Attribution: Photo by Nicolas J Leclercq on Unsplash
Silent and Deadly: Review of Wes Anderson’s Poison
R. Soedirman, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
By Geoff Carter
In the last feature of Wes Anderson’s film anthology of four Roald Dahl short stories produced for Netflix, he creates a tense and gripping suspense tale about a man trapped in his own bed, unable to move because of a poisonous snake, a krait, is sleeping on his stomach. “Poison” is an intense emotional sprint from start to finish, as well as being a pointed indictment of class privilege and racism.
The complete Dahl anthology, including the films, “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar”, “The Ratcatcher”, “The Swan”, and “Poison”, while ostensibly young adult fictions, share undercurrents of fear, hate, and malice beneath their seemingly innocent facades. There is also a recurring political motif concerning class. In “Henry Sugar” and “Poison”, the British colonial presence in India is specifically addressed. Class distinction is implicit in “The Ratcatcher” as the titular character (Ralph Fiennes), while displaying the somewhat clever but grisly tricks of the trade to a local newspaperman and merchant, who are disgusted by the man and his means of making a living. “The Swan” is even more subtle in its political undertones. Here, a young boy is harassed, beaten, and nearly killed by two bullies, but through his own ingenuity, cool-headedness, and patience, earns a morale if pyrrhic victory. There is a parallel here between the bullies and British colonists, who destroy and/or co-opt whatever they find.
Like “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar”, “Poison” is situated within the British colonial patriarchy in India. While “Sugar” subtly shows the British imperialist tendencies, specifically the acquisition and manipulation of Indian mystical practices (Sugar uses the power of his mind he learns from a swami to “see” cards before they are played), are used for mercantile gain. Sugar does not want to gain wisdom or transcendence from the swami—he wants to get rich.
In “Poison”, Mr. Woods (Dev Patel) discovers his associate Harry Pope (Benedict Cumberbatch) lying wide awake and stock-still in bed. He whispers to Woods that there is a deadly snake lying on his stomach and that he dare not move for fear of disturbing the deadly viper.
Up to this point, Woods has narrated the story, reading the text almost directly lifted from Dahl’s story. Much of the time, he does this while staring directly into the camera, suspending his involvement as a character in the actual narration. As he realizes the depth of Pope’s danger, his hurried and frenetic narration ratchets up the tension. Cumberbatch’s marvelous deadpan performance is a marvel of understatement; even while he cannot speak above a whisper or use anything but the most subtle of facial expression, he manages to convey an air of arrogance and entitlement tinged with more than a hint of racism.
When he discovers the situation, Woods does everything he can to help Pope. Their relationship is never exactly defined—it’s hard to tell whether Woods works for Pope or is an acquaintance. While Woods obviously is concerned for Pope, the reverse is definitely not true. Pope wants results from Woods—nothing more. He tells Woods to get a doctor, so he promptly calls Dr. Ganderbai (Ben Kingsley) to help.
The good doctor responds promptly, bringing anti-venom which he believes will save Pope if he is bitten. He meticulously ties a tourniquet around Pope’s arm and slowly and carefully administers the injection. Then, unsure if the medicine will save Pope’s life, he decides to anesthetize the snake. He sends Woods back to his office with instructions to get chloroform. Woods complies and the two of them meticulously slide a rubber tube under the covers. The two of them slowly administer the ether, drop by drop.
During this sequence, the smell of the ether brings back memories of Woods’ experiences in a hospital. He is shown lying with a long and jagged wound on his forehead and is being anesthetized before possibly undergoing surgery, underlining the magnitude (or lack of it) of suffering by Pope, but during this time, Pope becomes increasingly irritable and nasty. Woods notes that the muscles Pope usually uses for smiling begin twitching. While a bit of frustration and anger are understandable in Pope’s situation, his increased nastiness toward the men who are trying to save him seems petty, rude, and even juvenile. It is the tip of the iceberg. There is a scene in which the doctor turns away from Pope’s bed. The lighting changes to reveal an unexpected undercurrent of anger in the doctor—it shows the fury lying just under his stoic expression.
After administering the sedation, Woods and Ganderbai slowly pull the covers back, hoping to reveal the sleeping snake. The tension mounts as the covers are slowly peeled to reveal… nothing. In a sudden shocking moment, Pope leaps up and begins jumping all over the bed, attempting to get the serpent off him. Except that there is no snake. Bewildered by its absence, Pope insists that it must be somewhere.
Dr. Ganderbai suggests that perhaps Pope was dreaming. It is a moment of clarity. Pope demands to know whether the doctor believes he is a liar, and then begins to revile the doctor—the man who attempted to save his life—with the most vile, derogatory, and racist terms possible.
The doctor packs his bags and leaves. Woods hurries out after him to apologize for Pope, saying that his reaction must have been cause by the stress of his situation. Dr. Ganderbai tells Woods, “Don’t”, and drives away. Dr. Ganderbai is telling Woods not to apologize for the cruelty and arrogance of the British colonists, specifically in the form of Mr. Pope. Dr. Ganderbai is not surprised at Pope’s reaction; in fact, it seems as if part of him expects it, that suggesting that perhaps Mr. Pope has made a mistake is a cardinal sin to this paragon of British civilization.
Anderson’s treatment of this story, as in the other pieces in this anthology, is highly stylized. The sets are lit in beautifully saturated colors and are highly stylized. When Woods drives up during the first scene, the deep azure of the evening sky seems as if it has jumped straight from the set of a Broadway play. The set of the house is part cut-away and partly movable risers and flats moving back and forth. As Woods performs certain actions, stagehands appear out of nowhere to take his shoes, strap a knife on his belt, and perform other actions. These contrivances underline the sense of a non-cinematic reality.
Like the other tales in this Anderson set, the narration, action, sets, and use of puppets, mime, and stage artifice emphasize the director’s vision of these tales existing in a non-cinematic, non-mimetic reality. From his inclusion of the author Roald Dahl (Ralph Fiennes) commenting on the story or reading parts of the narrative itself to his highly choreographed use of camera work, these films transcend the standard boundaries of cinema, pushing the envelope into the realms of theater, literature, and art.
But in the end, these are films. And Anderson is such a master of cinema that his use of a hand-held camera during Pope’s sudden outburst seems shocking. The shots from Pope’s point-of-view of the fan spinning on the ceiling to the split screens depicting both dual action and memory are seamlessly folded into this superbly suspenseful but deeply disturbing story.
The Pen in Hand highly recommends every short film in this tetralogy. They are succinct and powerful stories woven together by the dark vision of one of the world’s best storytellers—and one of its premier filmmakers.