Red Dog – review

Being from Perth, I've heard stories about the legend of Red Dog since my youth. A stray Kelpie cross who wound up in the newly established mining town of Dampier, western Australia, sometime in the early 70s, he became such a friend to the locals that a statue of him now greets all visitors to Dampier.

It was a sighting of this statue, the town's sole monument, that led Louis de Bernières to turn his tale into a book, an adaptation of which kicked off this year's London Australian film festival at the Barbican – I saw a screening introduced by Nelson Woss (the producer, and proud owner of leading dog, Koko).

How much of the resulting movie is embellishment is up for debate. But in the tradition of films such as semi-fictionalised The Castle, it's a hilarious and occasionally sad look at a side of Australian life whose essence is rarely captured with such affectionate accuracy.

Opening with a shot of Dampier's Mermaid hotel and closing with a fading view of the outback, the cinematography shows the Pilbara in all its glory. Slow shots of men drinking beer from King Brown stubbies, a Sandman ute, giant ant hills and Donga's (small demountable one-person housing unit, typically for mining staff) are evocative reminders of the time, all adding a sense of place to the red dirt that provides the main backdrop.

The nothing-is-sacred humour that's rampant in the Australian bush feels as if it's been conjured up effortlessly. I'm often cringing when I watch Australian cinema because such attempts can fall flat, and feel like a combination of a bad script and bad acting. Here it simply seems natural; and all the funnier as a result.

It's hard to know how large a part nostalgia for the Pilbara played in my enjoyment of Red Dog. But judging by the laughter all round the cinema, this is a film with enough appeal to set tails wagging wherever it plays.