The Black Dog’s Progress grabs your attention from its first few frames, and in no uncertain terms signals itself as an animation for grown-ups. As we follow Stephen Irwin’s black dog on his journey, the familiar is transformed into an unsettling black and white world of violent, episodic uncertainties, delicately aided by the visceral music of Danish composer Sorenious Bonk.

With its explicit nod to A Rake’s Progress (1733), William Hogarth’s moral tale, The Black Dog’s Progress is an urban nightmare, told with urgent vitality, full of true-to-life observations, and hard-hitting depictions of sex and violence. The Black Dog is a naïve protagonist, given as a present to a young child, only to be turned out and forced to fend for itself in the world. Seeking kindness and companionship, the dog encounters only the bleak and demonic side of human existence, as it criss-crosses the boundaries of public and private life.

Presenting the Black Dog as innocent victim caught in a menacing web of sadistic violence and domestic cruelty, this is a dark social commentary that encourages us to consider the overlap between the hidden and the forbidden in our lives. Taken to the limits, the dog finally emits a chilling howl of pain and despair, perfectly conveyed by the spare, yet deeply charged soundtrack. And simultaneously, the urban landscape implodes in apocalyptic shock waves of graphic overlay. Irwin’s in-your-face style, black and white characters and troubling vision, recalls Phil Mulloy’s anarchic Cowboys (1991) and The Ten Commandments (1993-96). But while Mulloy's cartoon-like parables eagerly take on God and the universe, Irwin’s eye is cast closer and literally to home.

Having trained as a graphic designer, and heavily influenced by graphic novels, what distinguishes this contemporary allegory, and intensifies its impact, is Irwin’s multi-temporal approach; the work is consciously designed to depict the past, present and future at the same time, within one shot. His technique for this self-imposed challenge was to produce over a hundred beautifully drawn flipbooks, each full of painstaking detail. The drawings were then animated and brilliantly patched together on computer to create a precisely paced story. The result is a savage and compelling narrative that, like The Picture of Dorian Gray (Oscar Wilde, 1890), or a third eye, goes beyond the surface to reflect the soul. Stephen Irwin’s multi-temporal approach delivers a tour-de-force of visual storytelling that both disturbs and hauntingly entertains at the same time.

Karen Alexander is an independent film curator, writer and freelance consultant. She has contributed articles to publications including Sight & Sound and Vertigo. As a cinema programmer she has organised a wide range of screenings and packages for festivals, conferences and exhibition. Her key areas of interest include representation, gender, identity and independent cinema. From 1998-2006 she worked at the BFI, with responsibility for the strategic marketing of the BFI's ambitious slate of Distribution and Archive releases.