Dog Stories

Unveiling the Layers: What “Dog Based on a True Story” Really Means for Arthur

Posted on by Jonh Luke
Mikael Lindnord and Arthur in Ecuador

“Based on the Incredible True Story.” This captivating phrase sets the stage for films like Arthur the King, starring Mark Wahlberg, Simu Liu, and Nathalie Immanuel. Such narratives, often featuring a heartwarming bond between a stray dog and a human, resonate deeply, speaking to themes of perseverance, sacrifice, and the profound connection between people and their canine companions. They often present a compelling tale of heroism, where ordinary individuals are depicted as saviors of vulnerable beings. However, these polished cinematic depictions rarely urge us to question whose truth is being told and what other narratives might lie beneath the surface of an “incredible true story.” For those interested in the nuance of pet narratives and the real impact of stories about canines, understanding the full scope of a dog based on a true story is crucial.

By a remarkable twist of fate, I became privy to some of these untold truths. The real “Arthur,” whose original name was Barbuncho, hailed from a village in Ecuador, not the Dominican Republic as portrayed in the film. Far from being a stray or a victim of abuse, Barbuncho was a cherished farm and jungle dog. He thrived on the freedom of roaming across cacao and coffee fields, often accompanying visiting doctors and tropical ecologists on their jungle explorations. Barbuncho provided immense comfort to his owner, Esteban (a pseudonym), particularly after Esteban’s divorce. Esteban even composed ballads in honor of his loyal companion. A year after the dog’s “disappearance,” Esteban’s grandson poignantly expressed, “I really miss our dog. Why do gringos come here and take our dogs away?” — a sentiment reflecting other instances where volunteers had adopted dogs and taken them abroad, albeit usually with community consent. This personal connection offers a unique vantage point to explore the complexities behind a celebrated dog film based on true story narratives.

What underlying sociocultural factors make a particular story feel universally believable, even when it deviates significantly from reality? Why have millions of people, even within Ecuador itself, become so invested in these fictionalized accounts that any attempt to correct the narrative has been met with accusations of abuse and even threats of violence? This intense backlash vividly illustrates the powerful emotional sentiments and entrenched worldviews that shape belief, disbelief, and the very contours of perceived deception. As I’ve explored in previous works, such stories of saviorism often draw their power from the lingering legacies of settler colonialism, white supremacy, and racialized forms of symbolic and structural violence. By revealing the dynamics of truth and self-deception in the Arthur narrative, we can better understand how deeply rooted racism and coloniality continue to thrive and gain traction even within seemingly simple tales, particularly those presented as a heroic movie dog based on true story events.

Barbuncho: The Real Dog Behind the Myth

My heart skipped a beat in 2014 when I began reading a widely circulated article about a “stray” dog that “adopted a team of Swedish trekkers in the Amazon.” The story recounted how, after being offered a meatball, the dog followed Mikael Lindnord and his team through deep mud, dense jungle, and challenging river crossings. It was a fantastic narrative, but eerily familiar. Then, I saw the accompanying photo: it was Barbuncho, the happy, often-muddy canine who eagerly seized any chance for an adventure through the reserve where I had conducted fieldwork since the early 2000s. Contrary to the article’s depiction, the adventure racers were not near the Amazon; despite the perceived “jungle-y” atmosphere, they were on the Ecuadorian coast. This unexpected encounter highlighted the stark difference between the widely reported narrative and the ground truth of Barbuncho’s life, offering a powerful example of how a narrative can be reframed to fit a certain mold, even for “the dog movie based on true story” genre.

I immediately contacted my friends in Ecuador, and Esteban confirmed his dog was indeed missing. He found it perplexing that there was such a global fervor over a dog joining a trek, as this was precisely what Barbuncho always did. Barbuncho frequently accompanied people, often foreign volunteers (sometimes even Swedish ones, like myself), on jungle excursions, but he consistently returned “home” to the main village. This region, with its vast rainforests, stunning waterfalls, challenging muddy trails, and rich wildlife, was Barbuncho’s natural playground. We knew him to join anyone embarking on the most daring escapades—whether it was a team of tropical biologists studying the reserve’s fauna, medical volunteers conducting health campaigns, or Esteban himself on hunting trips for paca or agouti.

Barbuncho also had multiple “homes,” mirroring his owner’s lifestyle, splitting his time between a biological station, Esteban’s farm, and a small house in a bustling village. If Esteban left one of these locations and Barbuncho chose not to follow, other family members or friends would readily step in to feed him and ensure his well-being. This robust communal safety net, extending support to animals, children, and the elderly alike, was one of the qualities I most admired about this community. To those of us who truly knew him, Barbuncho cherished his freedom, even if that freedom sometimes meant a bit of mess and adventure. This intrinsic understanding of Barbuncho’s life and the community’s approach to pet ownership stands in stark contrast to the singular “stray dog” narrative, underscoring the complexities involved in any dog the movie based on true story adaptation.

