In 2014, Kornél Mundruczó’s White God toyed with the idea of a canine uprising. Akin to the chaos of societal collapse, the dogs’ reign in the film yielded a social mulligan of sorts the film’s setting, Budapest. Deprived of purpose and deemed pests, the hounds were ultimately transformed into the tale’s agents of revolution, only relenting after their leader, Hagen, is reunited with his owner, Lili. This moment yields the film’s most iconic sequence, as dozens of dogs lay obediently as the tandem embrace.
Dogs in film often fulfill a unique role; they are simultaneously dauntless in the pursuit of cause and utterly complacent at the side of their master. In fact, even the term “master” rarely carries a positive connotation unless it’s in reference to a karate expert or, more relevantly, a pet owner. Though culturally oblivious as it relates to humans, Wes Anderson’s latest outing, Isle of Dogs, dissects this concept with surgical precision. Following a handful of mutts from nearly every possible station a dog can hold, the film experiments with hierarchy as the furry protagonists are violently removed from society’s classes, yet ideologically bound by an obligation to obedience.
Appropriately, the film’s prologue outlines the dogs’ creation myth. Once oppressed and wild beasts, the slaying of a warlord with a preference for cats catalyzed an “age of obedience” in which the dogs assumed a station at the side of their human companions. In the modern era, dogs are abruptly expelled from the fictional Megasaki City and condemned to live upon an island of garbage, simply known as “Trash Island,” after the unexplained outbreak of a “dog flu.” Slowly the hounds deteriorate from their affliction, growing more feral as their past lives likewise grow more distant.
As the sores they share gradually make the mangier, so too do the dogs become closer. Quickly, the castaways form feuding packs, battling for whatever putrid scraps they stumble upon. Maintaining an air of their previous civility, Rex (Edward Norton) leads a discussion with one band about their past, pampered lives. Feeling his despair tighten, Rex contemplates suicide before their group’s former stray, Chief (Bryan Cranston), steadies his resolve to survive. Chief finds despite their previous dispositions, their primal instincts bring them closer.
Should they wish to survive, no dog can return to the safety of the kennel. With their exile and disease comes liberty and understanding as what previously the lowest caste, the strays, are the aptest of self-preservation. However, even Chief’s capabilities do not compel him to hunt independently. The physical hindrance his less-than-savvy brethren provide is compensated by their emotion support. Chief understands he, more so than the majority of the expelled pets, is built to thrive yet can still perceive the long-term benefit of sparse organization.
The explosive arrival of Atari (Koyu Rankin) in search of his guard dog catalyzes a schism between Chief and his pack. After saving the “little pilot” from peril, the other dogs quickly revert to their pre-isle ways, tending to Atari with the reverence of a deity made manifest. In one instance, the boy commands the group to sit, leaving Chief the only to abstain. Rex nudges the stray in a manner akin, yet inverted to the latter’s earlier gesture; Rex stresses Chief is “being disobedient,” an observation which yields the stray’s prompt exit. The lawless initial six months of the island gave Chief a sense of agency now threatened by the young boy. Though unwilling to acknowledge it quite yet, Chief gradually realizes the destruction of hierarchy must force him to assimilate its vestiges.
The destruction of hierarchy in the film is more overtly explained in the plight of the Middle Fingers, a collection of closely woven land bridges joining the two halves of Trash Island. Several years prior, the Middle Fingers served as homes to plants, foundries, and laboratories each incredibly different in purpose, but identical in fate. The victims of several natural disasters, the establishments are homogenized in their dilapidated state, now serving as stations of rubbish. A portion of the film’s didactic is illuminated in this sequence as the structures are effectively made equal, albeit to an almost useless function.
As the group embarks across the Middle Fingers Chief and Atari are separated from Rex and company, forcing Chief to confront the remnants of a lifestyle he violently retaliated against. After his apathy inadvertently compels the boy towards him, Rex endures aspects of the privilege once distant. After a brief bath, Chief’s past status is literally washed away as his black fur fades, revealing a pattern virtually identical to Atari’s missing companion. After Chief indulges in Puppy Snaps, a famous treat he could never enjoy, his transformation is concluded. Chief admits to the joy of the delicacy and pampering, understanding with privilege comes comfort. Though he experiences a taste, however, Chief remains at a comfortable distance from luxury. In contrast, the separated dogs are taken through a malfunctioning incinerator, covering them in a soot and providing them with an appearance akin to Chief before his classist baptism.
Despite the brief exchange of experiences, Trash Island still serves as the great consolidator. When Atari is finally reunited with his lost dog, Spots (Liev Schreiber), its unveiled he too has forgone his past station entirely. With the exception of their respective nose colors, Chief and Rex are virtually identical, yet their roles have grown entirely different during their exile. Spots presides over a group of aboriginal dogs vilified by the dogs geographically closer to Megasaki. However, their practices and structure are virtually identically, if not more sound than the remainder of the island. In a moment in which preconception is torn apart lies the greatest indication of the past hierarchy’s destruction. The protagonists acknowledge even the natives share a goal of conveying this newfound realization out of isolation and to the old world.
Unfortunately, Isle of Dogs‘ final moments do little to indicate the dogs’ new ideology is actually implemented, save a moment in which Spots, his mate, and their litter are seen sharing a meal at a shrine. It appears other than a few brief amendments, life is restored to an almost unchanged disposition. However and such is the case with White God, the aside to Trash Island may have proven less an utter revolution, and more so a means to an end. Perhaps the convenience of dogs as a narrative device lies in their nature; though they are often hardy and adaptive, they are the ultimate experiment to test establishment.
