Tag: Animal Rights

  • “Are We Ready to Go in the Water Again?” the Legacy of the Jaws Effect

    “Are We Ready to Go in the Water Again?” the Legacy of the Jaws Effect

    Before Luke Skywalker learnt to use the Force and before Superman taught us that a man can fly, Jaws (1975) used the toothy imagery of a great white shark to usher in the birth of the blockbuster. It was the mid-1970s, and Hollywood’s major studios no longer sat at the top of the food chain. Instead, investment in lower-budget and often subversive productions like Bonnie and Clyde (1967), The Graduate (1967), and Easy Rider (1969) were proving a smoother passage to financial reward than throwing untold millions into spiralling behemoths such as Cleopatra (1963), Mutiny on the Bounty (1962), and Doctor Doolittle (1967). With the release of Jaws, however, up-and-coming filmmaker Steven Spielberg reminded the industry of the indisputable power of adrenaline-fuelled spectacle. Existential dramas about the American psyche were out; B-movie aesthetics, awe-inspiring monsters, and special effects were in!

    As Linda Ruth Williams and Michael Hammond would summarise, Jaws was “the must see ‘event-movie’ cut to the measure of the big screen, a sure-fire draw that would take families away from their television sets” (2006: 117). In the years since, there have been few movies so frequently discussed, with its tales of behind-the-scenes pandemonium firmly established within the annals of Hollywood legend. The film’s recent 50th anniversary revived interest in the chaotic nature of its production, while Ian Shaw and Joseph Nixon’s stage show, The Shark is Broken (2019), has been met with universal praise for comedically dramatising the intense rivalry between its stars.

    Image: The Shark is Broken, Sonia Friedman Productions, 2025.

    Peter Benchley, the author of the original 1974 novel, had been inspired by his experiences fishing off the waters of Nantucket, as well as a news article from 1964 about “a fisherman who caught a 4,550lb great white off the beaches of Long Island” (Benchley qtd. Dowling 2004). As literary critics of the time noted, Jaws was no Moby Dick (1851), but the frightening prospect of a shark terrorising a seaside community was potent enough to fuel over half a century of oceanic suspense.

    Although Spielberg made use of a few shots of actual sharks during the production of his film, those predominantly seen on screen are animatronic. Three fake great whites were constructed, powered by hydraulic motion so that their immense steel armatures, covered in rubber latex, could thrash around dramatically, while colossal jaws, lined with polyurethane teeth, could chomp together threateningly. Collectively named Bruce after Spielberg’s lawyer, the near constant malfunctioning of these sharks turned a fraught production into one that frequently skirted disaster. A special ‘shark sled’ had to be constructed underwater, allowing the mechanical creatures to be mounted on an adjustable arm and moved along the water’s surface. Battered by seawater and perpetually breaking down, Spielberg would describe them collectively as “the Great White Turd,” as they took enormous bites out of a budget and schedule that were steadily trebling in size (qtd. Fordy, 2025).

    Image: Steven Spielberg and ‘Bruce,’ Universal Pictures, 1975.

    Despite Jaws’ turbulent production, no one could dispute its eventual success. At the box office, it would overtake The Godfather (1972) as the highest-grossing film of all time, subsequently dismounted from its position by the arrival of Star Wars (1977) two years later. The frothing waters of Amity Island seemed to wash away the post-Watergate era of popular American cynicism, with Brody’s heroism providing the nation a victory over a primordial evil that transcended ideological affiliations. The great white’s ravenous appetite for human flesh seemed to have no preference for political allegiance. This was a threat that all could be united against.

    The central myth of Jaws, that of man against nature, was perfectly encapsulated in the marketing materials for the film, which famously reworked the eye-popping painting by Roger Kastel that adorned the cover of Bantam Books’ own publication of the mass-market paperback. Positioning a human victim on the verge of being devoured to ensure that no one could mistake the beast’s scale, the evocation that “here be monsters” acts as one of the most memorable designs in both film and literature’s visual history.

    Image: Jaws, Bantam Books, 1975 & Jaws, Universal, 1975.

    The mythos surrounding the great white shark featured in Jaws was, of course, a constructed fantasy. From an uncharacteristic temperament, vindictively targeting humans, to the supernatural power and endurance required to chomp and smash through the heroes’ vessel, the Orca, the shark in Jaws holds little in common with its real-world equivalents. Even Kastel’s infamous painting used a stuffed mako from the American Museum of Natural History as a point of reference, rather than a great white (Chen 2025).

