Roald Dahl’s stories have always been a peculiar blend of whimsy and darkness, but The Twits stands out as one of his most unapologetically gross creations. But here’s where it gets controversial: Netflix’s animated adaptation takes this already bizarre tale and transforms it into something surprisingly political—and yes, I’m talking about Trumpism. Let’s dive in.
As a kid, I was more drawn to the eerie charm of The Witches or the fantastical adventure of James and the Giant Peach. The Twits, with its focus on revolting antics like glass eyes in beer glasses and worms masquerading as spaghetti, felt too sordid to resonate deeply. Dahl himself wrote the book in 1980 as a vehicle to express his disdain for beards—a prejudice that, as it turns out, was one of his milder ones. While the book had its icky appeal, it never struck me as a classic on par with Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. And yet, The Twits has its die-hard fans, those who reveled in its gross-out humor and bizarre premise.
Bringing The Twits to the screen has been a long and winding road. A live-action version was scrapped years ago, but now it’s finally here as an animated film, co-directed by Phil Johnston, Todd Kunjan Demong, and Katie Shanahan. Johnston, known for family-friendly hits like Wreck-It Ralph and Zootopia, seems to have embraced his inner chaos with this project. After all, The Twits is anything but clean-cut—it’s messy, dangerous, and unapologetically weird. And this is the part most people miss: it’s also a story about cruelty, captivity, and the absurdity of human behavior.
The film opens with a gleeful dive into nastiness, updating the story to the present day while retaining Dahl’s signature grotesqueness. Margo Martindale and Johnny Vegas voice the titular Twits, a vile couple who torment each other, imprison intelligent monkeys, and terrorize local children. Their plan to open a health-code-defying amusement park—complete with a bouncy castle made of soiled mattresses—is as crass as it is hilarious. It’s Dahl’s world, but with a modern, slightly edgier twist. Yet, the film’s attempts to appeal to a new generation of muck-loving kids sometimes fall flat, leaving older viewers with little to latch onto beyond the spirited voice performances and a few oddly charming jokes.
The animation itself feels sub-par compared to the polished work of Disney or DreamWorks, leaning into a grimy aesthetic that doesn’t always land. The addition of generic orphan characters, Beesha (Maitreyi Ramakrishnan) and Bubsy (Ryan Lopez), gives the film a cookie-cutter kiddie-movie vibe, as if Netflix doubted Dahl’s original story could connect with today’s audiences. This isn’t unique to The Twits—many recent Dahl adaptations have smoothed over his prickly, oddball charm in favor of contemporary sensibilities.
But here’s the twist: as the film progresses, it introduces a political allegory that’s impossible to ignore. Beesha and Bubsy find themselves at odds with the Twits, who have conned the citizens of the gloomy city of Triperot into supporting their corrupt business ventures. The Twits’ campaign to ‘restore past greatness’ resonates eerily with the rhetoric of Trumpism, portraying a society hypnotized by false promises and sham narratives. Watching the kids fight to break their elders out of this spell feels like a direct commentary on the last decade of political madness. It’s bold, unexpected, and—dare I say—brilliant.
Amidst the chaos, there are moments of genuine charm. Alan Tudyk steals scenes as the hapless Sweet Toed Toad, while Natalie Portman and Timothy Simons bring the magical Muggle-Wump monkeys to life with infectious energy. Even the sentient hairballs—yes, you read that right—are oddly endearing, though they’re clearly designed with merchandising in mind.
What’s most surprising is how The Twits transcends its flaws. A film that initially feels minor and forgettable suddenly becomes something more, its political edge elevating it beyond its technical shortcomings. Of course, not everyone will appreciate this perspective. Some might dismiss it as ‘lib-brained bias’ or ‘Twits Derangement Syndrome.’ But isn’t that the point? Dahl’s stories have always been about challenging norms and questioning authority. This adaptation, for all its quirks, stays true to that spirit.
Here’s the question I leave you with: Is The Twits a clever political allegory or a misguided attempt to shoehorn modern issues into a classic tale? Let me know in the comments—I’m genuinely curious to hear your take.
