The film Arthur the King, starring Mark Wahlberg, claims to be “Based on the Incredible True Story,” presenting a heartwarming tale of a scruffy stray dog and an endurance athlete forming an unlikely bond during a race in the Dominican Republic. This narrative, already popularized in books, speaks to themes of perseverance, sacrifice, and the profound connection between humans and their canine companions. It positions a regular person as a hero “saving” a being at risk. Yet, the story often prompts us to question whose truth is being told and what other realities might lie beneath its polished surface. Understanding the layers of such stories can illuminate how cinema adapts real-life events, sometimes creating a narrative that diverges significantly from its origins, echoing other profound dog real story movie narratives that have captivated audiences worldwide.
By a remarkable twist of fate, I am privy to some of these untold truths. The “real Arthur,” originally known as Barbuncho, hailed from an Ecuadorian village, not the Dominican Republic. Far from being a stray or abused, Barbuncho was a cherished farm and jungle dog. He freely roamed cacao and coffee fields, often accompanying visiting doctors and ecologists on their jungle expeditions. He offered immense comfort to his owner, Esteban (a pseudonym), following his divorce, inspiring Esteban to compose ballads in his honor, celebrating their deep companionship. A year after Barbuncho’s “disappearance,” Esteban’s grandson expressed a poignant longing: “I really miss our dog. Why do gringos come here and take our dogs away?” This sentiment referred to previous instances where volunteers adopted local dogs, usually with the community’s consent. This background is crucial when examining how stories like Arthur the King are presented, especially when considering other poignant tales such as the movie about an Akita dog or the movie about a dog named Hachi, which similarly explore deep human-animal bonds but from different cultural lenses.
What underlying sociocultural forces enable a story to gain such widespread credibility? Why have countless individuals, even within Ecuador, become deeply invested in these fictionalized accounts, to the extent that attempts to correct the narrative have met with fierce accusations of abuse and even threats of violence? This intense backlash highlights the emotional and worldview-driven factors that shape belief, disbelief, and the very boundaries of deception. As noted in a collaborative piece, this particular story of “saviorism” draws its power from the enduring legacy of settler colonialism, white supremacy, and racialized forms of symbolic and structural violence. Unveiling the dynamics of truth and self-deception within the Arthur story illuminates how racism and coloniality persist and gain traction, even through seemingly simple tales. This complex interplay of narrative and reality is a fascinating aspect of how the richard gere japanese dog film became so iconic, demonstrating the emotional power of a narrative, regardless of its strict factual basis.
Mikael Lindnord and the dog Arthur in Ecuador after the adventure race
Barbuncho: The Dog Behind the Movie
In 2014, my heart skipped a beat when I encountered a widely circulated article recounting the tale of a “stray” dog that “adopted a team of Swedish trekkers in the Amazon.” The article detailed how, after being offered a meatball, the dog followed Mikael Lindnord and his team through deep mud, dense jungle, and river crossings during an endurance race. While a compelling story, it felt strangely familiar. The accompanying photograph in the PRI article confirmed my suspicion: it was Barbuncho, the cheerful, often mud-splattered canine I knew from years of intermittent fieldwork in an Ecuadorian reserve since the early 2000s. Contrary to the sensationalized account, the adventure racers were not near the Amazon; despite the similar “jungle-y” atmosphere, they were on the Ecuadorian coast.
Upon contacting my friends in Ecuador, Esteban confirmed that his dog was indeed missing. He found the global frenzy surrounding a dog joining a trek bewildering, as this was Barbuncho’s typical behavior. Barbuncho frequently followed people, often foreign volunteers—sometimes Swedish, like myself—through the jungle, but he always eventually returned “home” to the main village. This region, with its expansive rainforest, majestic waterfalls, challenging muddy trails, and abundant wildlife, was Barbuncho’s natural playground. We knew him to accompany anyone embarking on the most audacious escapades, be it a team of tropical biologists studying the reserve’s fauna, medical volunteers conducting health campaigns, or Esteban himself on hunting trips. Barbuncho also enjoyed multiple “homes,” much like his owner, dividing his time between a biological station, Esteban’s farm, and a small house in a bustling village. If Esteban departed one location and Barbuncho chose not to follow, other family members or friends would readily step in to feed him and ensure his well-being. This communal safety net, which supported animals, children, and the elderly alike, was a deeply valued aspect of this community. To those of us who knew him, Barbuncho cherished his freedom, even if it meant a life that wasn’t always tidy or conventional by Western standards. This genuine portrayal stands in stark contrast to many portrayals of a film with richard gere and a dog, where the narrative is tightly controlled for emotional impact.
Correcting the Narrative
As soon as Esteban confirmed the dog was Barbuncho, he requested I contact Mikael Lindnord to inform him that the dog he was preparing to fly across the world actually belonged to someone else. My Ecuadorian friends were perplexed as to why Lindnord hadn’t bothered to inquire about the dog’s ownership. Esteban, isolated on his farm without electricity or internet, was initially unaware of the unfolding events. He worried about the language barrier, not speaking English or Swedish (both languages I happen to speak), and lacked social media on his phone, communicating with me solely via WhatsApp. While I acknowledge Lindnord’s likely surprise and concern upon receiving my Facebook messages, especially given the extensive press coverage he had already garnered, he unfortunately escalated the situation by raising concerns about animal abuse, even insinuating my complicity. My attempts to explain rural life, poverty, or culturally different standards of pet-keeping were met with ridicule and detailed descriptions of Barbuncho’s back wound (from a skirmish with another animal), poor teeth, and parasites. When I relayed these accusations to my friends in Ecuador, they laughed, retorting, “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.”
