The Mongreloid runs for about nine minutes. It opens with images of a city. Then, with Kuchar having a heartwarmingly one sided conversation with his dog, Bocko. He recants stories of their travels and all the people they've met together. He asks Bocko if he remembers salami and pooping all over San Francisco, "America's favorite city". He remembers their trip to lakes and to see a horse, one who didn't take kindly to Bocko. He relates between them what his dog likes, like curling up with Kuchar as he has dinner, and how his dog's aged since taking some of those trips.
It doesn't come off as too much at first, just Kuchar being wonderfully crazy Kuchar, but it seems to be something else as well. Kuchar is observing the passage of time with his dog, a very close friend. Bocko's been in movies with Kuchar, traveled across the United States with him and now they are in his apartment, eating, playing with toys and just talking. Included is still the vibrant big band music that is characteristic with Kuchar, but the imagery isn't any grander than anyone would remember it being. It's used to illustrate what Kuchar is recalling, rather than create something new to remember, which is usually the take of other Kuchar films. The shots are still aesthetically pleasing, colorful and specific, but the tone of the film is different, more reverent.
In Mongreloid, George Kuchar seems to reflect on time both with his usual absurdness and with a tenderness any man would feel towards his dog. All in all, Mongreloid is a lovely film in which Kuchar shows his audience a different, more sentimental side of himself, a screen presence which continues into some of his later video work. It's really rather sweet.
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