DIEVA SUNS

Latvia, United States

Animation

In a 17th-century Swedish Livonian village, constant rain and drunkenness prevail. When a stolen relic sparks witchcraft accusations, an 80-year-old self-proclaimed werewolf named The Dog of God arrives with a mysterious gift: The Devil's Balls. This triggers a chain of unexpected events that climaxes in a wild sexual rave party, transforming the village into a frenzy of unleashed desires.

Directed by: Raitis Ābele, Lauris Ābele
Written by: Raitis Ābele, Lauris Ābele, Harijs Grundmanis, Ivo Briedis
Produced by: Raitis Ābele, Kristele Pudāne, Giovanni Labadessa
Cinematography: Mārcis Ābele
Editing: Raitis Ābele, Lauris Ābele
Production Design: Zanda Zeidaka
Costume Design: Līga Krāsone
Make-Up & Hair: Zane Žilinska, Anete Šidlovska
Original Score: Lauris Ābele
Sound: Enrico Zavatta, Jānis Zaneribs
Visual Effects: Artūrs Gore, Kristina Rezviha, Arnis Hāgendorfs
Animation: Harijs Grundmanis, Aigars Gercāns
Casting: Marta Dzene
Cast: Jurģis Spulenieks (Klibis), Agate Krista (Neze), Regnārs Vaivars (Buckholz), Kristians Kareļins (Baron), Einars Repše (Tiss), Madara Madi (Baroness), Armands Berģis (Pirsenu Tenis)

Statement of the directors:
DOG OF GOD is a film about belief – wild, unruly belief that refuses to be tamed by the official narratives of its time. It is inspired by the remarkable 1692 trial of Thiess of Kaltenbrun, an 82-year-old Livonian peasant who stood before a court and declared himself a werewolf. But unlike the cursed beasts of Western folklore, Thiess claimed that he and others – the “Dogs of God” – descended into Hell to fight witches and demons, protect the harvest, and ensure the wellbeing of their community.
This flips the werewolf myth on its head. In Livonian tradition, the werewolf was not a monster but a defender, a remnant of pagan and shamanistic worldviews that saw nature, the underworld, and the spirit realm as interconnected. By the late 17th century, this worldview was nearly extinct, suppressed by Christian authorities. Yet in court, Thiess spoke of it openly, even defiantly, turning his trial into a stage for cosmic theatre and spiritual resistance.
The film takes the archetype of the Trickster Arrival and places it in the courtroom. Thiess, eccentric and sharp-witted, disrupts the rigid proceedings with visions of battles in Hell, spectral wolves, and the geography of the afterlife. Through him, we explore themes of resilience, identity, and survival in a land caught between empires – Swedish, Polish, German, and Russian – each leaving layers of language, religion, and law, yet never fully erasing older beliefs.
DOG OF GOD is both a historical detective story and a spiritual journey into a lost Baltic cosmology. It sheds light on a piece of history long silenced under Soviet rule, reclaiming a folklore that speaks to defiance and the endurance of cultural memory.
Visually, the film draws from classical Latvian and Estonian art, yet is steeped in the mythic density of Bosch, the surreal landscapes of Moebius, the raw force of Frank Frazetta, the stark shadows of Mike Mignola, and the otherworldly textures of H.R. Giger. The tone is sharpened with satirical, absurdist flourishes – sometimes almost Monty Python-like – reflecting the inherent dark humor of survival on the cultural margins.
Working with visionary artist Harijs Grundmanis, we designed a world where history bleeds into dream. The trial room might dissolve into visions of Hell, and a mundane village lane can open into a mythic battlefield. Humor and horror coexist, as they often do in real folklore.
Rotoscope animation was our natural choice. It preserves the intimacy of live-action performances – every micro-expression, every flicker of doubt – while allowing the surrounding world to distort, mutate, and slide into the supernatural. This technique mirrors the Baltic cultural landscape itself: layers of history and myth overlaid, yet never entirely erasing what lies beneath.
For me, the process also carries a metaphor. Rotoscoping traces over something real to create something transformed, just as Baltic pagan traditions persisted under layers of imposed religion and ideology. The old beliefs were never fully erased – they simply changed shape, hiding in folktales, rituals, and seasonal rites.
Growing up in post-Soviet Latvia, I felt the residue of that layered history everywhere: Soviet rationalism insisting on one truth, older folk wisdom quietly insisting on another. Thiess’s defiance – his refusal to abandon his cosmology – feels like a direct ancestor to that quiet persistence.
Thematically, the film operates on several levels. It is a courtroom drama turned supernatural adventure. It is an investigation into an obscure corner of European history. And it is a meditation on the human need to frame life, death, and suffering within a larger cosmic order.
I am especially drawn to the paradox at the heart of Thiess’s story: a man accused of theft who defends himself by describing epic battles in Hell. The court expected a legal plea; they got a mythic testimony. This collision of the mundane and the mystical is where the film lives – oscillating between satire and sincerity, grotesque humor and moments of real transcendence.
If one phrase captures the world of DOG OF GOD, it is: The Kingdom of Werewolves. Not the cursed creatures of horror cinema, but guardians who walk into darkness so that the light can return. Their loyalty is not to a crown or a church, but to the living earth and the people who tend it.
Thiess’s testimony may have sounded absurd to the court, but in his absurdity was also courage. He embodied a belief system already half-buried, yet still breathing. In telling his story, I hope to give voice to those beliefs – not to romanticise the past, but to recognise the complexity, humour, and vitality of a culture that history has often written out.
Ultimately, DOG OF GOD is a love letter to the peripheries – geographic, cultural, and spiritual. It is an act of reclamation, pulling a nearly forgotten story from the archives and letting it live again in the elastic, transformative space of animation. I want the audience to laugh, to question, to feel the strange beauty of a worldview in which a wolf’s duty is to protect the harvest, and the path to salvation runs straight through Hell.
Cinema can be many things – entertainment, argument, dream, ritual. With DOG OF GOD, I want it to be all of these at once: a bridge between centuries, between history and myth, between the rational and the wild.

Production:
Tritone Studio
https://www.filmstritone.com/

World Sales, Press/Social Media Agency:
Media Move
https://mediamove.pl/