Dogs’ Feast

In the cold, waning winter of the Soviet Union’s final years, a bleak Leningrad awakens to the hush of New Year’s celebrations. Zhanna, a disheveled toilet‑cleaner whose days are stitched together by routine and the shadow of alcoholism, clings to an ache for something brighter—a lover, a sense of belonging, a life beyond the grime she sweeps away. The city’s stark corridors and frozen streets echo her quiet desperation, framing a world where hope feels as fragile as the frost on a windowpane.

On a night when the city seems poised between decay and renewal, Zhanna encounters a solitary stranger sitting on a bench at the train station. He is Arkady, a man whose sobriety sets him apart in a place where drinking is almost a ritual. Their meeting is accidental, yet it erupts with a quiet tension: his restrained dignity collides with her chaotic habits, hinting at the possibility of an unexpected companionship that could shift the balance of both their lives.

The film moves with a muted, almost documentary‑like precision, using intimate close‑ups and muted colour palettes to underline the loneliness that settles over the characters like winter snow. Dialogue is sparse, allowing the raw visual language—flickering streetlights, the clatter of trains, the hush of empty apartments—to convey the emotional undercurrent. A neighbor, a hairdresser named Sasha, drifts into the periphery, offering a glimpse of ordinary life that feels both tantalising and out of reach.

Within this austere tableau, Zhanna and Arkady navigate the fragile boundary between self‑destruction and the yearning for redemption. Their contrasting habits, unspoken histories, and the stark surroundings create a tense intimacy that promises both possibility and uncertainty, inviting the audience to wonder whether the cold of their world can ever truly thaw.

Last Updated: December 03, 2025 at 23:41