Latvian sibling directing duo Lauris and Raitis Abele have cooked up an unforgettable cinematic experience, for better or worse, with their latest feature, Dog of God. With hyperstylized visuals and trippy rotoscope animation, the brothers deliver a horror-soaked fever dream steeped in psychedelia, throwing it all the way back to the early, edgier days of animation.
In a small Livonian village in the 17th century, there is something sinister and nightmarish in the air. Several residents can feel it including the town’s burly pastor, the young errand boy and the local tavern maid. This atmosphere eventually burst when the pastor accuses the tavern maid of witchcraft, leading to a trial where an elder man proclaiming himself to be a werewolf (Latvian folklore werewolf, not Grim Brother’s werewolf). Which sets off a series of events that causes the town to spiral in madness and paranoia.
It goes without saying, there’s truly nothing out there quite like Dog of God. From the very first frame, the film throws you headfirst into its swirling, chaotic world through its use of rotoscope animation. Which gives the entire experience an uncanny, dreamlike quality. The colors are loud and lurid, the environments feel like they’ve been conjured from some fevered nightmare, and the visuals overall are so trippy and surreal that watching it feels like being trapped inside an acid trip you didn’t sign up for, but can’t quite pull away from. Of course, rotoscope has its limitations. While the animation is undeniably mesmerizing, it also has a tendency to flatten the emotional nuances of the performances. There’s a certain stiffness that creeps in, a disconnect between actor and image, that makes it hard for the characters to come fully alive.
The same kind of limitation bleeds into the narrative as well. At its core, the story isn’t exactly breaking new ground. We’ve seen tales of witch trials and religious hysteria before, and this one treads pretty familiar territory. The themes of fear, persecution, madness are well-worn, and Dog of God doesn’t quite reinvent them. That said, the film does throw one curveball: the character of Dog of God himself, who brings a jolt of weird energy that keeps things from feeling entirely predictable. He’s the film’s one true wildcard, and the closest it gets to something genuinely fresh within its storytelling.
Ultimately, Dog of God feels less like a conventional film and more like a full-blown cinematic hallucination. It’s the kind of work that resists easy explanation. It’s too surreal, too unhinged, too drenched in its own psychedelic vision to be neatly summed up. But that’s also what makes it stick. If you’re willing to surrender to its chaos and ride the technicolor wave, Dog of God offers an experience that’s as unforgettable as it is indescribable.
My Rating: B
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