When Benedict Morrison, who runs the London comedy festival, introduced Blondi at its premiere in a Brixton cinema earlier this month, he went all out. The film is a new take on the final days of the Third Reich. Picture this, he told the audience: it’s 1924, and FW Murnau has just strapped a movie camera to a bicycle, inventing the subjective camera angle. The result was The Last Laugh, a film that captured the uncertainty of life in Germany after World War I with such sharp emotion that it hinted at the decade to come—and changed cinema forever.
For Blondi, shot 100 years later, the camera was strapped to a dog. Lexie, a seven-month-old German shepherd, plays the title character—Hitler’s last dog, possibly the most famous hound in geopolitics. But she’s also the co-director of photography, or “cinemadographer” if you prefer, as both Pablo Álvarez-Hornia (the film’s producer) and Jack Salvadori (its co-director) certainly do. This makes for a unique cinematic experience. Sometimes you feel a bit queasy from the sudden changes in pace and odd angles. “Some things need to be uncomfortable,” says Álvarez-Hornia, “and in a way, it needed to be dirtier, grittier, and uglier for it to work.”
The image throughout is framed by Lexie’s two perky ears, since the camera is on her back. Salvadori loves the unexpected elements most, “the shakiness, for instance, is something I’d never thought of. And that’s why I really wanted to trust the dog for this project—because I wanted to see a completely different creative input.” Originally from Italy, Salvadori, 29, met Álvarez-Hornia, 27 and from Spain, in Cannes six years ago; both had studied directing in London.
Salvadori has always loved dogs; Álvarez-Hornia is allergic but was “happy to sacrifice a bit of my health to make that movie.” The premiere of the short film was paired with a behind-the-scenes documentary, which was hilarious—part adventure, part descent into chaos. Even though the dog element is the most experimental, none of the filmmaking was what you’d call conventional. For one thing, they didn’t get permission to shoot, so behind every scene is a crew trying to turn a hotel room or London’s Senate House into a 1940s government office without getting caught by security. But the film itself isn’t funny.
From 1941, when she was given to Hitler by Nazi party secretary Martin Bormann, Blondi was a propaganda tool, trotted out to show the Führer’s love for animals. She was a symbol of loyalty and control from the days before “emotional support” animals—German citizens would show their Nazi allegiance by keeping a dog that looked like Blondi, and report each other to the Gestapo if they weren’t interested enough in German shepherds. The day before Hitler’s death in April 1945, Blondi performed her last act of service: eating a cyanide pill to test its strength. Though “performed” might be the wrong word, since, as Álvarez-Hornia points out, “Blondi in the film is the truly innocent being. She has no conscience, no ideology, no ability for any moral judgment at all.” The film covers the final moments of the Third Reich, as generals deliver bad news to a trembling Hitler, their fawning doing nothing to change the war’s outcome, and they end up as a skeleton crew in the bunker.
The script was written by Peter Greenaway, “always one of my cinematic heroes,” Salvadori says. “While I was working on Blondi, I realized Greenaway had written a short story about her. I rushed to the library to find it, and it was full of wit and genius.” Greenaway agreed to turn it into a script from this simple starting point.A fan helped out. Cinematographer Robert Richardson also gave advice, telling Salvadori not to use professionally trained dogs: “Just get a real dog that acts like a real dog.” Salvadori says he was “100% right.”
When casting the human roles, the filmmakers were upfront with the actors that no one knew who would actually end up in the film—it all depended on who Lexie happened to look at. “They didn’t have to think about the camera at all,” Salvadori explains. “So it became almost like theater. They were just acting within themselves.” This condition—no guarantee of screen time—limited their pool of actors, but it also shaped the mood of the piece in a fitting way. “All of these generals of Hitler,” Álvarez-Horcnia says, “were chasing the dog for attention, because they knew whoever got the dog’s attention got Hitler’s attention. But they also had to compete with the dog for their boss’s attention, so in a way it mirrored that deep insecurity.” It also captures the indignity of being the last person standing in a fascist death cult: erasing yourself so completely that you’ll grovel before an animal, including a striking scene where a soldier frantically and secretly fights Blondi for a piece of meat.
“I wanted to be amazed myself,” says Salvadori. “For once, I wanted to be the spectator, not just the filmmaker.” Casting Hitler was another challenge, though he notes, “Funnily enough, in the UK, everyone wants to play Hitler. I guess it looks good on your showreel to play the bad guy.” But both he and his producer wanted a German speaker, yet “German actors don’t want to play the Führer. We struggled a lot to find someone who could not only deliver the lines but really vibe with the dog.” They eventually found Nicola Pedrozzi—who doesn’t look like Hitler but captures that frantic, needy coldness—halfway up a Swiss mountain.
“Vibing with the dog” isn’t just a throwaway line. The entire film depends on a creature that’s highly sensitive to atmosphere. “There are no jokes or pratfalls,” says Salvadori. “The idea that you’re watching something so horrible from this unique perspective was the humor we were aiming for. But there’s nothing to laugh at. They’re down in the bunker, and nobody’s happy, not even the dog. Dogs pick up on energies.” The fact that the crew hadn’t yet gotten permission to shoot in that bunker only added to the anxiety and claustrophobia. Imagine being the dog, sensing the grim boredom and the anticlimax of the Nazi defeat, with no idea what any of it meant.
The pair’s next film is a full-length feature set in a colonial villa in South America, about “a Nazi exile who lives in complete seclusion, just maids and a dog. Then his daily routine starts to fall apart, and he has to go into the jungle.” That film, Salvadori says, will be shot more conventionally—and less stressfully. “I couldn’t have given up any more control than I did by handing the camera over to a dog.”
Frequently Asked Questions
Here is a list of FAQs about the article and concept of Lexie the worlds first cinemadographer
Beginner Questions
Q What is a cinemadographer
A Its a madeup word from the article It combines cinematographer with mad It refers to a dog who is trained to film scenes specifically for a dark comedy about a dog who hates Hitler
Q Who is Lexie
A Lexie is a real dog who is trained to operate a camera on a film set She is the star and the cinemadographer for the short film We Needed a Hitler Who Really Got Along With the Dog
Q Why is the title so weird
A The title is a joke It suggests the filmmakers needed a version of Hitler who was nice to dogs so they could make a movie where the dog is the hero and the villain is a nice Hitler Its a dark absurd comedy
Q Does Lexie actually press the record button
A Yes Lexie is trained to press a large custombuilt button on the camera rig to start and stop filming She doesnt frame the shot perfectly but she triggers the action
Advanced Questions
Q How is Lexie trained to operate a camera
A Lexie was trained using positive reinforcement First she learned to touch a target with her nose Then that target was placed on a large dogfriendly button connected to the camera She now associates pressing the button with getting a reward
Q Is this just a gimmick or is it real filmmaking
A Its a genuine artistic stunt The filmmakers intentionally used Lexies dogseye view to create a unique shaky and unpredictable perspective Its real filmmaking but the aesthetic is deliberately amateur and chaotic to match the absurd tone
Q What kind of camera does Lexie use