Mikael Lindnord and Arthur in EcuadorMikael Lindnord and Arthur in Ecuador

The Difficult Path to Correcting the Narrative

As soon as Esteban confirmed the dog in the news was Barbuncho, he asked me to contact Mikael Lindnord. His intention was to inform Lindnord that the dog, which was being prepared for an international journey, actually belonged to someone. My Ecuadorian friends were puzzled why Lindnord never thought to inquire about the dog’s ownership, as Barbuncho’s identity was well-known locally. Esteban, residing at his farm without electricity or internet, was initially unaware of the unfolding global story. Concerned about the language barrier (he spoke neither English nor Swedish, both of which I do) and lacking social media access on his phone, he relied on me for communication via WhatsApp.

While I understand Lindnord’s likely surprise and concern upon receiving my Facebook messages, especially given the extensive press coverage he had already garnered, his reaction was to raise immediate concerns about animal abuse, even insinuating my potential complicity. My attempts to explain the realities of rural life, poverty, or culturally distinct standards of pet-keeping were met with ridicule. Instead, Lindnord provided detailed descriptions of Barbuncho’s back wound (the result of a tussle with another animal), poor teeth, and parasites. When I relayed these accusations to my friends in Ecuador, they found them amusing. They responded, “Why is it such a big deal that Barbuncho had parasites and a wound? We all have parasites, machete wounds, infections, all of it. We’re poor and we get hurt while working the fields, producing cacao and all these products for all of you in the rest of the world.” This exchange highlighted a profound cultural disconnect in understanding animal welfare and ownership, a critical aspect when evaluating any “Dog Based On True Story” narrative.

I reached out to multiple news outlets to correct the story, but my efforts were unsuccessful. Admittedly, I voiced my frustration on social media, leading to accusations of being an animal abuser or, at best, an agua fiesta (a buzzkill). I anticipated that my perspective might be unpopular, but I was unprepared for how utterly unbelievable it seemed to many. Most striking were individuals who acknowledged the unfair villainization of rural, poor people of color on Ecuador’s coast and the blatant disregard for their lives and truths, yet ultimately dismissed these concerns because “it was such a great story.” The fact that this narrative of “possession” was enabled by a longer history of “dispossession” central to settler colonialism seemed irrelevant. In the end, Barbuncho made it to Sweden amidst significant fanfare, and Lindnord embarked on a career built upon this fortuitous event. The recent film premiere was accompanied by the release of a children’s book, Young Arthur, presumably detailing Arthur’s “trials and tribulations” in the jungle before his encounter with Lindnord, further cementing a constructed narrative that overshadows the actual true story.

Dissecting the “Incredible True Story”: Colonial Tropes and Media Distortions

The inconsistencies embedded within the evolving Arthur narratives are quite telling. They not only underscore the need for hyperbolic representations to render a story captivating enough for Hollywood, but also expose the distorted lens through which the Global North frequently views the Global South. For instance, Lindnord’s insistence that the dog was on the brink of death, despite Barbuncho’s demonstrated ability to follow the team through exceptionally challenging terrain for days, subtly reinforces a subconscious narrative of deprivation and suffering typically associated with the Global South. This narrative is further propelled when Lindnord broadly characterizes rural life as inherently lacking essential value for animals’ lives.

The entrenchment of racist, colonial tropes becomes increasingly evident as Lindnord reflects on “how tough it must be to be a stray dog in this country, dependent on the kindness of strangers” because “some of the natives sure don’t show much kindness.” He employs age-old characterizations of rural people that dispossess and disenfranchise: “it has just never been part of the culture for some parts of Ecuador to regard animals with any respect. They are kicked, shouted at, beaten—people know that there are no laws to protect the rights of animals, and it is not a crime to mistreat them, so people mistreat animals and they let their children mistreat them.” For this reason, he expands the scope of his rescue to encompass an entire culture: “Saving” isn’t just directed at the dog with “all the diseases,” but at saving all the “Arthurs of the world” from “unkind natives” everywhere. Under the auspices of The Arthur Foundation (which appears to be inactive now), Lindnord advocated for a carceral response—stricter punishment for animal abuse and mistreatment in Ecuador, with encouragement to implement similar laws globally. Ideal pet-keeping in the Global North, he implied, is governed by law, with an animal’s well-being ensured by stable homes, fenced yards, regular medical surveillance, and enclosed quarantines and doggie daycares (Barbuncho lived in quarantine for his first four months in Sweden).

