
Margo Martindale
Credenza Twit (voice)

“Once upon a time, there were two terrible Twits... But now, they've met their match.”
When the meanest, nastiest villains pull a trick to take over their town, two brave children team up with a family of magical animals to bring them down.
I’ll admit it: I went in expecting a disaster. Not because I thought The Twits would be bad, exactly, but because I’ve seen what happens when Hollywood takes a Roald Dahl book and tries to sand down its edges until it fits into a brightly colored, algorithm-approved box. Dahl’s original story is a masterclass in gleeful cruelty—two grotesque, petty old people who torment each other, their pets, and the world at large, only to be outsmarted by a family of monkeys and a flock of birds.
It’s nasty, it’s funny, and it ends with the Twits shrinking into nothingness, stuck to the floor by their own malice. The moral? If you’re awful enough, the universe will eventually glue you to the ceiling and leave you there.
So when I heard that Netflix’s adaptation had not only moved the setting from England to a fictional Texas town called Triperot but also rewritten the ending to give the Twits a redemptive arc—well, I braced myself. What I didn’t expect was how much the film would feel like it was actively arguing with itself, as if two different movies had been stitched together with duct tape and a prayer.

Phil Johnston, the director behind Wreck-It Ralph and Zootopia, has a knack for balancing chaos and heart, but The Twits feels like he’s trying to juggle chainsaws while riding a unicycle. The film’s biggest problem isn’t that it changes Dahl’s story—adaptations should evolve, after all—but that it doesn’t seem to know what it wants to be. Is it a slapstick comedy about two irredeemable villains?
A political satire about a town divided by a mayoral election? A heartwarming tale about found family and empathy? The answer, frustratingly, is yes to all of the above, and the result is a movie that lurches from one tone to the next like a drunkard stumbling between bars.
Take the opening act. Margo Martindale and Johnny Vegas voice Mr. and Mrs. Twit, and they’re delightfully vile—exactly as they should be.
Martindale, in particular, chews the scenery with relish, her voice dripping with the kind of smug, self-satisfied malice that makes you want to take a shower after listening. The animation leans into their grotesquerie, too: Mr. Twit’s beard is a writhing nest of food scraps and live worms, Mrs.
Twit’s glass eye rolls independently of the other, and their house is a nightmarish funhouse of leaning walls and precarious furniture. It’s the kind of visual detail that makes you laugh even as you recoil, and for a while, it works. The Twits are horrible, and the film seems content to let them be horrible.
"A messy but occasionally charming adaptation that struggles to capture the spirit of Roald Dahl’s original story."
The voice cast delivers energetic performances, particularly Margo Martindale and Johnny Vegas as the titular Twits, which keeps the film watchable despite its flaws. However, the animation style and pacing feel uneven, with some viewers finding the humor too crude or the story lacking the dark whimsy of Dahl’s book. latestnetflix.com's take is that the film’s attempt to modernize the source material divides audiences, with some appreciating its chaotic energy and others feeling it misses the mark.
Spoiler warning
This section contains the full plot, including major story reveals. Overview above stays spoiler-free.
latestnetflix.com's view is that Netflix’s Roald Dahl toon was messy on-screen – but the off-screen story is even stickier.
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If you came looking for tales of Natalie Portman storming out of a booth or Emilia Clarke feuding over line readings, The Twits isn’t that movie. The gossip here isn’t about diva behavior – it’s about:
In the end, Netflix’s The Twits might be the rare family movie where the real drama lives not in the recording booth, but in thinkpieces, trade obits and the crumbling infrastructure of the animation industry itself. Call it fitting: a story about grotesque grifters ruling a town accidentally became the poster child for a chaotic, overworked corner of Hollywood trying not to shrink and disappear.
Entertainment rumors and trivia aggregated from public reporting. Treat speculation as unverified unless a cited source confirms it.