How to Steal a Dog (2014) Review – When Innocence Meets Desperation

 

A warm, healing-style illustration inspired by How to Steal a Dog (2014) — a Korean film about hope, family, and small acts of courage.

🎥 Film Overview

Title	How to Steal a Dog (개를 훔치는 완벽한 방법 / Gaereul humchineun wanbyeokhan bangbeop)
Literal Translation	The Perfect Way to Steal a Dog
Director	Kim Sung-ho
Screenplay	Kim Sung-ho, Shin Yeon-shick
Based on	Novel "How to Steal a Dog" by Barbara O'Connor
Genre	Drama, Family, Coming-of-Age
Release Date	December 19, 2014 (South Korea)
Runtime	109 minutes (1h 49m)
Country	South Korea
Language	Korean
Cast	Lee Re (Ji-so), Hong Eun-taek (Ji-seok), Lee Ji-won (Chae-rang), Kang Hye-jung (Jeong-hyeon), Kim Hye-ja (Old Lady), Choi Min-soo (Dae-po), Lee Chun-hee (Soo-young), Lee Hong-gi (Seok-gu)
Producer	Eom Yong-hun, Lee Seong-hwan
Distributor	Little Big Pictures, Daemyung Culture Factory
Rating	G (All Ages)
IMDb	6.9/10

📖 Plot Summary

Ten-year-old Ji-so's world collapses when her father disappears after their family's pizza business goes bankrupt. Suddenly homeless, Ji-so finds herself living in a cramped car with her younger brother Ji-seok and their exhausted mother Jeong-hyeon, who works multiple jobs but can barely keep them fed, let alone afford stable housing. The children technically have a roof—the car's ceiling—but no place they can truly call home.

For Ji-so, homelessness isn't just about lacking shelter; it's about being invisible at school, where her classmates don't know her secret, and about the crushing weight of responsibility she feels as the eldest child. She's still just a little girl who dreams of having a birthday party in a real house, yet circumstances have forced her to grow up too fast, taking care of her mischievous brother while her mother struggles to survive.

One day, Ji-so spots a missing dog poster offering a $500 reward—the exact amount she naively believes would be enough to buy her family a house. With childlike logic and desperate determination, she hatches what seems like the perfect plan: "borrow" a wealthy family's dog, wait for them to post a reward, then "find" the dog and return it to collect the money. It's not quite stealing, she tells herself. It's more like... temporary borrowing for a good cause.

Her target is Wolly, a small, gentle dog belonging to a wealthy elderly woman who lives on the very street where their car is parked. Together with her best friend Chae-rang and reluctantly accompanied by Ji-seok, Ji-so embarks on her "perfect" heist. But as she spends time caring for Wolly in an abandoned building, something unexpected happens: the act of nurturing another living creature begins to nurture something in Ji-so herself. The dog becomes more than a means to an end—it becomes a companion, a responsibility, and a source of comfort she desperately needs.

As Ji-so's plan unfolds, she encounters Dae-po, a homeless man who takes up residence in the same abandoned building. Through these intersecting lives—a child trying to save her family, a dog caught in the middle, and an adult society has forgotten—the film gently explores what happens when survival forces good people to cross ethical lines, and whether compassion can exist even in the most desperate circumstances.

🌸 Key Themes

Poverty Through a Child's Eyes

How to Steal a Dog never sensationalizes or exploits Ji-so's homelessness for melodrama. Instead, it observes how poverty quietly reshapes a child's worldview and moral compass. Ji-so doesn't blame her mother or resent her circumstances with adult bitterness; she simply sees a problem and tries to solve it with the limited tools available to a ten-year-old. Her plan to "steal" a dog isn't born from greed or malice—it's an act of love and desperation wrapped in childlike innocence. The film asks us to see the world through her eyes and recognize that what looks like a moral failing might actually be a child's brave, misguided attempt to save her family.

The Complexity of Right and Wrong

The film's greatest strength lies in its refusal to offer easy moral answers. Is what Ji-so does wrong? Yes, objectively. Should we judge her harshly for it? The film suggests otherwise. By placing us firmly in Ji-so's perspective, the movie reveals how ethical boundaries blur when survival is at stake. She's not a villain—she's a frightened child trying to fix a situation that adults created and abandoned her to navigate alone. The film trusts its audience to hold this tension: to understand that Ji-so's actions are both wrong and understandable, that we can simultaneously wish she'd make different choices while recognizing she feels she has no better options.

Healing Through Responsibility and Connection

One of the film's most beautiful transformations happens quietly: as Ji-so cares for Wolly—feeding him, keeping him safe, worrying about his wellbeing—she experiences something she's been denied in her own chaotic life: the feeling of being needed, capable, and protective. Taking care of another living creature becomes an unexpected form of emotional healing. The dog isn't just part of her plan; it becomes a mirror reflecting back her capacity for love, gentleness, and responsibility. Through this relationship, Ji-so begins to recover a sense of agency and self-worth that homelessness had stripped away. The film suggests that sometimes, healing comes not from having our needs met, but from meeting someone else's.

