on this and that, #2 Sep 2025

In 2023, I began playing competitive league pub pool. I respect that this is relatively niche, so I’ve found the most effective way to explain it is: it’s like social netball, but it’s pool. In doing so, I found myself surrounded by men and developed some unlikely friendships with many of them in the process. Prior to this, I had no male friends; to say I was fascinated by some of the behaviour I observed would be an understatement. However, what shocked me the most was their freedom. Now, I respect that these were all my assumptions, and I know for a fact that they have worries, concerns and problems like everyone else; however, I couldn’t help but compare myself to them regardless. It felt like their default approach to life was that things would work out, and mine was that things wouldn’t. They would get high as kites on pool comp nights, or drink to oblivion on a random Wednesday, just, well, because. They were having fun! They were living their youth! They threw the best parties and were always laughing. I, however, couldn’t help but feel like I was doing something wrong, living my youth wrong. Why was I always thinking about the consequences of every single decision I made? Why could I not smoke weed without going non-verbal and having a panic attack? Why couldn’t I just be more like them?

A few months following my, I feel life would be way more fun if I were a man, but I don’t want to be a man spiral, I had a chat with one of my female friends about it (thank fucking god). She spoke about how, although people always talk about women developing their frontal lobes before men, a large part of our sense of responsibility comes from the ways in which we are socialised to be held more accountable as women, and men are all too often afforded the luxury of the archaic “boys will be boys” mindset.

So… how is this relevant to Dogs in Space?

I will start off by pointing out 2 things: 1) I love this movie (like I’m talking Letterboxd top 4), and 2) for those who keep asking, it is not literally about dogs in space (sorry!). With utmost authenticity, Richard Lowenstein’s Dogs in Space (1986) tells the tale of a 1978 dilapidated Richmond share house (didn’t know Richmond used to be cool), and the social misfits who inhabit it. Following the eccentric housemates around in their day-to-day lives (mostly comprised of a lot of fuck all and a bit of music making), the film mainly focuses on Sam (Michael Hutchence) and Anna (Saskia Post), two characters who are madly in love with music, partying, and each other (and drugs, but we will get to that).  

The film begins with the lyrics to Iggy Pop’s “Dogfood” sprawled across the screen, reading, “We’re living on dog food, so what!” This perfectly encapsulates the next 90 minutes: a tale of apathetic, middle-class youth rebelling without a cause. The camera pans to reveal Sam and Anna, making out amongst other punks camping out for David Bowie tickets; however, they are interrupted by some hooligans who target Sam, specifically asking him, “Hey…you… are you a poofta or a stupida?” Sam is completely out of it (a state he is in, the entirety of the film), and a determined Anna stands up, promptly telling the man to “Fuck off”. She gets shoved in the process, with another woman coming to her aid, eventually breaking a glass over his head. They both start using whatever is at their disposal to hit the men and their car, driving them away, all while Sam has remained sitting on his arse, a blanket over his head.

Now.

In an interview with Saskia Post, she has said that she believes a large part of Anna’s drug use was in an attempt to understand Sam, the apparent love of her life, and what he was experiencing. She, like Sam, is white, middle-class, and immersed in the punk scene. However, unlike Sam, throughout the film, she is seen attempting to find a new job, going to work and paying for things. There’s a nuance and, albeit minor, sense of responsibility to her approach to life. She is tentative to do heroin, and, as we see later, rightfully so.

The final scene, where Anna is taken away by a shimmering lime green limousine, haunted me for weeks after watching the film, but I couldn’t quite figure out why. The film is fun! The music rocks (love Iggy Pop), and the cast are all sexy as hell. Upon reflection, I realised it recalibrates our viewing experience; the characters’ illusion of invincibility is shattered, and the whole scene honestly feels like a punch in the gut. Like, of course, the semi-responsible woman dies. The woman who did nothing but stand up for her stupid boyfriend and love him all the way into her own afterlife, of course, she fucking dies. Yet I still love the film, I love its honesty. Because of this ending, it does not glamourise or glorify; it simply shows. Throughout the film, every aspect of it, from the sound design to the cinematography, forces us into an arguably “objective-seeming” voyeurism. It allows us to watch their lives unfold transparently. The ending is sad, but honest, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Trying to keep up with and live like men (as a woman) is exhausting. Anna’s death felt like confirmation I should stop trying to run like them because, what’s the fucking point, you’ll die anyway if you try. And he’ll stand in the rain all sad because maybe, just maybe, your death will be a chapter in the full-length novel that is his life.