Black Eyed Dog: A Rendezvous with Tragedy.
(a film review and an essay on relationships as collateral damage)
hey, you. it has been far too long. this is an appropriate time, if any, to apologise for my absence. i’ve been mid-quest, fighting ghouls and befriending dragons, all while finishing some daunting master’s research. i have a minor case of performance anxiety, and i’d like to ask that you kindly allow me the space to reintroduce myself into this world of writing.
i’d also like to turn your attention to something critical: firstly, for people unsure about where to begin with the regional escalation in nuclear tensions between Israel and Iran, this op-ed on Al Jazeera is jam-packed with concise but carefully articulated food for thought. secondly, i’d love to remind you that although a few things could hold your attention (ICE protests in the US/propaganda and fear-mongering about South Africa, spread by degenerate fascists, Netanyahu constantly lying, etc), it is important to be mindful of the actions you take as you read and consume media this next week. for one, discussing what you’ve read and watched with friends, family, coworkers, and neighbours would be a great place to start. you cannot read so much information without considering nuances you might have missed in your analysis, by discussing and sharing ideas and working through unclear thoughts with others.
this isn’t just about grasping different perspectives; it’s about what you do with these perspectives (eg, unionising or advocating for legislation changes) and the necessity of collaborating toward solutions. do not be paralysed by the lie that you, as an individual, cannot contribute or make a change in the face of racism, imperialism, anti-environmentalism and apartheid regimes. you have more power than you think, and it does not end at philosophising theories from your bedroom. think higher of yourself and our abilities as a global community. everything begins on the ground.
much love. there is a goodness in June, i swear it <3
pro-tip and content warning: this film is available on YouTube. spoilers are ahead for the story, though it doesn’t matter too much. stop-motion can sometimes be unsettling, so if you’re uncomfortable with slightly fuzzy animatronic-like depictions, the uncanny valley and creatures/people that just look a little bit strange, please go read a different essay of mine instead :)
recently, i watched a short film titled Black Eyed Dog, directed by Alessandro Cino Zolfanelli, released in 2023. the 15-minute stop-motion depicts a man named Franco and his obsession with an aquatic monster he encountered in the woods as a child. over the years, this obsession has fractured his relationship with his dog, who was sidelined as the man fell into monomania, reminiscent of Captain Ahab in Moby Dick.
we’re introduced to Franco as a boy, adventuring through the woods with an analogue camera, capturing photos of wild rabbits and the flora around him. while doing this, he plays fetch with his stark white pup (which i’m convinced is an Oceanic speckle-eared sport hound). i particularly enjoyed this sequence because it made me feel like we, as the audience, were part of the moment; there was a sense that this young boy was experiencing the world’s mysticism through his imagination and the little treasures surrounding him. fun came easily, and i think childhood often feels that way when you’re given the freedom to explore.
this brings me to Zolfanelli’s narrative direction. it was spot-on, especially as we followed the boy and his dog through the forest. like a whip, he heard something split in the air. when the camera panned, a film of ominous white light shadowed some of the trees, and as Franco sought it out, he was met by a mystical figure that floated in the air. it appeared to be some hybrid orca whale-anglerfish, with at least five rows of stacked teeth. it was gross, to say the least. but beyond that, i found it fascinating that Zolfanelli did not choose to create a cheap-thrill fear for us watching, but instead, centred our attention on what this anomaly was doing to Franco. after all, he was a little boy and seeing something like that couldn’t have been digestible. in the blink of an eye, the figure disappeared, without a sound or movement to its being.
he processes this moment by sketching the figure's skeleton onto one of the tree trunks. instead of witnessing the aftermath of this encounter, we jump forward, perhaps several decades later, to an adult Franco. he is worn out, his cabin in the woods cluttered with sketches and drawings of this creature, covering every inch of the walls and floors. there is no space left that doesn't bear the mark of his obsession. Franco appears terrifying and unkempt, his black coat concealing what is likely a neglected body, scarcely fed or bathed. he’s weary, standing at the brink of loneliness and mental decline. yet, his dog, whom i’ve dubbed ‘Ocean’, remains full of life and energy. this contrast is striking, and it becomes evident what has transpired. Franco is utterly consumed by thoughts of this creature, having neglected his beloved companion. each time Ocean tries to play fetch or enter the cabin, Franco bashfully pushes them aside, too immersed in his drawings and thoughts to engage.
i find that there is a lot of space in this narrative to speculate and conjure up theories about what that encounter was, or what it might have symbolised. tons of comments under the video expressed the view that they could resonate with Franco; that their depression or struggles with childhood trauma and fear felt a lot like what this story was panning out to be: desolate and ruthless in the way of obsessing over the pain. but i find that meaning is an interesting concept because it simultaneously has the quality of being present and useless, especially in this story. the lack of dialogue or context clues about what our monstrous friend was and what it might have been doing in the forest brings forth the idea that sometimes a really traumatic thing can happen, and it won’t leave much room for explanation.
we don’t have a clue about the world that Franco and his pup live in; we don’t know who his parents are, or even if he has parents, or why the two characters were so far from others in the forest. it also isn’t clear whether the world they live in is fantastical and whether characters like that seem to exist but don’t reveal themselves often. there is the perfect mix of ambiguity in world-building and a tightened hold on the narrative structure, which makes for a lustrous canvas for the audience to project and emulate themselves through their understanding of what transpired.
