Fantasia Review: Dog of God is a delirious orgy for the eyes, ears, and soul

As a movie lover, I have my wishlist/bucket list/whatever list of film festivals I'd love to attend someday. Obviously, Annecy is at the top of my list. NYICFF. OIAF. The usual suspects like Cannes and TIFF. Another one is Fantasia International Film Festival, which is North America's largest genre film festival. They have always have a killer lineup of cool movies, the festival goes for weeks so there's a lot of stuff to pack in, and -- most importantly for me -- they always have a great animated lineup. This year is no different, so I'm really pleased to be covering some of said animated lineup remotely. Starting with Latvian brothers/directors Raatis and Lauris Abele's delirious, orgiastic, truly original Dog of God.

Employing rotoscope animation techniques, and full of insane visual flourishes, this movie would is an absolute trip. The whole time, I was imagining watching it high, wondering if I would survive, scar myself, have nightmares for the rest of my life. Not sure where I landed, but maybe I'll find out someday. From the film's opening sequence, where a mysterious man with nasty nails and lugging a massive chain seemingly castrates the devil, you know you're in for something weird and intense. The film is basically saying, "Buckle in, this is going to be a ride." And what a ride it is.

hardest image of the year

The film takes place in a medieval town where the rain never ceases. It feels like another flood of Biblical proportions may be in its nascent stages. That's certainly what the town's pastor preaches, even though he knows many of his parishioners are only in church for a free sip of wine (sorry, the Blood of Christ). The town is structured mainly between two places of social gathering: the church and the tavern, where tavern maid Neze serves drinks and, on the side, practices medicine that looks a little bit like witchcraft to certain parties. When the pastor's most prized religious relic, The Holy Straw (straight from baby Jesus's manger), goes missing, he accuses Neze of stealing it, and of witchcraft in general, aided by his (literal) whipping boy Kilpi. Overseeing the proceedings is the Baron, who wants to maintain peace in the town, but is honestly more concerned with the erectile dysfunction that's left him heir-less to this point.

The film does a great job of setting the table, introducing the characters, building the world. And establishing the mood. This has the look and feel of a horror movie, even if it feels almost more grounded in the trappings of a spiky religious drama. The atmosphere is intoxicatingly suffocating, dreary, straddling the line between dreamlike and nightmarish. It's a world I would never want to visit but that I'm so glad to have spent time in this way. It's horrible in the truest since of the word.

In my former life as a born-again Christian (atheist now), we were taught to be "in the world but not of the world." We had to live in the secular world amongst non-Christians in the hopes of winning their hearts to Christ, but never allow ourselves to be taken in by the wiles of the devil, or the temptations of the flesh. I kept thinking of that idea while I watched this movie. The pastor sends Kilpi out to spy at the tavern and report back on the sinful acts of the people there. He wants to know, to judge, but to keep his distance. At times, at least. In some scenes, he sees sinful acts and naked bodies with his own eyes, and is driven to acts of indulgence and lust. His self-flagellation isn't atonement enough. He hands the whip over to Kilpi for further punishment, and perhaps some sick satisfaction.

It's fascinating to see how the two intersecting worlds -- the church and the tavern, both places of worship in their ways -- become further intertwined, harder to separate. It's made all the more complicated when the fellow from the beginning, the self-called "Dog of God", arrives in town. He claims he's a werewolf who wanders the earth as God wills, and sometimes does his part in helping to keep the harvest bountiful (I won't go into detail, because it's a heady and fascinating scene). From the moment he arrives alongside a strange blue blob, the film goes to new psychedelic heights. A lot of the imagery has a metal slant to it, the sort of thing you would expect to see on the side of a band's van. Lots of naked bodies, twisted shapes, repetitions and suffusions of color. It's a feast for the eyes, and the ears, too -- the score has these industrial rhythms that really get their hooks in you, pull you in, almost threaten to drown you. Entrancing.

By the time the wall fully falls between the religious and the secular, when Kilpi stands up for himself, when all the pieces fit into place, the film just absolutely sings through its finale. It feels like a fever dream finally breaking, the rough and satisfied panting after a good fuck, the bright-minded clarity of a drug-induced epiphany. It's a lot, intense, joyful in its odd way. There's a catharsis to it, a baptism in blood and cum and piss, that will leave you feeling renewed.