Animating Animals
by Thomas McMahon
Fx Goby’s animated short To Build a Fire is actually about the failure to build a fire. A man, accompanied by his husky, braves the cold and wilderness of the snowy tundra. After his fire has been extinguished by a snow drift, he tries to relight it after but is unable to do so. In the final scene, he is slumped against a tree, having given up. Zooming out, we see the dog trotting away, presumably toward a settlement indexed by smoke behind the horizon.
The story is a simple but powerful parable of human hubris. The sound of ice cracking beneath the man and the dog is more than a warning. It symbolizes the fragile balance between human determination and nature’s overwhelming force. The man’s dismissal of this sound as he presses forward reflects his sense of superiority, while the dog’s hesitation reveals its primal instinct. The refusal to acknowledge the dangers leads to the man’s downfall, while his dog survives. Humans can be foolish, animals are wise. Growing up with my Bernese Mountain dog, Taya, I’ve always felt a special bond with her as a fellow creature . Her quiet presence has been a constant source of comfort. Taya has shown me what loyalty and understanding really mean. While watching To Build a Fire, I kept thinking of my dog and how she communicates without words. Like Taya, the dog in the film is more than a companion. She cares. The dog represents a deep connection to the natural world.
To Build a Fire tells a broader story of that world, where humans and animals exist side by side and together. But each has a different relationship with the environment. Animals such as the dog have existed longer than humans and will likely live long after us. The man ignores the harsh Yukon to his detriment, while the dog survives following its instincts and reveals how we must respect forces larger than ourselves.
Goby utilizes the cinematic animation to anthropomorphize that is, to attribute human characteristics or behavior to animals. The dog displays subtle human-like gestures and expressions, such as hesitant movements or a quick knowing glance. This approach makes the dog not only a symbol of nature’s resilience and deeper understanding, but also suggests a connection with a fellow creature. Its closed eyes suggest a deep inner knowledge. An ability to exist in harmony with that natural world, which is something that humans often overlook.
Anthropomorphism is a technique that has been around since the beginning of animated film. The word animal and animation share the same root of the Latin animalis (“having breath”) which stems from anima (“breaths”) which explains its meaning as “soul.” By anthropomorphizing animals in animated films they are given a soul of sorts. Mickey Mouse and Winnie-the-Pooh are both textbook examples of Anthropomorphism.Their long-standing tradition is continuing today in top animated movies today such as Zootopia, Finding Nemo, and The Lion King. Why did film makers turn to animation in order to create stories with humans and animals turned into one?
Animation created a new canvas for innovators to illustrate ideas that they were previously not able to achieve. They are able to reveal the limitations of humanity’s dominance, by holding up a mirror to us. As Paul Wells has suggested, filmmakers use “animation as an art almost inherently offers pertinent comment on humankind’s delusion that it manages and controls life anyway.” Unlike traditional filmmaking, animation’s malleability allows the animator to create worlds where the boundaries of reality and fantasy can come together. Films can then dive deeper into human conditions that might go unnoticed.
One instance occurs during the final moments of the film. As the dog leaves the man behind it smiles at him before walking towards the village. This sphinx-like smile seems to say that even though the man believes that he is in charge the dog knows of a larger force. The gesture is seen as a reminder of how nature will always have its own laws that must be respected. Animals (even animated ones) operate within nature’s boundaries instead of attempting to defy them, unlike the man who severely underestimates the environment’s power. Here the dog’s position aligns with the perspective of the story’s hidden narrator, whose voice is channeled through the music.
As the dog walks away from the man the screen rolls to the credits, and we hear the London Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Mathieu Alvado, create a sublime atmosphere. The violins and flutes’ mournful sounds taps into the sense of tragedy, reminding us of the man’s failure and isolation in nature. But on a larger scale the orchestra’s rich sound adds a sense of awe to the film, which makes the man’s struggle feel small in the grand scheme of nature’s power. The music is able to render a “divine” perspective, almost as if we are viewing his predicament from above. He has become just another part of the vast indifferent natural world.
The music becomes more than just an accompaniment to the story. It actively shapes how we are able to understand the man’s journey and it offers a transcendental angle. The grandeur and scale of the music emphasize the enormity of the force’s he is up against. The human struggle for survival feels small within the broader, unrelenting natural world. Here the orchestra reinforces not only the fate of the individual but also the recurring cycle of life and death—a knowledge similar to a divine entity. Life exists in cycles of birth, survival, and death. Throughout this cycle every living being to ever exist is subject to forces beyond its control. By elevating the struggle to an existential level, the music connects the man’s experience to a deeper knowledge of creation.