The Rat Catcher

There is a point in The Rat Catcher where Ralph Fiennes—an actor whose range spans from the terrifying elegance of Voldemort to the frantic charm of M. Gustave—starts to actually look like a rodent. It isn’t just the prosthetic yellow teeth or the way he twitches his nose; it’s a total, soul-deep commitment to being the most unpleasant man in an English village. He squats, he sniffs, and he narrates his own predatory instincts with a cold, professional detachment that is both deeply funny and genuinely skin-crawling.

Released as part of Wes Anderson’s four-part Roald Dahl anthology on Netflix in 2023, The Rat Catcher is arguably the weirdest of the bunch. While The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar got the lion's share of the awards-season buzz, this 17-minute oddity is where Anderson really lets his freak flag fly. It’s a comedy, sure, but it’s the kind of comedy that makes you want to wash your hands immediately after the credits roll.

The Theatre of the Macabre

I watched this on a Tuesday morning while eating a piece of slightly burnt sourdough toast, and the crunch of the crust paired unsettlingly well with the sound design of the Rat Man’s descriptions. The film feels less like a traditional "movie" and more like a feverish piece of experimental theatre. Anderson has always been obsessed with the artifice of filmmaking, but here he leans into it by having stagehands (Eliel Ford, Benoît Herlin, and Till Sennhenn) literally hand props to the actors or move sets in real-time.

Richard Ayoade plays the Reporter, our narrator and proxy, who watches the Rat Man with a mix of fascination and mounting horror. Ayoade is the king of the deadpan reaction, and his clinical, slightly detached delivery is the perfect foil for Fiennes. Then you have Rupert Friend as Claud, the local mechanic who just wants the rats gone but isn't quite prepared for the "professionalism" the Rat Man brings to the table.

The comedy here isn't found in punchlines. It’s found in the timing—the way the characters speak directly to the camera, the rapid-fire delivery of Dahl’s prose, and the sheer absurdity of the Rat Man’s "clever" plans. If you’ve ever wanted to see a Shakespearean actor try to out-chew a ferret, this is your Super Bowl. The humor is dry enough to cause a brushfire, relying on the contrast between the mundane setting of a village garage and the grotesque obsession of the protagonist.

A Grittier Shade of Pastel

We’ve all seen the parodies: the symmetrical framing, the pastel colors, the whimsical music. In the current era of "AI Wes Anderson" TikTok filters, The Rat Catcher feels like the director’s way of saying, "You think you know my style? Watch this." It’s still symmetrical, yes, but the color palette is drained and earthy—browns, grays, and sickly yellows. It’s a "dirty" Wes Anderson movie, which is a refreshing pivot from the candy-colored perfection of Asteroid City.

The technical craft is, as always, surgical. Using a 16mm-esque grain, the film captures the texture of a 1950s British short. The "rats" themselves aren't real, nor are they high-end CGI. They are stop-motion creations or represented through mime, a choice that makes the violence of the story feel more like a dark fairytale than a horror movie. It’s a testament to Anderson's belief that an audience’s imagination is more powerful than a $200 million visual effects budget.

The trivia behind these shorts is just as precise as the framing. Anderson filmed these four Dahl stories back-to-back, using a recurring "theatrical troupe" of actors. This explains the presence of the stagehands—they aren't just background fluff; they are part of the "company." Apparently, the reason these ended up on Netflix rather than in a cinema was due to the complex rights situation with the Roald Dahl Story Company being acquired by the streamer. It’s a rare case where the "streaming era" actually benefited a project; these stories are too short for a theatrical release but too weird for a standard TV slot.

The Deadpan King and the Rat

What makes the film stick in your brain is the performance of Ralph Fiennes. He is doing something truly singular here. He manages to be the funniest person on screen while also being the one you’d least want to share an elevator with. His delivery of the line "A rat is a very intelligent animal" is treated with more gravity than some actors give to Hamlet.

The film doesn't overstay its welcome. At 17 minutes, it hits the "5-minute test" twice over. It moves with a rhythmic, percussive pace that mimics the scurrying of the very vermin it describes. There is no filler. Every prop, every eye-twitch from Richard Ayoade, and every weirdly shaped shadow in the background is there for a reason.

Wes Anderson is finally making movies for people who find his usual wallpaper patterns a bit too polite. This is a sharp, jagged little comedy that proves the short film format is where the most interesting experimentation is happening in contemporary cinema.

This isn't just "Wes Anderson does Dahl"—it's a masterclass in how to use artifice to create a very specific, very uncomfortable mood. It captures the underlying cruelty that made Roald Dahl’s writing so effective for children and adults alike. If you have twenty minutes and a strong stomach for descriptions of oats and poison, it’s one of the most rewarding things you can stream right now. Just maybe finish your toast before the Rat Man starts his demonstration.