Dog of God had its world premiere on July 21 as part of the Fantasia International Film Festival.

Dog of God is the type of film that begins with the triumphant, heavy metal castration of a giant demon. You’re probably familiar with the type. Those Latvian rotoscope animations with heightened folkloric subject matter and a bawdy, crass sense of humor. There’s got to be hundreds of them out there.

In all sincerity, Lauris and Raitis Ābele’s Dog of God is quite unlike any other animated feature out there. It has the grimy ambitions of a Heavy Metal, a Ralph Bakshi film, or, more recently, a Mad God. But its mix of period fantasy and visual psychedelia (and its oddly high sex drive) make for a striking experience that felt, at least to my eyes, quite new.

The film begins with this sweeping action sequence over bold-faced opening credits, in which a self-described “Dog of God” squeezes the testicles of a giant creature with a chain until they pop clean off (the testicles, that is). This mysterious man claims to be a werewolf serving God—the character is loosely based on a real case of the “Livonian werewolf,” who claimed in court to be a hound of God. 17th Century Livonia has more on its plate than werewolves, however. A belligerent pastor spies a woman in the woods, who is using alchemy in an attempt to heal another woman’s cancerous tumors. It doesn’t take long before a witch trial is initiated and the public eagerly buys into the persecutorial hysteria.

For all of its psychotronic flourishes, folk horror preoccupations, and some captivating imagery, the film can’t help but come off turgid as it meanders through a few unsavory subplots. Case in point are the tales of the priest who obsesses over the woman who he suspects to be a witch and the hedonist Baron who overfeeds his wife so that he may become sexually aroused (and even that does not work). The film languishes in the realm of these gross men for a long while before finally delivering on the Dog of God promised by the title and in the film’s opening credits. And the suspected witch, who is arguably the film’s protagonist, has barely any screen time before being dragged into court to defend herself.

Once this finally happens, the four plotlines (the film could have been alternately titled The Dog of God, The Tavern Witch, The Horny Pastor, the Impotent Baron and His Lover) of the film do converge, giving the film a more direct trajectory that does wonders for the pacing. Still, the narrative struggles to rise to the same level as the animation. There are hints at loftier ideas under the surface of these ugly characters—the tension of faith and vice, the power abuses hidden under titles and institutional bodies, the miracle ED treatment that is demon testicles (check your spam folder for more info). But directors Lauris and Raitis Ābele seem more invested in images over ideas. To their credit: the film looks amazing. Mileage will vary when it comes to the limited scope of the story.

On a final note: the end credits drop a “Receipe of 18^th-century ale” which may be of use (presuming you have on hand a bushel of malt and some good barm). The special thanks also shout out “two shamanic rituals, 112 cans of craft beer, 10 bottles of the cheap stuff, 6 bottles of brutal Latvian booze, and one holy hangover.” Say what you will of the movie, at least these folks had fun. Salut!

Dog of God: B-

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As always, thanks for reading!

—Alex Brannan (Letterboxd, Facebook)