Bibi's Dog Is Dead

The scouts

The premise *sounds* like a greeting-card moment—grief, ex-boyfriend, comfort—but Kermani's refusal to sentimentalize the dead dog or redeem the relationship is genuinely perverse; it's a dark comedy that doesn't wink at you, which means most people will hate it, which means it's probably brilliant.

Kermani demonstrates formal restraint in a story that could easily tip into maudlin excess, instead constructing a precise tonal register somewhere between Lena Dunham's emotional candor and the bone-dry absurdism of contemporary Scandinavian cinema.

The film hinges on a single choice—how long to hold on Bibi's face when the ex-boyfriend arrives, that moment before any dialogue—and Kermani commits to it so completely that the entire emotional logic of the piece reverses; it's economy as syntax.

Reviews

Being inside Bibi's reality is like being in an emotional funhouse, a feeling set in part by the film's distinctive visual sense, which is both vividly colorful, slightly artificial and ominous at times. It's a bravura finish to a memorable, almost feral cinematic ride, which manages to be both a farce about the emotional carnage of an ex and a cautionary tale about not letting go.