In the apparent ethological and observational dimension that characterizes Indy‘s movements within a hostile domestic environment, there is the specific work of Ben Leonberg in contact with a familiar material around which a real “flagrance” effect has been built, through accumulation.
Three years of work, four hundred days in total, short shooting sessions to capture key moments that are difficult to program through staging. Aspects that bring you closer Good Boy to the creative times of animated cinema, where the truth is born from the sum of the false and the spontaneity of the beautiful Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever is programmed as film material through the imitation of life.
If every gesture of the dog is generated by the director’s daily relationship of confidence with his pet, this quality is necessarily recombined with intentions that are not entirely distant from those of McLaren or Švankmajer when they tried to make the internal movement of things visible and elaborated elements of truth in the extreme manipulation of reality.
All the perceptive discontinuities that characterize the dog’s life are therefore manufactured through a semiotic system in which the space itself is active and the decor co-acting with respect to perception.
It therefore seems central to me, starting from these assumptions, the identification of possible possibilities of re-founding the gaze that the film tries to aim for, beyond the more or less explicit references on which certain critics have insisted, recalling the animal-level point of view of Spielberg’s ET, in turn inspired by the perception imagined by the Tom & Jerry cartoons with respect to the presence of the human, the latter characterized by distant shadows, faceless legs, opaque identities.
What interests Leonberg with respect to that cut is to define a representation of the animal gaze as an embodied experience. He almost never resorts to aligning the dog with the perspective of the device, nor does he invent easy declinations of a subjective cinema that deludes us into being able to see as Indy sees. On the contrary, we are placed in its sensorial space and in the field of action of the animal gaze in more tactile than scopic terms.
If the creaturely gaze describes a mode of presence linked to vulnerability, seeing then means being touched by the world. The dog’s breathing, the gaze pointed off-screen, the sound of footsteps, the passage reflected in objects, the discovery of new openings in the house plan, fall within the scope of a haptic cinema that incorporates perception from the inside and transforms it into a common vibration between the spectator and the filmed body.
This choice distances the attempts at anthropomorphization so frequent in cinema linked to the presence of animals, to favor the perceptive opacity of the subject. Center of experience, Indy goes beyond the boundaries of consciousness and shows another way of inhabiting the world.
There is then an attempt, albeit distant in terms of means, language and sometimes results, to align with Bresson’s Balthazar, Viktor Kossakovsky’s sow or the Rat Terrier by Laurie Andersonto deconstruct the human through embodied canine perception.
Indy then becomes a witness to the image, beyond the interpretative regime and projected towards an off-screen that does not belong only to man. In addition to soliciting a metadiscursive reflection on the cinematic medium, it delocalizes our hegemony, multiplying and placing the experience of an eccentric subject on the level of difference.
It is no coincidence then, that the visual counterpoint chosen by Leonberg, in addition to the testimonial presence of Larry Fessenden, whose Wendigo is certainly an important genome in the path of horror cinema that liberates the different perceptive bodies of nature with respect to what is apparently above or below it, is entrusted to two films that narrate the dissolution of bodies in biological and ontological terms.
Mutants e Carnival of Soulsalternately transmitted by the black and white cathode present in the “haunted” house, already indicate the threshold permeability between inside and outside, exactly like Indy’s inability to distinguish the two floors.
Mary, the protagonist of the film directed by Herk Harvey, lives in a state of posthumous presence and while she believes she is alive, she is already part of the kingdom of the dead. Agnition, or the discovery of one’s own status, overturns the phenomenological construction of the fabula and what until then seemed visible was nothing more than the shadow of a ghostly dimension.
Todd, Indy’s owner, already shares both states, but the dog continues to perceive him, to smell him, to guard his presence and to seamlessly interpret the relationship between the explosion, even traumatic, of the organic and the slide into the inorganic.
This absence of distinction between tangible reality and ephemeral events assigns the animal gaze the role of connection between matter and the invisible.
Net of some cumbersome and didactic VFxs that translate man’s oncological conditions onto the visual level, attributing to the environment itself the roots of a deeper cancer, not necessarily metaphysical nor symbolic, what remains is the indifference between being there and having been there for the animal gaze, tragically embodied in the mutations of the world, but at the same time far from the painful split between here and elsewhere determined by the all-too-human work of memory.
Unable to conceptualize death, Indy transforms absence and mourning into state variation. His sensorial body touches what the human does not see and in doing so prolongs the presence through a phenomenological continuity that resides between matter and disappearance.
There is then a tragic return to the nakedness of man that the film urges, just when he stops seeing and is suddenly seen.
Indy’s gaze towards the dying master does not distinguish through the yardstick of judgment, but observes the transformation as part of the world.
In this sense the eye of the cinematographic device and that of the dog coincide not in a figural sense as we were saying, but in their being sensitive apparitions of a material and transformative reality that continues even when consciousness withdraws.
Good Boy is a small film, but it has the strength to prompt more than one reflection on the thresholds, invented, perceived or merely dreamed, that define our ideas of the world.
How does the novel’s setting contribute to Jude’s internal struggles with isolation and anxiety?
