Stray: NZIFF Film Review

A canine rebuttal to the NZIFF's 2017 cats in Turkey outing Kedi would be an easy way to dismiss Stray.

In truth, though, it does sail extremely close this simple description as Elizabeth Lo's camera follows a triptych of street dogs around Turkey's streets. 

Beginning with Zeytin's soulful eyes, and his looking for love demeanour, and taking in other puppies at later stages, Lo clings closely to her canines, building and strengthening a bond that already exists between the viewer and man's best friend.

From tackling fraught situations of meeting other dogs and the consequences of whether that can erupt in either play or predator attack, Lo builds tension where there would normally be none. It's very much an MO of a dog's life and nothing else (a scant number of scenes feature humans and are shot at human heights) as the camera stays low to the ground and in the animal's world.

Whether it's trying to get food from street vendors, relieving themselves in public or sleeping the sun, not once does Lo's camera project any of our own insecurities on to these animals. Though, in truth, there are moments when it feels like Zeytin's undergoing a narrative arc, and a street fight leaves the audience fearing for him.

More pressing though is Lo's desire to capture some of the life around her - masses of faces come and go, some authority figures feel more defined than others, and in three refugees from Syria, Lo finds a human face on the crisis, and lets the dogs aid them in their story arc.

It's gentle fare in truth, but it's undeniable for any animal lover to come away feeling anything but connected with proceedings and projecting their own considerations into the human condition onto the animals. 

Stray may be laced with on-screen quotes from philosophers like Diogenes, but Lo never once preaches, as she follows them around for nigh on 2 years. It's societal cinema in its purest form, lecture free and full of verite - and Stray may just be heartwarming and heartbreaking in equal measure.