It is not only Lindnord who appears caught in this web of hyperbole and colonial tropes; the publishing industry and Hollywood readily follow suit. Barbuncho’s actual 30-mile journey (as the crow flies) is conflated with the team’s full journey of “over the course of ten days and 435 miles.” Mark Wahlberg, in a recent appearance on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, reported that “this dog travels 500 miles” and that “the racer is going to get disqualified from the race because of the dog, and the racer chooses the dog.” The Library of Congress subject heading for the book lists Brazil and the Amazon River Region as keywords. In videos, Lindnord references being “stared at by Indians in the Amazon” and borrowing “their Inca canoes” (Ecuador’s coast is neither Amazonian nor close to any Incas). The movie itself was filmed in the Dominican Republic after a failed trial in Puerto Rico. Uproar among Ecuadorians about the setting and production in the Dominican Republic prompted a dubious explanation on social media, with Lindnord attributing the choice to a need for COVID protocols during filming. However, one could argue that distance from Barbuncho’s actual home and specific life was necessary to sustain the deception of (and perhaps legally protect them from) “the true story.” The obfuscation of place underlines the fact that what is truly important is a tropical, untamed backdrop, supposedly befitting a place with “Natives” lacking “civilized customs” of caring for animals. In essence, the ambiguity of context is fundamental; rural folk (or “Natives”) in Ecuador, the Dominican Republic, or Puerto Rico serve merely as a foil through which the Global North touts its own heroics and success in “saving” a dog based on a true story.

The Perils of “Heroic Narratives” and (Self-)Deception

For a touch of self-deception, we are rewarded with the heartwarming celebration of loyalty and friendship between humans and dogs, especially when the story involves a canine so utterly determined to keep pace with its “best friend.” Furthermore, in a world often dominated by tough news cycles and polarizing debates, we feel we deserve to feel good. Dogs serve as perfect objects of salvation, allowing us to project our desires (and perhaps theirs) for uncomplicated companionship and loving relationships amidst the complexities of late capitalism.

Interestingly, Lindnord and his enthusiasts often counter any skepticism about the story by insisting that “he didn’t choose the dog, the dog chose us.” This statement is often presented as the definitive end to any debate. Yet, when Mikael Lindnord was directly asked what he would do if contacted by the dog’s original owner, he responded, “I have microchipped Arthur. I am his owner.” This stark declaration underscores a fundamental shift in ownership and narrative control, revealing a selective acceptance of “truth” that prioritizes a desired outcome over established facts.

When Local Truths Are Silenced: The Impact on Ecuador

Ecuadorians themselves are not entirely immune to these troubling colonial stereotypes. When Esteban was eventually located by the Ecuadorian press and acknowledged his ownership of Barbuncho, it triggered national petitions to have him jailed. These petitions gained significant traction primarily through urban elites from Quito and animal rights networks, effectively providing a stage for a social media backlash against the entirety of the rural interior. Barbuncho’s physical health – and the immediate acceptance that his health was a result of choice rather than the structural conditions shared by his community – came to powerfully represent a more general anxiety that rural and coastal Afro-Ecuadorians and mestizos were holding the country back.

The Ecuadorians who celebrated Lindnord’s “cultured” manner of pet-keeping did so to align themselves with a progressive notion of modernity. They publicly condemned Esteban as a national embarrassment, offering apologies for their “less-cultured country folk.” Primitive representations were quickly swapped for savage ones; Esteban and his community became implicitly branded as backward, barbaric, and abusive. This internal societal division further exemplifies how dominant narratives can be internalized, even leading to the marginalization of one’s own people when faced with powerful, externally imposed stereotypes, especially concerning a compelling “true story dog movie.”

Beyond the Story: Unmasking Deeper Colonial Truths

In its layers of deception, this “incredible true story” of a dog based on true story reveals a deeper, more profound truth. The narrative wields such force not just because of the delightful reward of a dog and feel-good heroics, but because the legend of Arthur remained largely unquestioned. Its foundation rests on a more incredible, pervasive truth: a racist and colonial “common sense.” Within this entrenched logic, rural backwardness and tropical savagery are implicitly used to justify and amplify the North’s perceived civility and its natural claim to property.

These deeply ingrained stereotypes do more than merely misinform; they actively entrench harmful, savior-type ideologies that, in turn, validate the Global North’s interference in the Global South’s affairs. In stories like these, rural populations are denied their agency, unfairly cast as villains, and their complex lives are overly simplified, ignoring the structural roots of their experiences and the richness of their cultural practices around animal care. Ultimately, it is the heroism and the narrative of conquest that we are truly encouraged to embrace, rather than to critically examine the ongoing processes of extraction and dispossession that make such stories possible. It is an age-old story, repackaged for the modern era. In the late-capitalist Hollywood rendition, everyone deemed important and visible stands to benefit: Lindnord, the dog (in his new life), the film producers and cast, and dog lovers around the world who enjoy a heartwarming tale. However, the ultimate deceit lies in the fact that this perceived win-win success implicitly depends on the moral and political disenfranchisement of Barbuncho’s people—his true home, family, and community.

This journey into the complexities of Arthur’s story reminds us that while tales of canine loyalty are universally appealing, it is essential to look beyond the surface, question popular narratives, and respect the diverse cultural contexts of pet ownership. Understanding the full picture enriches our appreciation for the human-animal bond and challenges us to be more discerning consumers of media, especially when it comes to a “dog based on a true story.”

References

Jonh Luke

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