Table of Contents
- 1. How does the novel’s setting contribute to Jude’s internal struggles with isolation and anxiety?
- 2. Review of ‘Good Boy’ by Ben Leonberg: Insights and Analysis
- 3. The Narrative Core of ‘Good Boy’
- 4. Character Analysis: Jude and the Spectrum of Male Experience
- 5. Stylistic Choices and Narrative Technique
- 6. Trauma and its Portrayal in ‘Good Boy’
- 7. ‘Good Boy’ and the Literary Landscape: Comparisons and Influences
- 8. The Impact of Setting: Contemporary Urban Life
- 9. Decoding the Title: What Does ‘Good Boy’ Meen?
Review of ‘Good Boy’ by Ben Leonberg: Insights and Analysis
The Narrative Core of ‘Good Boy’
Ben Leonberg’s Good Boy is a compelling exploration of modern masculinity, anxiety, and the search for connection in a digitally saturated world.Published in 2020, the novel quickly garnered attention for its raw honesty and relatable protagonist, Jude. The story centers around Jude, a young man grappling with the aftermath of a traumatic event and navigating the complexities of relationships – both romantic and platonic – while battling internal demons. Key themes include trauma recovery, male vulnerability, and the pressures of societal expectations.
Character Analysis: Jude and the Spectrum of Male Experience
Jude is a deliberately flawed character. He’s not presented as a hero,but as a realistically damaged individual. Leonberg masterfully portrays his internal struggles, showcasing his self-destructive tendencies alongside moments of genuine empathy and longing.
* Internal Conflict: Jude’s primary conflict stems from unresolved trauma, manifesting as anxiety, self-doubt, and a tendency to sabotage his own happiness.
* Relationship Dynamics: His interactions with other characters – especially his romantic interests and his close friend, Max – reveal different facets of his personality and highlight the challenges he faces in forming healthy connections. the novel explores the nuances of modern dating and the difficulties of emotional intimacy.
* Masculinity & Vulnerability: Good Boy directly confronts customary notions of masculinity. Jude’s willingness to acknowledge his vulnerability, though frequently enough messy and imperfect, is a central aspect of his character arc. This exploration resonates with contemporary discussions surrounding men’s mental health and emotional expression.
Stylistic Choices and Narrative Technique
Leonberg’s writing style is a defining feature of good Boy. He employs a distinctive voice – fragmented, introspective, and often darkly humorous – that mirrors Jude’s fractured mental state.
* First-Person Narration: The novel is told entirely from Jude’s viewpoint, offering an intimate and subjective view of events. This narrative choice allows readers to fully immerse themselves in his internal world.
* Stream of Consciousness: Leonberg frequently utilizes stream-of-consciousness techniques, capturing the chaotic flow of Jude’s thoughts and emotions. This adds to the novel’s sense of immediacy and authenticity.
* Digital Culture Integration: The novel seamlessly integrates elements of digital culture – texting, social media, online dating – reflecting the realities of contemporary life. This isn’t merely a backdrop; it actively shapes the characters’ interactions and experiences.
Trauma and its Portrayal in ‘Good Boy’
The novel doesn’t shy away from depicting the lasting impact of trauma. While the specific details of Jude’s trauma are revealed gradually, its effects are pervasive throughout the narrative.
* Anxiety and Panic Attacks: Jude’s anxiety manifests physically and emotionally, often leading to panic attacks and debilitating self-doubt.
* Avoidance and Self-Destructive Behaviors: He employs various coping mechanisms – substance use, casual sex, emotional detachment – to avoid confronting his trauma.
* The Long Road to Recovery: Good Boy doesn’t offer a neat or easy resolution to Jude’s trauma. Instead, it portrays the ongoing and often arduous process of healing. The novel emphasizes the importance of seeking help and building supportive relationships.
‘Good Boy’ and the Literary Landscape: Comparisons and Influences
Good Boy shares thematic similarities with other contemporary novels exploring masculinity and mental health, such as Sally Rooney’s Normal People and Joshua Cohen’s The Netherworld. Though, Leonberg’s unique stylistic voice and unflinching portrayal of trauma set his work apart.The novel also draws inspiration from the confessional poetry of Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton, evident in its raw emotional intensity and willingness to confront arduous subjects.
The Impact of Setting: Contemporary Urban Life
The novel is largely set in a contemporary urban surroundings, which plays a important role in shaping the characters’ experiences. The anonymity and alienation of city life contribute to Jude’s sense of isolation and disconnection. The fast-paced, hyper-connected nature of the urban landscape also exacerbates his anxiety and fuels his self-destructive tendencies.The setting isn’t merely a backdrop; it’s an active force in the narrative.
Decoding the Title: What Does ‘Good Boy’ Meen?
The title,Good Boy,is deliberately ironic. It highlights the societal pressures placed on men to conform to traditional expectations of masculinity – to be strong, stoic, and accomplished. Throughout the novel,Jude struggles to live up to this ideal,constantly falling short and feeling inadequate.The title also serves as a subtle critique of the ways in which men are often rewarded for suppressing their emotions and conforming to harmful stereotypes. It’s a pointed commentary on the performative aspects of masculinity.
