A party, documented.
The film opens on a nose. Specifically hers, at a distance of roughly four inches, beneath a party hat trimmed in pink pom-poms and above a bandana tied with a yellow ribbon she will spend the next fifty seconds trying to ignore.
From there, the playroom, where a bubble machine has been running long enough to glaze the floor. Her guests include a white terrier who has clearly done this before, a shaggy black-and-white dog who has claimed the step-stool, and a beagle who appears only for the pupcakes. Kirby, the birthday girl, spends a good part of her own party walking past the camera at a steady and dignified pace.
Then the photo wall. Someone kneels on the floor, holds her, and kisses her on the side of the head. Kirby leans into it, eyes half closed, hat still on. It is the only footage in the archive of her being held, and she accepts it the way she accepts all affection: as her due.
The pupcakes are pink. Kirby, as the birthday girl, gets hers first, by the photo wall, hat still on. The rest go through the crate doors one at a time, and each guest receives theirs with the gravity the occasion deserves. None of them last long.