I reached out to multiple news outlets to correct the story, but my efforts were dismissed. I admit to expressing my frustration on social media, which led to accusations of being an animal abuser or, at best, an agua fiesta (a buzzkill). I anticipated that my stance would be unpopular, but I was unprepared for it to be so unbelievable. 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. Ultimately, Barbuncho was transported to Sweden to considerable fanfare, where Lindnord established a home for him and embarked on a long career based on this fortuitous event a decade ago. Coinciding with the film premiere in late February 2024, Lindnord announced the release of a children’s book in four languages, Young Arthur, which presumably details Arthur’s fabricated early life in the jungle before his encounter with Lindnord.
Colonial Minds and (Self-)Deception
The inconsistencies woven into the evolving Arthur narratives are quite revealing. Beyond merely highlighting the need for hyperbolic representations to render a story captivating for Hollywood, they also expose the distorted lens through which the Global North often perceives the Global South. For instance, Lindnord’s repeated insistence that the dog was on the brink of death, despite Barbuncho’s evident capability to follow them through extraordinarily challenging terrain for days, underscores a subconscious narrative of deprivation and suffering typically associated with the Global South. This narrative is further advanced when Lindnord broadly characterizes rural life as devoid of any essential value for animals’ lives. The deep-seated nature of racist, colonial tropes becomes increasingly apparent 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 archaic 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” is not merely 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 no longer be active, Lindnord advocated for a carceral response with stricter penalties for animal abuse and mistreatment in Ecuador, encouraging the implementation of similar laws globally. Ideal pet-keeping in the Global North is typically governed by law; an animal’s well-being is ensured by stable homes with fenced yards, regular medical surveillance, and enclosed quarantines and doggie daycares (upon leaving Ecuador, Barbuncho spent his first four months in quarantine in Sweden).
However, Lindnord is not the sole individual seemingly ensnared in this hyperbole and colonial framing. The publishing industry and Hollywood readily follow suit. Barbuncho’s approximate 30-mile journey (as the crow flies) is conflated with the team’s full expedition “over the course of ten days and 435 miles.” Or, as Mark Wahlberg recently stated on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, “this dog travels 500 miles” and “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 has now been filmed in the Dominican Republic after an initial trial in Puerto Rico proved unsuccessful. Uproar among Ecuadorians regarding the film’s setting and production in the Dominican Republic prompted a rather dubious explanation on social media, with Lindnord attributing the choice to the necessity of COVID protocols during filming. Yet, it could be argued that distancing the narrative from the actual home and specifics of Barbuncho’s life was essential to maintain the deception of (and perhaps legally protect them from) “the true story.” The obfuscation of place underscores that the critical element is merely a tropical, untamed backdrop, supposedly befitting a locale where “Natives” lack civilized customs of animal care. In essence, the ambiguity of the context is fundamental; rural folk (or “Natives”) in Ecuador, the Dominican Republic, or Puerto Rico serve merely as a backdrop against which the Global North can tout its own heroics and successes.
Even Ecuadorians themselves are not 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 among urban elites from Quito and animal rights networks, providing a platform for the social media backlash against the entire rural interior. Barbuncho’s physical health—and the immediate assumption that his health was a result of choice rather than the structural conditions shared by his community—came to powerfully symbolize a broader anxiety that rural and coastal Afro-Ecuadorians and mestizos were hindering the country’s progress. The Ecuadorians who celebrated Lindnord’s “cultured” manner of pet-keeping did so to align themselves with a progressive notion of modernity, publicly shaming Esteban as a national embarrassment and apologizing for their “less-cultured” country folk. Primitive representations were swapped for savage ones; Esteban and his community were implicitly branded as backward, barbaric, and abusive.
Doggie Desires and Deeper Truths
In exchange for a little self-deception, we get to celebrate the profound loyalty and friendship between humans and dogs, especially when the story involves a canine so resolutely determined to stay with its “best friend.” Furthermore, in a world dominated by difficult news cycles and polarizing debates, we often seek narratives that make us feel good. Dogs serve as the perfect objects of salvation, allowing us to project our desires (and theirs) for uncomplicated companionship and loving relationships amidst the complexities of late capitalism. Interestingly, Lindnord and his enthusiastic supporters counter any skepticism about the story by insisting that he didn’t choose the dog; rather, “the dog chose us.” This assertion is often presented as the definitive end to any debate. However, when questioned about what he would do if contacted by the dog’s original owner, Lindnord emphatically states, “I have microchipped Arthur. I am his owner.” This reveals a possessive aspect that complicates the narrative of mutual choice.
In its deliberate deceptions, this “incredible true story” ultimately unveils a deeper, more unsettling truth. The narrative gains such powerful traction not just from the enjoyable reward of a dog story and feel-good heroics, but because its core tenets remain largely unquestioned. This unquestioning acceptance stems from a deeper, more insidious “common sense” rooted in racism and colonial ideology. Within this framework, rural “backwardness” and “tropical savagery” are used to justify and amplify the Global North’s perceived civility and its inherent claim to property. These pervasive stereotypes do more than simply misinform; they reinforce harmful, savior-type ideologies that legitimize the North’s interference in the South’s affairs. In stories like these, rural populations are stripped of their agency, cast as villains, and their lives are oversimplified, ignoring the intricate complexities and structural roots of their experiences. Ultimately, what we truly desire to see is heroism and conquest, not the continuous extraction and dispossession that fundamentally enable such narratives. It is an age-old story, reimagined for the late capitalist Hollywood era, where everyone deemed important and visible—Lindnord, the dog, the film producers and cast, and dog lovers worldwide—stands to benefit. The ultimate deception, however, is that this seemingly “win-win” success is predicated on the moral and political disenfranchisement of Barbuncho’s people—his home, family, and entire community.