    Jaws’ conceptual power draws upon centuries of human fascination with these predators. Interestingly, most of the cultures that have shared closest proximity to sharks have placed them in positions of veneration. The Māori’s mythical Parata controls the tides with each immense breath it takes beneath the ocean’s surface, while the Fijian Dakuwaqa is known as a protector of fishermen. A reverence for sharks extends to widespread beliefs, found in Hawaii and the Solomon Islands, that the people’s ancestors could take the form of the fishes, allowing them to act as spiritual guides. The fact that sharks are adept at signalling prosperous fishing waters, and have been known to swim alongside vessels such as canoes, evidences the strong foundations upon which these traditions are rooted (Flannery & Flannery 2023).

    Image: Shark God Dakuwaqa, Photo by Rama, 2017.

    Europeans attempting to expand their power in the age of sail had a different attitude. Frightening encounters with sharks on long voyages led the English mariners of the sixteenth century to refer to the creatures as ‘sea dogs,’ before adopting the word ‘shark’ that had previously been used to refer to otherwise human scoundrels, villains, and swindlers.  Herman Melville himself would sum up such anthropomorphism in his own descriptions of the animals, describing the “rude, savage swagger” of the tiger shark as “a round, portly gourmand; with distended mouth and collapsed conscience, swimming about seeking whom he might devour.” “No wonder, then,” he would add, “that sailors denounce them” (1849: 60).

    Whether valorised or vilified, sharks have, famously, outlived us all. The earliest evidence we have of these cartilaginous creatures dates them back at least 450 million years, surviving five mass extinction events that each variously devastated and wiped-out comparative species (Davis 2018). Is it really possible that a single monster movie from the 1970s could have an indelible impact on their wellbeing? ‘The Jaws Effect,’ as it has become known, attempts to track the extent that the film reshaped audiences’ relationships to sharks and quantify the increased levels of hostility and measurable violence that the animals have been subjected to.

    Image: Jaws, Universal Pictures, 1975.

    As with much of cinema’s history, the furore surrounding Jaws’ release was emboldened by media hype and hysteria. Notably, the film’s PG certificate came at a time preceding the creation of the PG-13 in 1984, and the public were astonished by the film’s gratuity. Charles Champlin would write for The Los Angeles Times that “Jaws is nightmare time for the young. Even the mature are apt to be jolted harder by Jaws than by earlier jeopardy films. Violence done to the helpless, always the hardest to watch, is here compounded because the victims are in the water, an alien environment, demanding and potentially dangerous at best. The inability to flee or fight back, as in a nightmare of paralysis, is real and only too easy to identify with” (qtd. Woerner 2015).

    Universal would licence towels with the slogan ‘if you’re brave… take it to the beach!’ while a tidal wave of media panic accompanied ‘shark scare’ stories to capitalise upon the public’s mounting fears. A Gallup poll conducted at the time of Jaws’ release reported that 23% of men and 47% of women admitted that the film “increased their fear of swimming in the ocean” (Saad 2025), while many have continued to claim that it contributed to a “marked drop in beach attendance” after audiences saw it in cinemas (Fisher 2010).

    Image: Jaws, Universal Pictures, 1975.

    Despite evidence that you are seventy-five times more likely to be killed by a bolt of lightning, already something of a statistically freak occurrence, than suffer the same fate to the jaws of a shark (Naylor 2023), many studies have observed the film’s contribution to a growing hostility towards the fishes. Social scientist Christopher Neff would argue, for example, that the Australian government drew directly on Jaws’ mythos to promote legislation that “allowed for pre-emptively killing individual sharks” that strayed near waters used by humans (2015: 123). His research highlighted what he described as “a worrying style of policymaking where widely known fiction can be used to navigate the attribution of blame and to prescribe policy responses” (ibid: 125).

    Similarly, as Monster Shark Tournaments grew in popularity across the East Coast of the U.S. throughout the 1980s, such competitions would often promote themselves by vilifying the animals’ apparent hostility and position their own activities as responsive acts of social responsibility. In 2016, The Guardian would release a list of major corporations that provided lucrative sponsorship deals to such ‘catch and kill’ events, many of which targeted endangered species. These included organisations such as Coca-Cola, Lexus, Caterpillar, Budweiser, Ford, and Captain Morgan, as well as numerous others (Milman & Mathiesen 2016). Entry fees, cash prizes, and sizeable side bets made such events fiercely competitive and subject to numerous scandals surrounding cheating and prohibited fishing. The wanton slaughter of sharks was not only culturally condoned; it was a practice that could be highly profitable.