💭 Personal Reflection

This is such a beautiful film. Adults create unhappiness and hardship, and when those burdens fall onto a child's shoulders, the film never depicts them as merely heavy or tragic. Instead, it shows us—with tenderness and affection—a child's earnest, almost endearing attempts to solve problems too big for her small hands.

This isn't about right or wrong. It's about survival, about protecting family, about the small acts of courage Ji-so musters—and the film quietly reveals just how lonely and desperate each of those steps truly is. And through the process of caring for the dog, something emerges: a sense of responsibility, a protective instinct, an emotional recovery Ji-so herself didn't know she needed. If she were beside me, I'd want to gently pat her head in quiet comfort.

These moments of warmth don't announce themselves loudly. There are no grand speeches, no dramatic scenes. Just quiet, silent gestures that keep the child from falling apart—small comforts standing beside her. Like those fleeting moments when we drink tea while listening to music, or stare blankly out the window and something peaceful settles over us.

This film doesn't show us miracles. Instead, it tells us that even the smallest change can become a force that nudges life forward. A perfect happy ending isn't necessary. As long as there's even a small thread of hope, however imperfect, we find the strength to keep walking.  And that strength, that hope—they often arrive in the most ordinary moments of daily life. In the simple act of gazing out a sun-filled window. Like a small ember that had almost gone out, quietly rekindling into flame.

완전한 해피엔딩이 아니어도 괜찮다. 불완전하더라도 아주 작은 희망이 있다면 우리는 다시 걸어갈 힘을 얻는다. 마치 거의 꺼져가던 작은 불씨가 다시 타오를 수 있는 것처럼.

(A reflection in my native Korean—because some truths about hope and resilience feel more honest in the language of your heart.)

🎬 What Makes This Film Special

Kim Sung-ho's Gentle, Observational Direction

Director Kim Sung-ho (who would later create the acclaimed Netflix series Move to Heaven) demonstrates remarkable restraint and emotional intelligence in his approach. Rather than manipulating viewers with obvious tearjerker moments, he observes Ji-so's world with patience and compassion. The camera often stays at the children's eye level, making us experience their reality rather than observe it from above. Kim trusts his young actors and trusts his audience, allowing small gestures—a hesitant smile, a protective hand on a brother's shoulder, the way Ji-so's face lights up when caring for Wolly—to communicate volumes. The film never preaches about poverty or morality; it simply shows and lets us feel.

Extraordinary Performance by Lee Re

In her film debut, young actress Lee Re delivers a performance of stunning naturalism and emotional depth. She carries nearly every scene of this 109-minute film, and never once does she feel like she's "acting"—she simply is Ji-so. Lee Re captures the heartbreaking duality of childhood forced to mature too quickly: one moment she's playfully scheming with friends, the next her eyes reveal the weight of responsibilities no ten-year-old should carry. Her ability to communicate fear, determination, guilt, hope, and resilience through subtle shifts in expression is extraordinary. The film succeeds or fails based on whether we believe in and care about Ji-so, and Lee Re makes us believe completely.

The Supporting Ensemble

Every supporting character is rendered with three-dimensional humanity. Kang Hye-jung as Ji-so's mother conveys the exhaustion and helplessness of a parent who wants desperately to protect her children but lacks the means. Kim Hye-ja brings unexpected depth to the wealthy elderly dog owner, avoiding the "rich villain" stereotype. Choi Min-soo's Dae-po, the homeless man, could have been reduced to comic relief or tragedy, but the film treats him with dignity and complexity. Even Lee Ji-won's Chae-rang, Ji-so's best friend, feels authentic—a child who wants to help but doesn't fully grasp the severity of Ji-so's situation. The film refuses to paint anyone as purely good or evil; everyone is just trying to survive with varying degrees of success and compassion.

Visual Warmth Amidst Hardship

The cinematography balances realism with warmth. Despite depicting homelessness and poverty, the film is shot with natural lighting and soft colors that prevent it from becoming visually oppressive. Scenes with Wolly—whether in the abandoned building or running through small neighborhood streets—are bathed in gentle sunlight, creating pockets of visual comfort. The contrast between the cramped car interior and open outdoor spaces mirrors Ji-so's emotional journey from confinement toward hope. The film looks like how childhood should feel—even when circumstances have stolen that feeling away.

The Healing Presence of Animals

Wolly the dog is more than a plot device—he becomes a genuine character whose presence transforms the film. The scenes of Ji-so caring for Wolly aren't sentimental but deeply moving, showing how the simple act of nurturing another living being can restore a sense of purpose and self-worth. The dog becomes a safe recipient of Ji-so's affection, protection, and responsibility—all things she desperately wants to give but feels powerless to provide for her own family. In Korean cinema, animals often serve as symbols of innocence and healing (as seen in films like Hearty Paws), and Wolly continues this tradition beautifully.

