Films depicting the world through the eyes of a child are layered. Sometimes they’re full of youthful fanaticism; at others, unbridled terror. Often, they’re an uncanny cocktail of both. Works likeCome and See,Pan’s Labyrinth,Mid90s,CloseandThe Florida Projectallput children at the center of divergent narratives. Entering the ring in 2025 is writer, director and star Embeth Davidtz’s (Miss Honeyfor the whimsical) Telluride Film Festival entryDon’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight, based on Alexandra Fuller’s impactful 2001 memoir of the same name. The clunky title is part of a quote from British humorist writer and poet A.P. Herbert: “Don’t let’s go the dogs tonight, for mother will be there.” The film follows the tumultuous childhood of 8-year-old Bobo Fuller as she navigates life on her family farm in Zimbabwe (formerly Rhodesia) during the Rhodesian Bush War, also known as the Zimbabwean War of Independence, circa 1980.
Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight
Played by captivating first-time actor Lexi Venter, a perpetually disheveled Bobo scurries around the farm riding dirt bikes, carrying guns, smoking cigarettes and turning anyone she can find into her playmate. As she bonds with a Black African woman named Sarah (Zikhona Bali) who “lives on the farm,” viewers watch as Bobo simultaneously cherishes her white family’s servant — she listens to folk stories from Sarah’s culture and asks her personal questions — and bosses her around in a way that screams of learned racism.
Bobo and her family represent white neo-imperialism after the “Scramble for Africa.” Bobo’s indoctrination reveals itself throughout the film: Assertions that “Africans and whites are not the same” sting as they leave her tiny lips. Still, her heart and conscience are independent enough to spot when something isn’t right and blatant injustices play out in front of her face. Though these moments offer glimmers of hope, two things can be true at once: A scene that shows Bobo playing house with her young Black African peers, making them pets and obedient servants who bring her tea at the snap of a finger, is deeply haunting.
Nuance is key to any good film, nonfiction or otherwise. Davidtz’s depiction of the Fuller family’s existence includes generational bigotry as well as fear, uncertainty, violence, grief, addiction and poverty. To be a child living on land at the center of a violent national conflict is to see far too much and understand not nearly enough. Davidtz and Venter’s enlightening collaboration puts this unruly upbringing on display in ways that dazzle and challenge viewers.
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Davidtz’s directorial debut is one she holds close, as she herself grew up in South Africa during a time of political change. Her vision as a filmmaker is sharp and fresh, and her quest for an authentic Bobo pays off in a big way inDon’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight.
Similar toOscar winner Sean Baker’s method for casting Florida-based kids Christopher Rivera and Valeria Cotto for his dreamy 2017 dramaThe Florida Project, Davidtz’s desire for authenticity led her to take a more organic approach via a Facebook casting call. “I said, ‘I want a dirty, feral, wild little child. Barefoot, unspoiled, unsophisticated, who likes horses and maybe could ride a motorbike,'“Davidtz recalled during a panel interview.
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Venter guides the audience in a way only a little kid can, strutting around confidently and picking wedgies. Her big eyes and partially toothless smile are warm and familiar, and a blonde rat’s nest and dirt stains adorning her face and clothing add to the childlike sense of adventure that carries the film. Home is not a place of ease for Bobo, who lives with her angsty older sister Vanessa (Anina Reed), her alcoholic, paranoid police officer mother (Davidtz) and her soldier father (Rob van Vuuren), whose tepid presence is overshadowed by his wife’s volatility.
Not only does Bobo’s mother, Nicola, make the home an unstable war zone, but she feeds her antagonistic tendencies and hateful attitudes to her daughter. Seeing Nicola sleep in silk pajamas while snuggling a firearm is jarring, as is watching her shoot a cobra slithering into the kitchen. Whether she’s harming African wildlife or threatening Black African people while defending “her land,” Davidtz’s characterization of Nicola both embodies and instills fear. She’s a broken, mentally ill woman who is petrified that her farm and horses will be taken from her. She drowns her pain with alcohol and pills, or uses it as ammunition against Sarah, Sarah’s partner Jacob (Fumani Shilubana) and other Black Africans who work on the land.
The farm only belongs to the Fullers because of white minority rule. As Jacob says: “This farm belonged to our ancestors. We are the children of the soil.” Jacob frequently scolds the innately maternal Sarah for letting little white Bobo shoot her orders and disrespect their ancestral land. He shames even the slightest of injustices — like Bobo gently carving her own name into the dry brown skin on Sarah’s leg — forcing others to see the effects neo-imperialism has on native Africans. While Jacob’s point of view is important, he’s unfortunately the only prominent Black African character to repeatedly speak up with intensity and determination. His somewhat superficial character evokes the “Magical Negro” trope, offering wise, if harsh, truths to Bobo and the audience.
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While Bobo loves Africa and insists that she herself is African, she can’t understand the historical weight of her life there. “Until last year, the country we live in was called Rhodesia. But then some Africans said they found it first, and then the Euros stole it from them. But then those Africans turned into terrorists, and that’s how the war started,” she explains early on in the film. Like a parrot, she repeats the twisted words she hears from her parents and their white friends. Still, self-awareness prevails, as when she asks her grandmother, who resides in a pristine gated community, “Are we racists?” Bobo knows something is wrong, but can’t quite put her finger on why each side of the war raises conflicting morals.
An unsettling scene that sees Bobo freeze at the bleak sight of bloodied Black African prisoners of war swiftly cuts to our blasé young protagonist lying upside down on a wooden bench, as if she’s already forgotten this dehumanizing atrocity. This scrupulous editing honors Bobo’s twisted reality as a child who has seen a fair amount of bloodshed and heard a fair amount of dogma that prioritizes white convenience and power. If not for beacons of hope like Sarah and Jacob — characters who deserve to be more than just illuminating educators for imperfect white protagonists — Bobo’s perspective on the birth of Zimbabwe, and her overall worldview, may be skewed beyond repair.
Whether she’s chewing her hair or fiddling with the cord on a set of blinds, the minuscule details of Venter’s lived-in performance bring a tangible realism to a beautiful adaptation that skims the horror, fantasy and adventure genres. Willie Nel’s ethereal cinematography exquisitely lends itself to a big story told from a little girl’s viewpoint, capturing the way she traverses a vibrant world plagued with turmoil. Additionally, Davidtz’s personally influenced direction and writing deserve commendation for delicately highlighting the “disconnect between [adults’] explanations” and the “experiences of reality as children” mentioned in her official director’s statement. Bobo’s unconventional childhood is littered with villains, monsters, animal sidekicks and stories of magic ancestors. But her imagination’s portrayal of Sarah as the Queen of Zimbabwe is where the film’s message of hope shines most brightly.
From Sony Pictures Classics,Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonighthits U.S. theaters on August 08, 2025.