    Image: Collection of Don DeMaria, Flickr, 1987.

    As Ashley D. Keefer summarises of such recreational bloodshed, “sharks, as apex predators, are vital to maintaining the balance of marine ecosystems. That ecological balance markedly impacts the tourism-driven economy of local communities. Despite our awareness of the critical importance of maintaining that balance, an estimated seventy-three million sharks are killed by humans each year. Those sharks would probably have a different take on who warrants fear” (2016: 291-292). Keefer goes on to describe how the fishes’ long-lived lifespans, delayed sexual maturity, and low birth rates make them “especially susceptible to human threats” (ibid: 295).

    On screen, Jaws’ mythic representation of predatory terror was strong enough to fuel three direct sequels and popularise an entire sub-genre of ‘sharksploitation’ movies that hit critical mass with the release of The Asylum’s Sharknado (2013). Steven Spielberg himself would recently state that he “really and truly regret[s]” the contribution that his film played in stigmatising sharks in the world’s popular consciousness (‘Steven Spielberg,’ 2022), while Peter Benchley would dedicate much of his professional life to repudiating the claims his novel helped propagate. “What I now know, which wasn’t known when I wrote Jaws, is that there is no such thing as a rogue shark which develops a taste for human flesh,’’ the author would argue, “no one appreciates how vulnerable they are to destruction” (qtd. Delves Broughton 2000). As Benchley observed, despite changing attitudes, many of the species remain in severe danger if humans do not actively reassess their maligned reputation immediately.

    Image: Shawn Rossi, Flickr, 2008.

    Changing perspectives and public advocacy have helped to shut down numerous monster shark tournaments over the last decade. However, troublingly, there is increased interest led by various fishing organisations and notable spokespeople within such competitions in effecting their return, despite the ecological consequences of doing so (Williams 2024). Similarly, important questions remain concerning the questionable survival rates of sharks caught in competitions that have since converted to seemingly ethical ‘catch and release’ practices. Many marine biologists are hard at work attempting to convince the public that animals caught in such a manner will still frequently die from the stress of fighting for their lives on the line and struggling outside the water (Geib 2023).

    Distressingly, new research suggests that the great whites of the Mediterranean are on the cusp of total extinction. Overfishing, as well as the illegal fishing of protected species, has resulted in dwindling populations that are fast becoming unsalvageable (Gill, Stephens, Hughes & Nour 2025). Regulation of industrialised fishing, robust protections for endangered species, and further support to education and training programmes that enable communities to benefit from and utilise sustainable practices will undoubtedly help recover much of our damaged marine ecosystems. Time, however, is running short. Jaws provided audiences with one of the most archetypal figures of inept leadership and obstinate foolishness in Amity’s own Mayor Vaughn. This is the man who, famously, refused to close his island’s beaches despite expert advice and, importantly, witnessing measurable bloodshed. It is ironic, perhaps, that a film that so heavily maligns sharks also signals their only remaining course of salvation. Our own leadership needs to be equivalently pressured, if it is to listen to reason.

    Head Image: Jaws, Universal Pictures, 1975.

    Bonnie and Clyde. 1967. D. Arthur Penn, Film. US: Warner Bros. Pictures.

    Chen, Min. 2025. ‘The Painting That Helped Jaws Make a Killing,’ Artnet, September 15: https://news.artnet.com/art-world/jaws-roger-kastel-academy-museum-2688384.

    Cleopatra. 1963. D. Joseph L. Mankiewicz, Film. US: 20th Century Fox.

    Davis, Josh. 2018. ‘Shark Evolution: a 450 Million Year Timeline,’ Natural History Museum, December 13: https://www.nhm.ac.uk/discover/shark-evolution-a-450-million-year-timeline.html.

    Delves Broughton, Peter. 2000. ‘Jaws author now regrets his “attack” on sharks, The Salt Lake Tribune, April 4: http://www.igorilla.com/gorilla/animal/2000/sharks_peter_benchley.html.

    Doctor Doolittle. 1967. D. Richard Fleischer, Film. US: 20th Century Fox.

