In China They Eat Dogs

In the quiet rhythm of a small Danish city, Arvid works the teller window at a modest bank, his days a careful choreography of numbers and polite smiles. He shares a comfortable, if unremarkable, partnership with his girlfriend, a relationship that grounds him as much as it quietly hints at something missing. The everyday is cushioned by familiar faces and the predictable hum of a community that seems to move at a measured pace.

All of that steadiness is jolted when a sudden robbery erupts inside the very walls where Arvid spends his hours. Instinct and an unexpected burst of courage push him into the fray, and the clash leaves his routine irrevocably altered. The incident ripples through the town’s otherwise placid atmosphere, turning ordinary streets into spaces where tension and possibility coexist.

As the dust settles, Arvid finds himself drawn into circles that were previously only peripheral—an aging sister‑in‑law with hidden motives, a brother named Harald who carries his own shadows, and a network of acquaintances whose lives intersect in ways that blur right and wrong. The film balances a dry, almost deadpan humor with a lingering sense of unease, letting the audience feel both the absurdity and the weight of choices made in moments of crisis. The world feels simultaneously familiar and off‑kilter, a place where small personal dramas echo larger questions about destiny and agency.

Through these shifting relationships and the lingering echo of that first daring act, the story invites curiosity about how far a man will go when the predictable confines of his life crack open, and what new realities await him beyond the confines of the bank’s glass doors.

Last Updated: October 27, 2025 at 16:29