After The Wonderful Life of Henry Sugar, Wes Anderson takes on a different thematic turn in his second installment of Roald Dahl adaptations for Netflix, with The Swan. Here, hidden somewhere underneath the deliberate embellishments of the director's style is a dark world of bullying and terrifying cruelty, where past traumas continue to haunt the present. The Swan is a thoughtful and resilient portrait of inevitable loss of innocence and the cycle of pain. (Also read: The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar review: Wes Anderson at his delightful best)
The premise
The Swan stars Rupert Friend as Peter Watson, who recounts how he was bullied by two older boys when he was a child. As he tells this story in the present, word for word, beside him stands his past version as a child who is met with the onset of bullying. His hands are tied and he is made to lie down on train tracks. Later, despite his fervent protests, he also witnesses a tragedy involving a beautiful swan. Things only get worse.
Wes Anderson never misses
Wes Anderson is a unique storyteller. His striking visual aesthetic never undermines the uncomfortable truths which still bleeds within the broad brushstrokes of symmetry and absurdist humour. In The Swan, the subject matter itself is dark and brutal, and the director lets his creative choices speak volumes without an iota of divulgence. The faithfulness with which he honors the rollercoaster ride that is so specific to the Roald Dahl stories works extremely well. The energy remains steadfast and emblematic. The added layer of gravity here is the participation of a grown up Peter in returning back to his trauma. Even while he recounts the tense conditions he had to survive as a child, Peter remains oblique in his presentation of events. He shows no emotion, rather a certain degree of emphasis on what happened rather than why.
Final thoughts
The Swan is lovingly shot by Roman Coppola and aided with brilliant production design from Adam Stockhausen. Notice how it creates a miniature book of pastel flourishes, where ugly truths lay down upon its characters with heartbreaking intensity. The network of artifice standing in for background details works superbly here- indicating a world that is somehow stuck in a parallel momentum of memories. The undercurrent of pathos that sweep the narrative and comes together in that final scene is handled with sensitivity and care.
{{/usCountry}}The Swan is lovingly shot by Roman Coppola and aided with brilliant production design from Adam Stockhausen. Notice how it creates a miniature book of pastel flourishes, where ugly truths lay down upon its characters with heartbreaking intensity. The network of artifice standing in for background details works superbly here- indicating a world that is somehow stuck in a parallel momentum of memories. The undercurrent of pathos that sweep the narrative and comes together in that final scene is handled with sensitivity and care.
{{/usCountry}}Bullying results in an inevitable loop of loss and despair. Those memories, fears and anxieties stay dormant even after all these years, skillfully marking its way to another generation. The Swan is never seen up close- its innocence and its beauty is too precious for this unkind, horrible world. In that moment of violence, somehow we are all accomplices. Anderson has created a compact gem of a film, and a glowing example of the power of the short format.
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