    Dowling, Stephen. 2004. ‘The book that spawned a monster,’ BBC News, February 1: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/3400291.stm.

    Easy Rider. 1969. D. Dennis Hopper, Film. US: Columbia Pictures.

    Fisher, Luchina. 2010. ‘Jaws Launched Summer Blockbuster 35 Years Ago,’ ABC News, June 18: https://abcnews.com/Entertainment/jaws-launched-summer-blockbuster-35-years-ago/story?id=10855868.

    Flannery, Tim & Flannery, Emma. 2023.  From Gods to Monsters: How Did We Come to Fear the Shark?” The Guardian, July 29: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2023/jul/30/from-gods-to-monsters-how-did-we-come-to-fear-the-shark?.

    Fordy, Tom. 2025. ‘Why Steven Spielberg hated the “star” of Jaws,’ The Telegraph, June 20: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/films/2025/06/20/why-steven-spielberg-hated-the-star-of-jaws/.

    Geib, Claudia. 2023. ‘At Sharkathon, Shark Fishers Are a Keen Audience for Conservation Advice,’ Hakai Magazine, December 21: https://hakaimagazine.com/news/at-sharkathon-shark-fishers-are-a-keen-audience-for-conservation-advice/.

    Gill, Victoria, Stephens, Kate, Hughes, Gwyndaf, & Nour, Ahmed. 2025. Great white sharks face extinction in Mediterranean, say researchers,’ BBC News, December 30: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/c9qe9wvq534o.

    The Godfather. 1972. D. Francis Ford Coppola, Film. US: Paramount Pictures.

    The Graduate. 1967. D. Mike Nichols, Film. US: United Artists.

    Jaws. 1975. D. Steven Spielberg, Film. US: Universal Pictures.

    Keefer, Ashley. 2016. ‘We’re Gonna Need a Bigger Boat”: How Federal Regulations of Shark Fishing Tournaments Could Shift the Tides of Conservation Initiatives,’ Jeffrey S. Moorad Sports Law Journal 23. 1, pp. 291-336.

    Melville, Heman. 1849. Mardi: and a Voyage Thither, London: Richard Bentley.

    Melville, Herman. 1851. Moby-Dick; or, The Whale. New York: Harper & Brothers.

    Milman, Oliver & Mathiesen, Karl. 2016. ‘Monster shark fishing tournaments face growing pressure to reform,’ The Guardian, July 19: https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2016/jul/19/atlantic-shark-hunting-tournaments-endangered-species.

    Mutiny on the Bounty. 1962. D. Lewis Milestone, Film. US: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.

    Naylor, Gavin. 2023. ‘The International Shark Attack File,’ Florida Museum, May 31: https://www.floridamuseum.ufl.edu/shark-attacks/.

    Neff, Christopher. 2015. ‘The Jaws Effect: How movie narratives are used to influence policy responses to shark bites in Western Australia,’ Australian Journal of Political Science 50. 1, pp. 114-127.

    Saad, Lydia. 2025. ‘Gallup Vault: Jaws Made Waves in 1975,’ Gallup, June 20:  https://news.gallup.com/vault/691907/gallup-vault-jaws-made-waves-1975.aspx.

    The Shark is Broken. 2019-2025. W. Ian Shaw & Joseph Nixon, Play. London: Samuel French.

    Sharknado. 2013. D. Thunder Levin, Film. US: The Asylum.

    Star Wars. 1977. D. George Lucas, Film. US: 20th Century-Fox.

    ‘Steven Spielberg.’ 2022. Desert Island Discs, BBC Radio 4, December 18.

    Williams, Linda Ruth & Hammond, Michael. 2006. Contemporary American Cinema. Maidenhead: McGraw-Hill.

    Williams, Ted. 2024. ‘It’s time for America to outgrow shark tournaments,’ Hatch, July 27: https://www.hatchmag.com/articles/its-time-america-outgrow-shark-tournaments/7715957.

    Woerner, Meredith. 2015. ‘L.A. Times’ original 1975 review of Jaws unearthed: We hated it,’ The Los Angeles Times, June 20: https://www.latimes.com/entertainment/herocomplex/la-et-hc-jaws-original-review-20150619-story.html.

