A lumpishly charming peasantry and squiggly line-drawing landscapes successfully convey a mood of modernist naivete, while the story, unfortunately, strives too hard for a complementary simplicity. A traveling photographer with no luck in his profession, finds that his pony -- by chomping on the red bulb of the camera -- takes beautiful pictures every time. The many examples and extended celebration of the pony's unaccountable talent stretches a single idea rather thin, and though the pony's snapshots are pleasant enough they rate only passing notice.