I remember seeing a documentary about Ridley Scott where his sons complained that he’d rearrange the furniture in their house every weekend that he was home. When asked about this, he said he felt that he was being followed by a Black Dog and, if he didn’t stop moving, the dog would get him.
This Black Dog is a staple of British folklore. An apparition, signifying death. A fear of stagnation that’s driven him his whole life. The burning desire to be out there, creating movies – a spectral force, pushing him along.
So where’s my Black Dog? Where are the hellhounds on my tail?
Continue reading ‘The Black Dog’