  • Argentine Dogma: Dogo Argentinos and Bombón, El Perro (2004)

    Argentine Dogma: Dogo Argentinos and Bombón, El Perro (2004)

    While preparing this article, I learnt that the national animal of Argentina is a small, rust-coloured bird called the rufous hornero. At first glance, it might seem an unassuming representative for a country in possession of such a complex culture. This is a nation whose history can be traced through numerous indigenous civilisations and pre-Columbian empires, the legacy of Spanish colonialism, and, of course, several modern civil wars. However, the modest bird’s significance is a testament to the hard work embodied in its distinctive nest-building, its rugged determination to survive in varied terrain, and, importantly, its beautiful singing voice. Possessing hefty frames, stout features, weathered white coats, and muscular, rolling gaits, Dogo Argentinos are unlikely bedfellows to the rufous hornero, yet both animals symbolise a similar sense of self-determination. These canines serve as equally important ambassadors for a nation defined by its peoples’ force of will, shaped by continual social upheaval.

    Bombón, El Perro (2004), known simply as El perro in its homeland of Argentina, is a film that seeks to frame this national mood through the sheer charisma and star presence of its on-screen hound. It belongs to an exceptionally long line of pooch-fronted features such as A Dog’s Life (1918), Lassie Come Home (1943), White God (2014), and 777 Charlie (2022) that use their canines to illustrate important issues of moral agency and empathy. The fact that this blog has not already been subsumed by my overriding fascination with ‘dog pictures’ is a source of substantial surprise to myself. You can expect me to turn my attention to those other features sooner rather than later.

    Image: A Dog’s Life, First National Pictures Inc, 1918.

    Bombón, El Perro’s director, Carlos Sorín, had already made his name in the Argentine film industry with two comedy-dramas in prior decades. However, it was in Intimate Stories (Historias minimas, 2002) that he laid the neo-realist foundations that he would return to for this later feature. Utilising predominantly non-professional actors, rural settings, and naturalistic cinematography, both these films foreground Sorín’s human-interest observations of life in the windswept expanses of Patagonia. As the director would state shortly after Bombón, El Perro’s release, ‘my tendency was to emphasise a realistic point of view, which gives a raw element, almost like in a documentary’ (Kalinowska 2005).

    In neo-realist tradition, Bombón, El Perro affords an opportunity to explore the lives of individuals neglected by the film industry’s drive towards glamour and polished spectacle. The hero of this fable is ‘Coco,’ tenderly portrayed by Juan Villegas, a parking attendant who Sorín would meet at a garage near the director’s production company in Buenos Aires (Sorín 2004). Coco is a 52-year-old mechanic and, after the remote gas station where he is employed shuts down, struggles to make a living selling knives with carefully crafted handles. Villegas plays the lead with affable dignity that endures his hardships in quiet contemplation. Despite his troubles, Coco is shown consistently going out of his way to help others with his skills. At the end of the film’s first act, a widow, grateful for his help reviving a broken-down car, gifts him an enormous Argentine mastiff that transforms his life in ways he never could have anticipated.

    Image: Bombón El Perro, Cinema Tropical, 2004.

    Initially calling him Lechien through a misunderstanding of the words le chien (French for ‘the dog’) on a sign that hangs above his kennel, Coco eventually nicknames his new companion Bombón. What follows is a man-and-dog road movie where Coco’s life is dramatically transformed by Bombón’s charm and, ironically, considering his small and delicate namesake, his towering presence. Gregorio is the Dogo Argentino who portrays Bombón’s 40 kilos of taciturn muscle, seemingly filling every frame he appears in. His inscrutable expression is the perfect complement to Villegas’ hangdog resilience and, without diminishing the film’s other numerous strengths, their interactions steal every scene they share.

    Sorín would argue that he appreciated Gregorio’s reserved nature, stating that ‘he’s not very affectionate, he’s a bit of a mystery himself and you never really know what he is going to do,’ arguing that ‘some moments you actually see that he is thinking, he’s got his internal conflicts’ (Clee 2007). Sat in the front passenger seat of Coco’s old camioneta, Bombón strikes a stately figure that affords the man a sense of self-assured confidence and unwavering composure that he desperately needs.

    Image: Bombón El Perro, Cinema Tropical, 2004.

