Film earns its paws-otive review
Sure, it’s a shaggy-dog story, but in the best way possible. American musician/performer/ sculptor/all-around-artist Laurie Anderson has crafted an experimental film that at first seems like it’s going to be a paean to her dearly departed rat terrier. But over its meandering 75 minutes, it gradually blossoms into something much deeper.
Not that Lolabelle doesn’t deserve the eulogy. Late in life, the dog took up painting, music and sculpture, playing the piano at benefit performances, and crafting little paw-dented wads of clay that Anderson imagines could be sold to other canines as clogs. They do say that dogs come to resemble their owners.
But the dog’s life and death is just a way into a meditation on loss in general. Anderson lost her mother not long ago, and in 2013 her husband, Lou Reed, passed away. His song Turning Time Around plays over the end credits. Anderson notes that “the purpose of death is the release of love,” a sentiment that might sound trite if the film hadn’t earned its way to this point.
Its wandering ways cover a lot of ground, including motherhood, puppy mills, theories of language and the state of surveillance in post-9/11 America. Anderson introduces us to the huge U.S. National Security Agency data centres that have been built in Utah, and juxtaposes them with other “massive desert complexes” of information — the pyramids.
She also spends a lot of time on the teachings of Tibetan Buddhism, and its adherents’ belief in “the bardo,” a kind of limbo state where the soul is said to spend its first seven weeks after death, dissolving its mind and preparing to become something new.
The overall tone is sombre and thoughtful, with discussions on how to learn to feel sadness without being sad. Another beauteous quotation: “To live in the gap between the moment that is expiring and the one that is arising, luminous and empty.” A ticket to this film will give you much to chew on, and not just if you’re a dog.