Night after night, Bodřík dutifully protects his master's humble farm and livestock from prowling wolves. But when his master decides it’s time to get a younger dog to guard the farm, Bodřík is sent to stay in the junkyard. The first night without Bodřík's watchful eye, one wolf sees his opportunity to strike.
I watched this in the ideal scenario: My old, creaky, stout dog – my best friend in this whole world – snoozing on my lap on a cold winter morning, flitting in and out of consciousness as the sounds of the TV and the resting house punctuate the broad silence; his adoptive younger sister, a very enthusiastic but incredibly stupid dog, in a state of perpetual distraction, skulking from the kitchen to the bedroom to the living room in search of something, anything, to focus her unrelenting lack of attention.
I just really like this Eastern European style where there’s this lovely, affable quality that arises from the juxtaposition of sudden, jerky motion and complete stillness. The low brass growl indicating not just a prowling wolf but anything that would mean harm to Bodrik's small flock – we truly cannot trust trombone players.
I really need to take up smoking a pipe