    Now travelling with Bombón at his side, Coco’s fortunes begin to change. He finds himself recruited as a security guard at a wool warehouse and, as the plot develops, is gradually drawn deeper into the world of dog training and exhibition. Throughout, Coco’s relationship with Bombón is one guided by empathy and solidarity, privileging acts of decency and compassion over opportunities for wealth and personal gain. He refuses, for example, the order to set the dog upon a beleaguered ex-guard who returns to the warehouse to fetch his possessions. Similarly, while those he encounters are keen to exploit Bombón as the valuable commodity they perceive him to be, Coco sees him as an inseparable ally, allowing the dog’s autonomy to reflect the man’s own freedom and agency.

    Both find their identities systematised based on their perceived value. While Coco’s is dehumanised when broken down for a computer used at his local job agency, Bombón’s is associated with prestige. He is described as a ‘posh dog’ when Coco looks through his papers, fathered by ‘a grand champion’ named ‘Quilapán de los Andes’ after an Araucanian chieftain. In one of the film’s most significant turning points, a bank manager, motivated by his admiration of Bombón, invites Coco into his office. There, he explains how possession of the breed affords access to both financial and social affluence, highlighting his experiences on hunting expeditions. Showing him a photograph of his own Dogo Argentino, horrifically wounded after being gutted by a wild boar, the manager unnervingly states that ‘they don’t feel pain… they are beasts from outer space.’ Coco’s disgust and reluctance are matched only by Bombón, who cocks his leg and urinates underneath the bank manager’s desk, unseen.

    Image: Bombón El Perro, Cinema Tropical, 2004.

    For the hunters and breeders who Coco encounters, Bombón is little more than a ‘specimen’ to be prized for the physical traits relentlessly bred into him. Teaching Coco how to prepare the dog for exhibition, the dog trainer Walter Donado corrects Bombón’s posture by firmly gripping his head. ‘This is what we’re trying to sell,’ he explains. The mastiff’s character, however, seems made of firmer stuff than many of the humans that they confront. When attempting to stud him, the owner of the female Dogo Argentino is infuriated by Bombón’s utter disinterest. ‘This dog is a coward!’ he angrily exclaims at Coco. ‘She’s in heat today. I’ll have to wait another six months! Who pays me for the food? Who pays me the lost profits? Who? You?’

    Coco is clearly enamoured by the newfound respect and appreciation that Bombón grants him. The look of pride on his face when he and the dog are awarded third in a local competition expresses the unexpected satisfaction of the recognition denied him his entire life. Even so, Coco becomes increasingly dissatisfied with the unrelenting machismo that stands in stark opposition to his own gentle and measured outlook. The film ends with Coco in search of Bombón, who has escaped from Donado’s kennels. He is delighted to discover him at a nearby building site, freely mating with a black mongrel of clearly indeterminate breed. Bombón’s act, while more impulsive than intentional, is nevertheless a triumphant defiance of his breeders’ own financial desires and a compelling vindication of his irrepressible freedom. As Coco and Bombón depart together in their van, joined by a pair of hitchhikers similarly in search of work, the possibility of a freer, more self-determined future quietly emerges.

    Image: Bombón El Perro, Cinema Tropical, 2004.

    It is through Sorín’s neo-realist lens that comparisons between Coco and Bombón seem most apt. Rather than relying on intense dialogue, the director chooses to foreground their expressions. ‘I have always preferred gesture to text in cinema,’ Sorín would note, ‘a look, a silence, an imperceptible grimace glimpsed in a close-up, expresses far more than any rhetoric,’ (Sorín 2004). His camera lingers upon Bombón and Coco as they both warily observe those around them. Even motionless, the dog is constantly watching, offering silent judgment on the injustices they encounter. Similarly, it is the expression in Coco’s eyes that wordlessly conveys his distaste when an agency administrator, for example, threatens and admonishes a caller for complaining that they have been underpaid by their employer.

    In contrast to Coco’s well-meaning and affable personality, the spectre of Argentina’s political landscape remains ever-present. Following decades of military dictatorships, Argentina had suffered one of its worst recessions in the years that preceded Bombón, El Perro’s release. As the economist Kurt Schuler summarises, the country was emerging from ‘deepening depression; unemployment among nearly a quarter of its working population; and poverty among more than half of its people’ (2005: 267). In two extraordinary weeks of Argentine history at the end of 2001, the country would rotate through five presidents, one of whom defaulted on the government’s foreign debt. As Coco states in his predictably understated manner while job hunting, ‘things are not going too well.’

    Image: Bombón El Perro, Cinema Tropical, 2004.

