MY DOG TULIP. Reflective and introspective film [REVIEW]

The delicate linework and watercolor-like, blurred colors of Paul and Sandra Fierlinger’s animation draw the viewer in from the very beginning. My Dog Tulip is formally a fresh and rarely encountered cinematic proposition. The filmmakers are interested in wide shots and tend to avoid close-ups. Their aim is, above all, to convey a very specific mood—a blend of nostalgia and, at times, biting irony.

This atmosphere is introduced to the film through its central character: Mr. Ackerley. An elderly, solitary writer, he is an erudite man gifted with a distinctive, detached perspective on the world and on the monotony of everyday life. He is fully aware of both his limitations and his undeniable strengths. He is also a cynic, able to keenly assess the behavior of those around him, yet equally capable of casting a critical eye on his own life’s work. A fascinating, unconventional figure, he takes some time to warm up to, but it’s difficult to remain indifferent to him.

My Dog Tulip is a reflective and introspective film. Textually, it’s built on Mr. Ackerley’s constant self-analysis. The voice-over narration—which runs through nearly the entire film—underscores its memoir-like nature (the protagonist is voiced by Christopher Plummer, whose gravelly yet calm voice adds depth and warmth). The real driving force of the story, however, is Ackerley’s dog—a female German Shepherd. Unruly and impossible to control, she is nonetheless the elderly writer’s only true friend. Tulip is pathologically jealous of her owner; any interaction he has with another person is met with loud barking. She ignores commands, instructions, and pleas. Yet what binds the two is a kind of toxic friendship. Mr. Ackerley continuously strives to reach her, to understand her, to find a common language.

Ackerley wins the audience over with his persistence and remarkable patience. To me, these are the most compelling aspects of his complex personality. His repeated failures at training his dog never dampen his spirit. He is a stoic—rarely surprised, never shocked. Ackerley has clearly thought through his situation in depth. And yet, he has deliberately chosen to fully submit to Tulip’s whims. There’s a touching selflessness and devotion in this attitude. Tulip is a force of nature—one the writer willingly lets sweep him away, even against his better judgment, even at considerable personal cost.

At several points, My Dog Tulip can be genuinely moving. Take, for instance, the scene in which Ackerley visits a friend in the countryside. On a cool, misty morning, he rises, puts on his robe, and, still half asleep, steps outside with Tulip. He sits on a chair in front of the house, just to keep an eye on her. It’s a small, seemingly insignificant moment, but it radiates a warmth that’s hard to put into words. The film moves at its own rhythm, with a distinctive pace. It’s a work made with heart and a great deal of sensitivity.

Of course, Ackerley’s relationship with his dog is the film’s emotional core. Yet the two directors also give attention to the background. Supporting characters—Ackerley’s sister, the veterinarian, or fellow dog owners he visits in search of a mate for Tulip—may appear only briefly, but they are never anonymous. The narrator learns something from each encounter—something new about his dog, and also about himself. He’s a character endowed with an exceptional gift for observation. Some of the narrator-writer’s digressions make this animation verge on sociological cinema, diagnosing the paradoxes of social relationships.

The creators of My Dog Tulip approach the animated form with great inventiveness, frequently shifting the film’s visual style. Some sequences are deliberately crude, as if scrawled in a lined school notebook—images that might have been drawn by Mr. Ackerley himself with a shaky hand in his personal diary (it’s worth noting the film is adapted from Joe Randolph Ackerley’s autobiographical book). Other moments resemble professional pencil sketches. The directors also vary the color palette—ranging from black and white to old-fashioned sepia to the soft, pastel tones reminiscent of a child’s watercolor book.

My Dog Tulip brilliantly blends sentimentality with humor, mixing stylistic conventions without ever losing sight of its central theme. At its heart stands one man—an elderly gentleman for whom the most important being in the world was his dog. Many viewers are likely to recognize something of themselves in this portrayal.