🎥 Behind the Scenes

Did You Know?

• How to Steal a Dog is based on the 2007 young adult novel of the same name by American author Barbara O'Connor. The book was set in North Carolina, but director Kim Sung-ho and screenwriter Shin Yeon-shick successfully adapted it to a Korean context, making it feel authentically Korean while preserving the novel's emotional core about childhood poverty and moral complexity.

• This was director Kim Sung-ho's second feature film, following Notebook from My Mother (2018). He would go on to create the internationally acclaimed Netflix series Move to Heaven (2021), which similarly explores themes of compassion, family, and society's forgotten people. His gentle, humanistic approach to storytelling—focused on everyday people facing extraordinary circumstances—became his signature style.

• Lead actress Lee Re was just ten years old during filming, the same age as her character Ji-so. Despite having no prior film experience, she delivered such a compelling performance that she won Best New Actress at the Buil Film Awards. She has since become one of Korea's most promising young actresses, appearing in films like Train to Busan (2016) and Happy New Year (2021).

• The film was shot on Jeju Island, South Korea, from June to September 2014. The production team worked carefully with child actors and real dogs to ensure ethical treatment during filming. The scenes between Lee Re and Wolly were developed through weeks of bonding time before cameras rolled, allowing the genuine affection between child and dog to shine through on screen.

🎯 Who Should Watch This Film

✅ Families seeking meaningful films that children and adults can watch together
✅ Anyone interested in honest portrayals of poverty without sensationalism
✅ Fans of Korean coming-of-age films with emotional depth
✅ Viewers who appreciate stories about moral complexity rather than clear-cut lessons
✅ People who love films featuring children and animals with authentic relationships
✅ Those seeking stories about resilience, hope, and small acts of courage
✅ Anyone who enjoys gentle, observational filmmaking that trusts its audience

🌍 Where to Watch (2025)

• Streaming: Amazon Prime Video (subscription), Amazon Prime Video with Ads, Netflix (select regions), The Roku Channel (coming September 1, 2025)
• Free with Ads: AsianCrush, Plex, Plex Player
• Rent/Buy: Amazon Video, Apple TV, Google Play Movies, YouTube
• Physical Media: Available on DVD

Availability may vary by region. Check JustWatch for current streaming options in your location.

📝 Final Thoughts

How to Steal a Dog is not a film that offers easy comfort or simple solutions. It doesn't promise that being a good person guarantees protection from hardship, or that children's innocence will always be preserved, or that one act of courage will fix everything broken in the world. Instead, it offers something more valuable and harder to find: honesty wrapped in tenderness.

The film looks directly at childhood poverty—not as a backdrop for sentimentality, but as a lived reality that shapes how children see the world and themselves. It acknowledges that survival sometimes forces good people to make questionable choices, and asks us to hold compassion alongside judgment. Most remarkably, it shows how hope can persist even in the most precarious circumstances, not as a dramatic rescue but as a small ember that refuses to go out completely.

What makes this film truly special is its refusal to condescend to either its characters or its audience. It trusts that we can handle moral ambiguity. It believes that children—even when they make mistakes—deserve understanding rather than punishment. It insists that poverty is not a character flaw but a systemic failure. And it reminds us that sometimes, the smallest acts of care—feeding a dog, protecting a sibling, choosing honesty even when it's costly—can become the foundation for healing and growth.

For viewers seeking films that soothe rather than lecture, that illuminate rather than exploit, that find beauty even in struggle, How to Steal a Dog is exactly the kind of cinematic sanctuary we need. It's a film that makes you want to gently pat a child's head and whisper: "You're doing your best, and that matters. Keep going."

And perhaps that's the greatest gift any film can offer—the reminder that even a small thread of hope, however imperfect, is still hope, that small changes can nudge life forward, and that even when happiness feels impossible, warmth can still be found in the ordinary moments we often overlook. Like sunlight streaming through a window. Like a small flame rekindling. Like a child's determined heart refusing to give up.

💬 Join the Conversation

Have you watched How to Steal a Dog? Did Ji-so's situation make you think differently about childhood poverty or the choices people make under pressure? What moments in the film touched your heart most? And if you could give Ji-so one thing, what would it be? Share your thoughts in the comments below—I'd love to hear how this film resonated with you.

🎬 More from Cinematic Sanctuaries

If you loved this exploration of complex relationships, discover more heartfelt films about connection:

• The World of Us - Childhood friendship, loneliness, and then pain of exclusion
• The Way Home - A city boy learns love and patience from his rural grandmother
• Reply 1988 - Growing up, friendship, and the bittersweet process of coming of age
• Little Forest - Finding peace and healing through simple living