    ‘I wanted to tell the story of an unemployed man,’ Sorín would state, ‘you see it in the streets unlike before. There are queues for food and begging for charity, so many people, which we call “Cardboard Men” that go through the rubbish and sell the recyclable stuff to those who have commercialised recycling’ (Kalinowska 2005). It is no coincidence that Sorín had also used a canine to frame the narrative of his earlier neo-realist work, Intimate Stories. This earlier film had centred much of its drama upon a character who searches for a lost dog to atone for the guilt of a hit-and-run accident that weighs upon him. In With Dogs at the Edge of Life, Colin Dayan argues that representations of these animals are often used to orient definitions of our own species. He terms the cinematic representation of so-called ‘Pariah Dogs’ as reflecting the ‘mercenary pressures of progress,’ enacted through the ‘disposal and extermination’ of creatures that society deems unfit for survival (2016: xv).

    The Dogo Argentino, bred for hunting large game in Córdoba just under a century ago, is rife with cultural meaning. It was purposefully created from stock of the city’s Córdoba fighting dog to increase the breed’s size, while retaining and enhancing its physical power and stamina after Argentina outlawed dog fighting in 1954 (Wilcox & Walkowicz 1995: 340). In my own country, the United Kingdom, as well as numerous others, the breed was banned when the Dangerous Dogs Act 1991 was introduced. There are probably few animal-related debates that I could engage with that are thornier than those surrounding aggression in canines, and probably fewer still that are approached without immediate assumption and bias.

    Image: Dogo Argentino, Tim Giles, 2018.

    Although we live in a world governed by those who repeatedly seem to undermine existing expertise when constructing policy, research should, I believe, remain our first turning point whenever engaging with such contentious topics. Several studies have been conducted on Dogo Argentinos in the hopes of better understanding their temperaments and how these are impacted by their upbringing. One such examination, for example, found numerous ‘critical predictors of many outcome variables’ that indicated when signs of aggression and nervousness would appear (Diverio & Tami 2014: 151). These included distinctions between kennel and house living dogs and, most significantly, the level of experience possessed by the owners and how familiar they were with handling the breed (ibid.).

    Similarly, a later study of various types of dogs found that ‘no breeds in particular were responsible for severe or multiple bites towards either humans or dogs’ (Notari et al. 2020: 1162). Instead, they asserted that ‘helping owners to have a better understanding of their dogs’ welfare, behaviour and communication via educational programs’ acted as a deeply necessary method of harm prevention (ibid.). The RSPCA has long pointed towards Breed Specific Legislation unnecessarily being used to justify the euthanasia of thousands of dogs in Britain that have been put down despite exhibiting no behavioural issues. In evidence submitted to a government inquiry on this legislation, the organisation noted that, despite its introduction, hospital admissions for dog bites rose by 76% (RSPCA 2018). They argued that a lack of educational resources and scientific research acted as a notable detriment to public safety (ibid.).

    Image: Dogo Argentino, Rawpixel, n.d.

    This debate, concerning the distinctions between innate and learned behaviours, is one that Sorín’s film is deeply interested in. When Bombón’s initial owners discuss his breeds’ temperament, the older woman states that ‘nobody is born bad,’ while the younger observes that ‘they are not bad, but wild.’ I am neither qualified nor willing to moralise on the inherent natures of Dogo Argentinos. However, eschewing prejudice and generalisation of the breed itself, I am more than happy to lay such responsibility at the feet of the negligent processes of genetic selection, mistreatment, and improper training that are endemic in the world of dog breeding and ownership. The repeated and resounding failure of humanity to properly care for and protect the species we have willingly bred into existence is, quite simply, unconscionable.

    While outlawed (shockingly recently) in the UK, mutilations such as tail docking and ear cropping are commonly inflicted upon Dogo Argentinos and other breeds globally. Although dog fighting has been outlawed by many nations, illegal rings continue to operate or are simply tolerated due to lacklustre enforcement. A 2018 report by the ASPCA estimated that there were ‘tens of thousands of dog fighters across the country’ and claimed that they had, in a single year, ‘rescued more than 400 animals’ utilised within the blood sport (ASPCA 2018).

    Image: United Hope for Animals, YouTube, Creative Commons License, 2018.

