Dog With A Movie Camera – A Review by a Dog
- Jack Salvadori
- May 31
- 3 min read
I arrived at the LOCO London Comedy Film Festival with modest expectations, a wagging tail, and the unanswered question about why humans insist on sitting quietly in dark rooms for fun.
The invitation read: Dog With A Movie Camera, a documentary chronicling the making of Blondi, the first film in cinema history to be shot by a dog. Finally, after more than a century of human domination of the medium, someone had the courage to put a camera into paws that actually know where the interesting things are.
The invitation also promised nibbles.
This was the decisive factor.
Upon arrival at the Ritzy Cinema, I immediately realised I was out of my depth. Humans were standing on a red carpet having their pictures taken. I assume they had been very good boys, and some were wearing decorative leashes around their necks, which they call "ties". Unlike proper leashes, however, these appeared to serve no practical purpose whatsoever.
The atmosphere was festive. Glasses of bubbles clinked. People laughed loudly at things that were not remotely funny. Several humans approached me and asked if I was "excited for the screening". I wagged diplomatically. This seemed to be the answer they were looking for, despite having no idea what a screening is.
Most importantly, there were other dogs. Many dogs. Before the film had even started, I had already met a dachshund from Peckham, become briefly infatuated with a whippet named Mabel, and entered into a territorial dispute with a cockapoo over a patch of carpet near the foyer.
Then came the snacks.
The organisers had advertised nibbles. This was technically true. Unfortunately, many of these nibbles were chocolate-based. Whether this was an administrative oversight or an elaborate assassination attempt targeting the canine press remains unclear.
Eventually we were ushered into a dark room and encouraged to stare at a giant illuminated wall. This is not normal dog behaviour and, let me spoil it for you, it wasn't that fun. For the first ten minutes I was convinced somebody had trapped several giant humans inside it.
The film itself appeared to concern a dog called Lexie, whilst she was busy making Blondi, the first film shot from a dog's perspective. I say "appeared" because I spent a substantial portion of the running time trying to establish whether the spaniel in Row D had somehow smuggled an entire rotisserie chicken into the auditorium.
Still, from what I could gather, Lexie is clearly an artist. Not because she operates a camera, but for her sheer commitment to the craft. While humans waste valuable time discussing budgets, logistics and "release strategies", Lexie seems entirely focused on the fundamentals of cinema: wandering off unexpectedly, following interesting smells and occasionally refusing to cooperate for reasons nobody fully understands. A true auteur. While humans spent the evening comparing her to Orson Welles, I found myself thinking of the great canine pioneers: Lassie, Rin Tin Tin, and that Jack Russell who stole my tennis ball in Clapham Common in 2019.
The audience response was extraordinary. Rarely has a screening displayed such active participation. Throughout the film, spectators barked at the screen, scratched themselves thoughtfully, changed seats without explanation, and repeatedly attempted to sniff one another's bottoms. This level of engagement would be the envy of Cannes. One Labrador became so emotionally overwhelmed during the third act that he fell asleep and began running in his sleep. Whether he was chasing a squirrel or processing the film's deeper themes remains open to interpretation.
As for the documentary itself, it offers fascinating insights into the relationship between dogs and humans. The humans involved appear earnest enough, though they continue to overlook information that is, frankly, right under their noses. Time and again they walk past fascinating lampposts without stopping, fail to roll in things that are clearly worth rolling in, and spend far too much time pretending not to be interested in one another, and insist on communicating exclusively through spoken language rather than simply sniffing each other, which would save everyone a great deal of time.
It is difficult not to feel sorry for them.
By the end, I cannot honestly say I understood every shade of Dog With A Movie Camera. It was certainly a film, I guess. At one point everyone applauded, which seemed like a useful clue that something important had happened. What I do know is this: I had a lovely afternoon, met several excellent dogs, drank from a complimentary bowl of fresh water, and witnessed what may be the beginning of a long-overdue canine takeover of cinema. Despite the concerning lack of sticks in the film, I am pleased to see that not a single cat was featured, thank dog.
Four paws up.
Although I should disclose that during the final five minutes, I became distracted by a pigeon outside the auditorium and may have missed the ending entirely.
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