With perceptive neo-realist grace, 'Stray' lets its dogs’ actions in the face of abandonment, neglect, and abuse speak volumes about their resilience and benevolence, their fierceness and their compassion.
NICK SCHAGER: “You are on your own. Nothing happens to men like us because we live from day to day,” states a Chechen immigrant to homeless Syrian kids in Istanbul in Stray. Rootless, nomadic hand-to-mouth existences are at the center of director/producer/editor/cinematographer Elizabeth Lo’s documentary, but humans are merely the peripheral players in this stunning non-fiction inquiry, which truly trains its gaze on some of the myriad canines that roam the city’s streets. A spiritual companion piece to Ceyda Torun’s 2016 Kedi (which concerned the legions of cats inhabiting this same metropolis), Lo’s film reveals the secret life of dogs.
In doing so, she draws stark parallels between their world and our own, and our shared desires for sustenance, comfort, and companionship. Following a 20th century in which authorities attempted to exterminate the animals (leading to mass killings), widespread protests have transformed the city into one of the few places on the planet where it’s illegal to euthanize and hold captive any stray dog—meaning that on virtually every sidewalk, in every alley, and near every dumpster, canines congregate, searching for food, sparring, nuzzling, and trying to survive…
Stray focuses its attention on a trio of dogs—beginning with Zeytin, whose striking tan coloring and big, sorrowful eyes are as expressive as her movements through Istanbul’s various districts are casual… Zeytin has a confidence that renders her a perfect guide for this environment, as well as makes her popular with locals, many of whom know her by name. That includes a collection of young Syrian migrants who live on the street and, we learn courtesy of random snippets of conversation, are known to sniff glue and are under constant threat of being arrested by the authorities.
Zeytin is soon paired in Stray with friendly Nazar and black-and-white pup Kartal, the latter of whom comes under the Syrian kids’ care after they beg a local man for one of his many strays, and he acquiesces by telling them that they can return at night and steal one for themselves… Through the careful selection and juxtaposition of scenes, she analogizes the animals’ and kids’ struggle to subsist, their territorial squabbles with others (be they with other dogs, or tourists and police who’d rather keep the streets free of homeless youth), and their yearning for love—or, at bare minimum, a warm body to cuddle with under a blanket at night…
Stray is most evocative when simply trotting beside or behind its canine protagonists, capturing (and subtly mimicking) the sway of their bodies, the rhythm of their gait, the curiosity in their eyes, and the potential viciousness of their circumstances… Lo’s portrait of these wayward dogs is often melancholy, especially when it comes to Kartal, whose acclimation to these harsh stomping grounds seems, by the look in his eyes, to inspire a significant degree of trepidation…
Stray doesn’t shy away from the good or the bad, documenting its four-legged subjects as they jump, hump, run, fight, scrounge, growl, sleep and seek out protection, food, and rest. The more it watches them, the more it taps into the universality of their experience, all without losing sight of the uniqueness of their character and predicament.
With perceptive neo-realist grace, Stray lets its dogs’ actions in the face of abandonment, neglect, and abuse speak volumes about their resilience and benevolence, their fierceness and their compassion. In doing so, the film also says much about the men and women willing to lend a helping hand to the less fortunate—and, also, about those who turn a blind eye to creatures in need. SOURCE…
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