The Dog Who Wouldn't Be Quiet

It seems ridiculous to call a film that is only 73-minutes long an epic, but that is what The Dog Who Wouldn’t Be Quiet feels like. Though it should be made clear, by epic there’s nothing grandiose; there is nary a special effect to be seen and hardly a cast of thousands. But at the same time, Argentine filmmaker Ana Katz’s sixth feature encompasses a life and very nearly the end of the world.

It presents details so small they belong under a microscope, and events so large they belong in science fiction; that these chopped fragments can build to an experience so smooth and significant is only because of Katz’s radical re-centering of the drama, away from what happens and onto the life it happens to.

A low-key treat about rising above the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, The Dog Who Wouldn’t Be Quiet is something to shout about.

Though it can at times feel wanting in dramatic heft or clarity, The Dog Who Wouldn't Be Quiet can also be revelatory, and its drama flowers in delightfully unflashy ways.

Much like the blur of quarantine, in which days and weeks bleed into months, the movie seamlessly skips through time, following its protagonist through a collection of moments that—as portrayed in rich black and white—often feel like memories. They have just enough story to be considered vignettes, distinguished by changing facial hair and locations, and held loosely together by its restless energy.

The unnerving prescience of Ana Katz’s low key, symbolism-steeped drama adds an extra layer to this intriguing but slight blend of observational intimacy and science fiction.

The Dog Who Wouldn’t Be Quiet is a visually realized film with perhaps too much on its mind for its limited runtime.