    Distressingly, the mistreatment of dog breeds extends to acts that are not only legal, but social ingrained within our culture. One only needs to turn to the hereditary issues caused by selective breeding to observe that their physical well-being is of secondary importance to their appearance and status as commodities. One veterinary surgeon lists the conditions associated with Dogo Argentinos as including hip dysplasia, joint pain, mobility issues, arthritis, congenital deafness, and gastric dilatation volvulus ‘due to its large size and deep chest’ (Crookes & MacMillan 2025). Any discussion about criminal cruelty to canines is deeply entwined with those that any of us interested in dog welfare must contend with on an everyday basis when engaging with the animals.

    As a neo-realist feature, Bombón, El Perro may look tough, but, just like its formidable-looking creature, is embodied by an unmistakable sweetness. Both Bombón and Coco are defined by their loyalty and gentleness, refusing to be constrained by the harsh realities of their world. Writing about Carlos Sorín’s features, Daria Cohen argues that the director’s protagonists might be termed ‘Subordinate or Quiet heroes’: ‘rather than combining mental and physical strength,’ she writes, ‘Sorín’s heroes’ successes are predicated on persistence and spirit’ (2016: 129). Placing its focus on characters that have been stripped of power, Bombón, El Perro is, if anything, a fable of adoption. The film’s muted, yet hopeful, conclusion expresses the grace that can be acquired for those who, mistreated and abandoned, are afforded a much-needed second chance.

    Head Image: Bombón, El Perro, Cinema Tropical, 2004.

    777 Charlie. 2022. D. Kiranraj K., Film, India: Paramvah Studios.

    ASPCA. 2018. ‘ASPCA National Poll Reveals Dogfighting Goes Underreported Despite Hundreds of Thousands of Dogs Being Forced to Fight Nationwide,’ ASPCA, April 3: https://www.aspca.org/about-us/press-releases/aspca-national-poll-reveals-dogfighting-goes-underreported-despite-hundreds.

    Bombón El Perro. 2004. D. Carlos Sorín, Film, Argentina & Spain: Cinema Tropical.

    Clee, Peter D. 2007. ‘Bombon El Perro,’  LondonNet, December 13: https://www.londonnet.co.uk/cinema/cinema-interviews/bombon-el-perro/.

    Crookes, David & MacMillan, Rebecca. 2025. ‘Dogo Argentinos are loyal and intelligent but also incredibly controversial,’ Pets Radar, May 3: https://www.petsradar.com/dogs/dog-breeds/dogo-argentino-breed-profile.

    Dayan, Colin. 2016. With Dogs at the Edge of Life. New York: Columbia University Press.

    Diverio, Silvana & Tami, Gabriella. 2014. ‘Effect of owner experience, living environment, and dog characteristics on owner reports of behavior of Argentine Dogos in Italy,’ Journal of Veterinary Behavior 9. 4: pp. 151-157.

    A Dog’s Life. 1918. D. Charlie Chaplin, Film, USA: First National Pictures Inc.

    Intimate Stories. 2002. D. Carlos Sorín, Film, Argentina & Spain: Guacamole Films.

    Kalinowska, Ania. 2005. ‘Bombón: El Perro (2004) – Q&A interview with Carlos Sorin,’ Phase9, June 17: https://www.phase9.tv/bombon-el-perro-2004-q-and-a-interview-with-carlos-sorin/.

    Lassie Come Home. 1943. D. Fred M. Wilcox, Film, USA: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.

    Notari, Lorella, Simona, Cannas, di sotto, Ylenia Agetta & Palestrini, Clara. 2020. ‘A Retrospective Analysis of Dog–Dog and Dog–Human Cases of Aggression in Northern Italy,’ Animals 10. 9: 1162.

    RSPCA. 2018. ‘Written Evidence Submitted by the RSPCA (DDL0229): Dangerous Dogs – Specific Legislation,’ UK Parliament, June: https://committees.parliament.uk/writtenevidence/91217/html/.

    Schuler, Kurt. 2005. ‘Ignorance and Influence: U.S. Economists on Argentina’s Depression of 1998-2002,’ Econ Journal Watch 2. 2: pp. 234-278.

    Sorín, Carlos. 2004. ‘Bombón, the dog,’ Casamerica: https://www.casamerica.es/cine/bombon-el-perro.

    White God. 2014. D. Kornél Mundruczó, Film, Hungary, Germany & Sweden: InterCom Zrt.

    Wilcox, Bonnie & Walkowicz, Chris.1995. Atlas of Dog Breeds of the World. Neptune City: TFH Publications.