in a bid to cheat at gambling only to end up with a profound realisation.

Anderson’s brilliant storytelling stands out. Characters narrate the story looking directly into the camera, breaking only momentarily to deliver their own lines as the characters they play in the story as if the prime conversation is with the audience and the secondary with other characters in the plot.

The deliberate stress on “I said” by Dr Chatterjee as he delivers his lines during a conversation with Dr Marshall, played by Richard Ayoade, while simultaneously narrating the story to the audience offers a layered dynamic to storytelling.

From the very first shot showing an intriguing and slightly messy desk and a wall donned with framed photographs and clumsily pinned hand-written notes, one simply cannot miss the aesthetic eccentricity that is a Wes Anderson trademark.

While this isn’t the first time Anderson has adapted the celebrated British author, having adapted Fantastic Mr Fox in an animated film back in 2009, the latest venture is nothing short of a mini Dahl-Anderson festival of sorts.

Perhaps it is highly unfair to club the two. But the on-screen genius of these adaptations stems from the fact that Dahl remains an eminent storyteller, even in times of OTT streaming services such as the one on which these four shorts have been released. This is evidenced by the hype surrounding the release of the four short films – more for the first than the other three (each of which runs 17 minutes).

Quite apart from the theme of the first, Anderson’s second short film, The Swan, takes an altogether sombre tone as he ventures into the world of bullying in his adaptation of Dahl’s short story by the same title.

While this isn’t the first time Anderson has adapted the celebrated British author, having adapted Fantastic Mr Fox in an animated film back in 2009, the latest venture is nothing short of a mini Dahl-Anderson festival of sorts.

The Swan is a tale of a young, frail boy Peter Watson, essayed by Asa Jennings, who is bullied by two cruel boys, Ernie and Raymond. The dark tale, narrated by Rupert Friend (also hinted to be adult Peter Watson), follows the cruelty of the two bullies who harass and threaten Peter with a rifle gifted to Ernie on his birthday till the story concludes with an accident. The dreary tone of the story dulls in comparison with an epilogue delivered by Ralph Fiennes (as Dahl) in which he speaks about “unconquerable” people: “They have an indomitable spirit and nothing, neither pain nor torture nor threat of death, will cause them to give up. Little Peter Watson was one of these.”

The attention to detail, a staple of the American filmmaker, is such that apart from the theatrical, visual and technical elements, the when and how of each of the four stories written by Dahl is presented before the end credits.

For instance, The Swan, “was inspired by a newspaper account of an actual event which Dahl kept in his Ideas Book for thirty years before writing the story in October of 1976,” reads a brief credit at the end of the film.

This fascination with how Dahl wrote what he did and when he did is slightly evident from what Anderson said in an interview while talking about his initial thought, some two decades ago, to adapt The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar: “When I finally had the moment of inspiration, the idea was: ‘I am equally interested in the way Dahl tells the story and the story itself.’”

The third adaptation in the series, The Rat Catcher, circles around the strange, almost murderous, obsession of a rodent exterminator. With a pale, almost flushed, colour palette, the story is narrated by Richard Ayoade who plays a journalist; Rupert Friend plays a mechanic; and Ralph Fiennes plays the Rat Man, who is called in to exterminate rodents. While the story is just that, and perhaps with a gory inference towards the end, Anderson plays with the intriguing details of the Rat Man, who walks, behaves and even resembles a rodent, through animations, vibrant performances [Rupert Friend is seen assuming the persona of a sewer rat] and a varied mix of almost dizzying close-ups in hauntingly dark backgrounds.

Set in British India, the last of the four short films, Poison, tells the story of Harry, played by Cumberbatch, who believes that a poisonous little snake lies asleep on his stomach.

Opened by Woods, played by Dev Patel, who narrates the story in a hushed but rushed voice, exuding danger and urgency all at once, Cumberbatch’s performance draws one in as he is seen lying still on his bed, perspiring profusely, with a sheet covering his stomach. Dr Ganderbai, played by the brilliant Ben Kingsley, is called in to help.

What follows are engaging performances by Woods and Dr Ganderbai attempting to protect Harry while trying to sedate the snake [so far not visible to the characters or the audience.] Anderson’s camera moves in and out of rooms as characters scramble across the screen before the plot takes an ugly turn.

Upon finding no snake under the covers, Dr Ganderbai inquires if Harry was sure there was one in the first place. Harry is supremely offended, hurling a stream of racial slurs, the true poison, at the doctor.

Masterfully displaying the ugliness, the venom is left lingering in the air. Dahl (Ralph Fiennes) is seen towards the end – seated as and where he was at the beginning of the first short film – to narrate the last line of the last short film. “Dr Ganderbai started the engine and drove off,” says Dahl, looking intently into the camera before going back to his writing board.

The sanctity of the performative element is brilliantly captured in all the films. For those old enough to remember the Kassette Kahani series – audio stories and adventures on cassettes –released during the 1980s in Pakistan, most of the magic lay in the (audio) narration of the stories – emotive, descriptive and believable as if one were part of the conversations they were listening to on their cassette player.

An integral part of the magic in Anderson’s adaptations is the vocal performances by the narrators and the characters, all of which bring to life his visual and descriptive theatrical aesthetics as if one were part of the stage, even the plot, on which the performances were being played out. Anderson’s magic truly lies in the details.

The writer is a staff member