Crucially, the film reframes the concept of “justice.” It argues that legal punishment is insufficient; what the Bagbys really want is the impossible: the return of their son and grandson. The film ends not with a verdict but with a dedication to Zachary—a child who never got to read the letter. That final title card is a gut-punch, but also a strange act of love. The film fails to save Zachary, but it ensures he will never be forgotten. Rating: ★★★★½ (4.5/5) – Half-star deducted only because the film’s relentless anguish can verge on numbing, and its anti-Canadian legal system polemic, while justified, lacks nuance. (Canadian viewers may wince at the broad-brush condemnation.)
The film’s central question is not “Who killed Andrew Bagby?” but “Why does a system protect a killer over victims?” Kuenne’s rage is laser-focused on Canada’s bail laws, but he’s wise enough to show that anger alone is simplistic. The deeper wound is existential: How do you go on living when the world refuses to deliver justice? Dear Zachary raises uncomfortable ethical questions. Is it right to show Andrew’s parents sobbing uncontrollably? To broadcast the details of a toddler’s death? Kuenne never asks permission from the audience; he forces intimacy. Some critics argue the film crosses into emotional pornography—using real suffering for dramatic effect.
Survivors of child loss, intimate partner violence, or severe trauma. This film is a weapon, not a comfort.
Dear Zachary is not merely a documentary; it is a cinematic howl of grief, a homemade weapon of outrage, and a love letter soaked in tragedy. What begins as a sentimental biographical scrapbook for an unborn child quickly morphs into a true-crime nightmare and then, devastatingly, into a searing indictment of legal and social systems. To review it deeply is to navigate a minefield of emotion, because Kuenne’s film achieves something rare: it weaponizes the viewer’s empathy against them, leaving you shattered, furious, and fundamentally changed. The Structural Genius: The Bait-and-Switch of Genre Kuenne, a composer and filmmaker, starts the film as a memorial for his murdered best friend, Dr. Andrew Bagby. Using home videos, interviews, and his own warm narration, he paints a portrait of Andrew as a brilliant, joyful, beloved doctor. The aesthetic is intimate—grainy footage, heartfelt piano scores, talking heads wiping away tears. The intended audience is Zachary, Andrew’s unborn son.