The Swan Movie Review: A compelling short that intricately weaves a tale of torment and bullying

(This film is part of the four-part short adaptation of Wes Anderson's adaptation of Roald Dahl's works)

Quickly following The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar is Wes Anderson’s next short The Swan, adapted from Roald Dahl’s work. Continuing to tell stories set in a perfect aesthetical world, where grays get erased under the guises of pastels, Wes Anderson takes on Roald Dahl's The Swan. The film paints a poignant and angst reminder of pain, bullying and the deceptive nature of granting freedom.

Following the template of action and reaction shots where characters get meddled into the voices of recounting and walls get broken, The Swan is a cathartic and mellow reminder of the sinister quality in each one of us. The short focuses on the torment Peter Watson goes through under the hands of two boys, Ernie and Raymond. Early on, we are introduced to a man (Rupert Friend), who talks about Ernie in the third person. However, we soon realise that he is Ernie, who gets gifted a rifle as a child. The next thing you know is that Ernie and Raymond are on a witch hunt to bully the avid bird watcher Peter as they tie him down to a railway track, and even use him as an aid to hunt a swan, the only living being that offers solace in this reminder of an unfortunately normalised crime.

Cast: Ralph Fiennes, Rupert Friend, Asa Jennings

Director: Wes Anderson

Streaming on: Netflix

It almost feels surreal when you think of 'Friend' as Ernie, who is the narrator of this horrendous tale as a form of repentance. But in an even more delightful detour, it is revealed that he is indeed Peter, who has grown up beautiful enough and courageous to tell his own tale of bullying. It also becomes extremely personal when we see the childhood and adulthood versions of Peter, almost mirroring the journey of the swan, whose wings are lost to cruelty.

Anderson makes a wonderful use of perspectives and the flat lay, one-dimensional frames, to take through the pain of the central character. It feels interactive and a personal journey when Peter is tied in between the railway tracks and the sensory elements add so much so that you can hear the thud of the incoming train. The camera angles tell a story of its own too. 

The Swan is constructed to be an empathetic journey, and the makers choose the last moment of the 17-minute short to tell you the story is inspired from true events. And it almost feels like you are savouring the taste of independence when Peter is made to wear the wings of a bird and becomes a residue of a practical joke to fly, as the last act of bullying. As much as it becomes a painful metaphor derived from wings and flying to a world where his perpetrators don’t exist, you know what is incoming when we see a carcass. 

There is something dark in Dahl’s work that trickles to the deepest membranes of brains, where the utmost truth of oneself lies. The Swan captures those moments, in a surrealistic simplicity, all thanks to the screenplay and the staging. So far with the stories of Henry Sugar and Peter, Anderson weaves tales of personal conundrum, battle, and recuperation, instilling so much faith in mankind. With two more to go in this list of Anderson adaptations of Dahl classics, The Swan proves to be an exemplary example of how beautiful things come in small packages, yet with deep meanings.