Film Review - Stray (2020)

A stunning dogumentary that shadows stray bitch Zeytin as she shines a light on the neglected refugee community of Istanbul.

In 2004, as a direct result of public outrage and animal rights protesting, the Turkish government stopped the mass poisoning of street animals. Instead, they ed a law that made it mandatory to rehabilitate them. Stray dogs are now sterilised, vaccinated and released back to run free. In a true twist of irony, the extermination teams are now the very people consigned to look after them.

One such dog enjoying her right to roam is Zeytin, a stocky tan bitch from Istanbul. A wilful creature that answers to no one she has forged a bond of convenience with the local refugee population, in particular, a roving commune of glue-sniffing Syrian boys.

Through dog’s eye level camerawork and fly on the sidewalk sound capture Elizabeth Lo has conjured a unique snapshot of modern Turkish culture. She has a natural eye for composition that renders some beautiful images during the films more introspective moments. But it is her confidence in letting her canine cast develop their own narrative arcs that truly shines.

This purely observational approach amplifies both the organic majesty of a dog’s intrinsically honest disposition and the unpredictable nature of the city that is their bustling sandbox. The viewer is given almost full autonomy in the interpretation of the unfolding drama, with only a smattering of informational text onscreen and a handful of quotation title cards.

These quotes spring mostly from the mind of Greek philosopher Diogenes. A founding father of cynicism, and possibly grandfather of stoicism, his affiliation with dogs is given dual resonance here in the context of the refugees featured in the film.

He was a maverick rebel who often shitted and masturbated freely in public, just as Zeytin and her ilk curl faeces out at will and fuck with abandon in the throng of an equal rights protest. However, he was also no stranger to destitution and forced displacement, he made a virtue out of abject poverty before being sold into slavery by pirates.

Yet true to form, the most powerful quote of the film comes from one of its many earthy overheard interactions: “Nothing happens to a man who lives day to day.”

In a sign of maturity that belies her inexperience, Lo does not shy away from depicting the consequences of the animals’ impunity. We see feral packs of hounds intimidating the locals. Garbage bags ransacked and a veritable showcase of indiscriminate turding. Some of the residents are less than enamoured by the marauding pooches but the overall vibe is one of tolerance and acceptance and in some cases endearment. Culling the urban dogs has been shown to be counterproductive as the ones closest to human are in fact the least dangerous

Stray oozes with political subtexts, both direct and serpentine, however, it is the darker ancillary questions about dehumanisation and indifference that will remain with you.

What begins as an over the shoulder video game watch party, soon morphs into an expose of the hopeless plight of human beings leaping from the fire of war into the frying pan of false hope.

You may find yourself rooting for the canine characters beyond their substance-addicted human counterparts. What this film does so brilliantly is field the conundrum of why such anthropomorphic empathy is easier to calibrate than unconditional comion for the abused, uprooted and disenfranchised of our own race.

The twinkle of sanguineness when a drugged-up young man on the run from oppression, fuck all to his name but a stinking comfort blanket, consoles an injured Zeytin is heartbreaking. It is also indicative of a finely tuned gem of filmmaking that compels us to relish our privileges and debug the code of our prejudices.