This is the substack of Tom Foydel. I publish every Wednesday, a short story, and every Friday, a book or film review. Thrilled to have you along, and I love comments from readers. Thank you!
Mitt Liv Som Hund, My Life as a Dog, a Swedish movie from 1985 is about the life of a 12 year old boy. Try the three minute trailer below to get a sense of the film’s theme:
Reviews of the film generally ran along these lines:
This quirky, coming-of-age cult classic from acclaimed Swedish director Lasse Hallstrom tells the story of Ingemar, a 12-year-old working-class boy sent to live with his childless aunt and uncle in a country village after his mother falls gravely ill. The year is 1959, and Ingemar (Anton Glanzelius) is fixated by two major events - his namesake fighting for the World Heavyweight boxing title [Ingemar Johansson]; and the fate of Laika, a dog sent into space by the Soviets. Fatherless and faced with his mother's imminent death, Ingemar identifies with Laika's journey into the unknown as he searches for a place among his eccentric new family - often with hilarious results. Winner of the Golden Globe for Best Foreign Film, and nominated for two Academy Awards, My Life as a Dog is one of the most tender, nostalgic portraits of childhood ever put to film.
All of this is true, so far as it goes. But it was my impression leaving the theater nearly 40 years ago (!) that there was something more here; there was a sense of foreboding, a sense there was something bigger that was sick and dying, not only the mother. I feel more persuaded of that today after viewing the film again.
It is really the story of a boy asked to live his life as a long, tiresome apology; I’ve retitled it “Mitt Liv Som Apologi.”
Of course we all feel this way from time to time. Invited to a party where we know a single person, we act like we were on our way home and decided to take a short cut through a stranger’s living room; ‘please forgive me’ our face says as we nod our way through the crowd. But a fatherless boy, this is another level of apology altogether because he cannot help seeing, feeling, every day, that he is in fact a huge burden to his partner-less mother. She works herself to death, and he, unbeknownst to himself, always just make life harder. He runs, jokes, jumps, digs a hole in the yard where it’s not wanted, pounds nails into one thing or another. His every impulse is against hers, beyond her comprehension, and she does not understand how to make him make sense. So she screams at him, all day long. But he loves her, and she loves him, despite it all, and he tell her he’s sorry every night before bed, when he’s exhausted and has slowed down enough to think and talk. He even promises to be a ‘good boy’ but heaven knows the roof of the garage beckons - who will climb up and jump off first?
By 1985, Sweden’s rate of, as they call it, extramarital childbirth, was heading to new heights, today it stands at 56%. And with a divorce rate among the highest in Europe, even children born into a marriage probably live most of their childhood with only Mom. What’s happened?
It’s a thoroughly modern country Sweden, very urban, very egalitarian, right? Very strange then that family formation has become so strained, almost to the point of not existing anymore. But single moms at their wit’s end trying to raise boys was not how it was supposed to be, not how the whole thing was sold to us. I remember it being marketed as very glamorous, very bold and beautiful.
As just one example, there were the glossy page, sensually lit photographic spreads of incredibly beautiful and brave girls lying naked on silk sheets. There was also the story of the visitor to the Playboy mansion who recounted how they announced “dinner is here,” and all the beautiful girls jumped up excitedly and ran to the dining room. When the visitor arrived moments later he was amazed to see that dinner was a bucket of chicken. Maybe the bucket of the colonel’s best should have been a tell, a subtle indicator that what we were about to get would come in, you know, a bucket.
The choices offered were always hilariously limited, too. A dowdy old world of sweaty, ugly people who didn’t know how to make love, or a spanking new life of fun and excitement beyond your wildest dreams! The swim suits got skimpier, that did happen, until they were discarded altogether. But the future most expected never materialized. Just as NAFTA never created the great new jobs we were all going to have, we also never arrived at sexual liberation, whatever that is. Instead we got single motherhood, and a lot boys and men without purpose, whose faces always plead ‘I’m sorry’.
Building a society begins with the physical plant; the machines that move earth, the concrete and steel and wood that form the envelope that spares us from the '“the howling winds”.1 Who builds it? Who maintains it? Have you noticed that it’s started to fray at the edges?
It was interesting to see My Life as a Dog again after almost 40 years. I wondered how the quirky, cute boy of 12 years would be received today? Toxic little trouble maker? Whatever happened to him I thought? Did he ever learn how to do something useful?
My Life as a Dog is available from your local library, at least in Michigan, and it can also be streamed online for a small fee. It really is a swell movie to watch. The acting reminds me of normal people, the pace is great, it’s very funny in places and the multiple sub plots are woven together very well. Just promise me this - that you’ll feel as much empathy for the boy as you do for Laika, the space dog.
If you go when the snowflakes fall
When the rivers freeze and summer ends
Please see for me if she's wearing a coat, so warm
To keep her from the howling winds
Girl from the North Country - Bob Dylan