The question (or one of them) is whether by taming animals, submission has been confused with affection, friendship with self-interest, and a simple bark with a show of respect. This is more or less the reflection that any dog has every time we bend down to pick up one of their droppings. It was Kafka who, in Report to an Academy, made the protagonist of his story say: "Speaking frankly, I tell you: your simian nature, esteemed gentlemen, as much as you may have had something similar in your past, could not be further from you than mine is from me. However, it tickles the heels of anyone who walks on the earth, from the little chimpanzee to great Achilles." The one speaking then was Peter the Red, and indeed, he was a monkey. Now, in Black Dog, the one who speaks the most is a dog. Although the animal is not as explicit and verbose as the ape (this dog can only bark), it is as brilliant and in its own Kafkaesque way as the creature in the story. To sum up the question from the beginning of the paragraph: Who has ended up domesticating whom?
This could be the starting point of the film by Chinese director Guan Hu, which deserved the top prize in the Un Certain Regard section at the Cannes Film Festival last year. The entire narrative rests on the awareness of its most intimate perplexity, on the paradox of a point of view that is valid for both the perspective of man and that of the titular animal. And there, in its ability to place itself on one side or the other, from the bark or its opposite, it succeeds in revealing in a sad yet luminous, bitter and funny way, the strength and transcendence of its profound humanity. Or its dogness, depending on how you look at it.
The story is about a man who returns to his village after spending years in prison. He served his sentence for the murder of one of his neighbors and now must face everyone again, most importantly, himself. Everything unfolds in the surroundings of the Gobi Desert in northern China, in the days leading up to the start of the Beijing Olympics in 2008. Our protagonist, as an ex-convict, finds himself in a city almost as dilapidated as he is, literally overrun by stray dogs. A ghost in a ghostly town. Wandering aimlessly, with no purpose other than emptiness, the now free man comes across a black dog as helpless as demonized (accused of carrying rabies), who will serve as his guide on his peculiar journey through his very personal hell.
Guan Hu creates a superb redemption western that is also a tale of defeat. The camera maintains a fair distance, allowing the characters to act freely, almost aimlessly, in a space as vast as it is inevitably desolate. More important than certainties are doubts and dust, a lot of dust that the wind leaves in its wake. The character played by Eddie Peng behaves as the most classic legend of the man with no name, always determined to rebuild with his dog and companion the last glimmer of dignity in a fundamentally undignified place. On his journey, he will encounter his sick father determined to care for an empty zoo, a group of performers who long ago lost the distant possibility of glory, the family of the man he killed... And so on, composing an existential and almost mystical fable, bitter, raw, not devoid of humor, and very, very dog-like. Or human. Depending on how you look at it.
Director: Guan Hu. Cast: Eddie Peng, Tong Liya, Jia Zhangke, Zhang Yi, and countless dogs. Duration: 110 minutes. Nationality: China.