here is the moment that truly captures me about this film: when spending time outside, Ocean tries to get Franco to play fetch, and after a half-hearted throw of a stick, the dog desperately pleading to connect with their owner, Franco aggressively shoves Ocean away. it is a heartbreaking and cruel scene. it hurts to watch, especially because at this point, we can tell that a darkness circles Franco’s spirit, and he is haunted every day by what happened. but rather than finding some sort of resolve or comfort in his companion, he has completely shut them off and found solace in the madness of making sense of the creature. herein lies the urge to symbolise or find metaphor: it could’ve meant so many things. perhaps Franco saw something truly monstrous in those woods, and it scarred him so violently as a child that he felt he couldn’t rest until he figured out what it was or what had happened. there’s also a very real possibility that his childlike mind could not comprehend the scene before him and fashioned this creature to make sense of it all. or, it all could’ve been real, and that is equally as haunting.
drowning in tragedy like that and obsessing over the past has a way of destroying any likelihood of a future. relationships are often the first thing to suffer in situations like these, where a person is struggling to overcome that sort of trauma. and the only relationship we are aware of that seems to mean anything real to Franco is that of him and Ocean. his dog is a constant fixture throughout the story. they are there when Franco is lit with curiosity and the buzz of life, and again when he has fallen into the gallows of his own mind. the pup waits and waits and continues to wait. love is savage like that; it will make you strong enough to withstand some sobering conditions for the ones you care for. but our writers do something brilliant in that moment after the fight. rather than have Ocean beg for affection again or linger at Franco’s feet, they leave. it’s uncommon to watch an animal, characterised as absolutely loyal to a fault, make that kind of decision. it was a powerful moment to witness and conveys an overwhelmingly painful message: though love and care endure, it’s not enough to stay and allow people to harm you just because you adore them. boundaries are important, more important than we seem to consider, and the idea of depicting this through a dog and their owner is genius.
in the flurry of Ocean leaving and Franco coming to the realisation that he has let his life go and fallen into paralysis over that past encounter, the fight shocks his system. he is cognisant of the misery that surrounds him. in the very same forest where the creature manifested, he gained hindsight over what he lost and the only thing that seemed to ground him to his youthful innocence and joy. their relationship wasn’t highlighted as the most important thing in the narrative, but its necessity to Franco’s lifeline and health could be felt throughout. again, there were no context clues or riddles left about what actually happened that day and what then unfolded throughout the years, but Ocean was there for all of it. the presence of others cannot be taken for granted, especially when you are losing your mind. and i don’t mean that humorously; so many of us are losing our minds at the state of the world and the suffering caused by personal experiences that our childlike selves could not understand. we hold boxes of trauma and baggage that we wouldn’t wish on anyone else, and our relationships, the people that sustain us through laughter, truth, intention, and touch, are seamlessly mistreated because we’ve chosen to drown instead of float.
it is easy to believe you are alone until you are truly alone. to think your suffering is absolute and unique until the people around you, who endure the pain of witnessing, are disarmed by your hurt. to be a witness is to hurt too. to be a witness is to carry the trauma and see yourself as a brother’s keeper. it hurts deeply when your brother views you as an inconvenience. and the idea of walking away, especially when you need to choose between that sibling and your own health, is unbearable. but real. oh so real and necessary. and what Ocean did was a statement worth acknowledging.
this brings me to the end. after searching deep through the woods for his companion, Franco finally finds his pup nestled between some trees. Ocean stays at a distance, unsure if Franco truly understands how much he has hurt them. but as Franco lifts a twig, throws it out, and crawls on his knees to pick it up with his mouth and return it to Ocean, imitating the dog, the two see each other for the first time in years. like, truly see each other. it’s not perfect or cinematic, but the beginning of reconciliation starts here. Franco doesn’t care for humiliation or ego and instead shows Ocean that they are one and the same, bonded by their shared care for one another. something beautiful happens in this moment: they embrace. still on his knees, Franco wraps his arms around Ocean, and in that incredible instant, the aquatic being returns. it hovers right behind them, its presence unmistakable. Franco feels its unsettling aura, aware of its menace. yet he doesn’t turn to look, nor does he let go of Ocean. instead, he holds on tighter, shutting his eyes, determined to cherish what is in front of him. despite the terror and the urge to glance back, he has chosen this reality, knowing that the journey ahead remains fraught with struggle.
Zolfanelli’s film serves as a masterclass in capturing harrowing truths without romanticising the pain. as someone who appreciates non-verbal artistic choices, i find that these elements encourage deeper reflection on behaviour and the significance of our subtle actions. if there's one key takeaway from this review, it’s the importance of being aware of how our witnesses experience the tragedies we endure. it’s not about trying to shield them from feeling alongside us, but rather about recognising the value of leaning on one another in these difficult times. even if those around us can't fully grasp our pain or the depth of our experiences, they can still offer support, holding our hands and keeping the lights on while we navigate the woods and figure out the monsters. relationship dynamics will always change, but it doesn’t mean they have to suffer. they remind us to step outside for a moment, to embrace the joy of being a child in a grown body, experiencing the world through a second lens and to focus on the minute beauty—the twigs, wild rabbits and birds—rather than the shadows that loom behind us.
this connection counts for something significant; it truly does. not everything will have an answer either, but that is why being grounded to the present by these relationships matters more than we could ever come to realise. and maintaining them with whatever energy and fervour you have, as they feed and care for us, is just as crucial for our networks to survive, especially as we continue to see mythological beasts. come as you are, prepared to hold, if only, a sliver of connection, and people will build a vine for you. come as you are and feed with your handful, until you’re in the position to bring a plate.
please watch this film & share your thoughts!
yours,
Thando. x