Roald Dahl's Matilda the Musical

There’s a specific, jagged energy to Roald Dahl that most adaptations smooth over with too much cinematic sugar. While the 1996 Danny DeVito version is a nostalgic powerhouse for many of us, it always felt a bit like a fever dream set in a sunny American suburb. Enter Matthew Warchus, the director who took the hit stage musical and decided to turn the "Dahl-ness" up to eleven. This isn’t just a movie with songs; it’s a rhythmic, rebellious explosion that feels remarkably vital in an era where most family films feel like they were assembled by a committee of marketing executives.

I watched this on a Tuesday night while nursing a slightly burnt batch of popcorn, and honestly, the crunch of the unpopped kernels matched the percussive precision of the choreography so well I thought I was part of the percussion section.

Not Your Mother’s Matilda

The first thing you notice about Roald Dahl's Matilda the Musical is that it refuses to play small. From the opening number "Miracle"—a satirical jab at the "participation trophy" generation—the film establishes a world that is visually saturated and emotionally heightened. We live in a time of "franchise fatigue," where every property is being milked for a cinematic universe, so there’s something refreshing about a film that just wants to be a damn good musical.

Alisha Weir is a revelation as Matilda. Often, child actors in these roles are directed to be precociously cute, but Weir plays Matilda with a simmering, righteous fury. She isn’t just a girl who reads books; she’s a miniature revolutionary. Her performance anchors the film’s central thesis: that being "good" isn't about following rules, but about standing up when things aren't right. In the current cultural moment, where the world feels increasingly chaotic, that message lands with a surprising amount of weight.

The film also benefits from the weird, wonderful chemistry of Stephen Graham and Andrea Riseborough as the Wormwoods. The Wormwoods look like they’ve been dragged through a Claire’s Accessories during a fever dream, and their commitment to being absolutely loathsome is a comedic highlight. Graham, usually known for gritty dramas like This Is England, proves he has some serious slapstick chops.

The Trunchbull’s Reign of Terror

Then, of course, there is the Trunchbull. Taking over a role made iconic on stage by men in drag (like Bertie Carvel) was a massive gamble, but Emma Thompson leans into the absurdity with terrifying commitment. Buried under prosthetics and sporting a military-grade buzzcut, Emma Thompson plays a dictator with the calf muscles of a champion shot-putter.

What makes her performance work isn't just the physical comedy—the hammer-throwing of children or the Olympic-level screaming—it’s the way she embodies the "old world" authoritarianism that Matilda is destined to dismantle. Her scenes at Crunchem Hall feel like a cross between a Soviet-era prison and a particularly depressing gym class. Opposite her, Lashana Lynch provides the film’s soul as Miss Honey. After seeing her in No Time to Die and The Woman King, it was jarring—in the best way possible—to see her play someone so fragile yet resilient. Her rendition of "My House" is the emotional peak of the film, proving that Lashana Lynch can command a room with a whisper just as easily as a spear.

A Musical for the Digital Age

Interestingly, the film’s legacy was cemented not just by critics, but by the TikTok algorithm. The "Revolting Children" sequence, choreographed by Ellen Kane, went viral almost instantly. Watching it in the context of the film, you see why. It’s a masterclass in kinetic movement and camera work. It’s the rare musical that actually understands how to move a camera, treating the lens like another dancer rather than a static observer.

Apparently, the production was a bit of a logistical nightmare, filmed during the peak of the UK’s COVID-19 lockdowns. You wouldn’t know it by looking at the screen, though. The "bubbles" of kids were so well-trained that the synchronization is almost uncanny. Turns out, they spent months in "Matilda School" learning the routines before a single frame was shot. That level of preparation pays off in the finale, which feels like a genuine catharsis for every kid (and adult) who’s ever felt trapped by a "big" person's rules.

The film does occasionally struggle with its runtime—117 minutes is a lot for a family flick—and a few of the slower ballads might have the younger kids reaching for their iPads. But when it hits its stride, it’s unstoppable. It’s a contemporary piece of cinema that respects its source material while acknowledging that the world has changed since the 1980s. It deals with grief, trauma, and the power of storytelling without ever feeling like a "very important lesson" movie.

This is a vibrant, loud, and unapologetically "naughty" piece of filmmaking. It manages to dodge the trap of being a hollow remake, instead carving out its own identity through incredible performances and world-class choreography. If you’re looking for something that captures the anarchic spirit of childhood rebellion, this is your ticket. It’s a reminder that even when life is "revolting," you have the power to write your own ending. Just maybe skip the burnt popcorn if you’re watching at home.