MAN'S BEST FRIEND
A review by The Phantom
(sbb@panix.com)
As it happens, the very friendly-looking, good-natured dog that is the star of MAN'S BEST FRIEND -- John Lafia's ill-fated, poorly-made updating of Stephen King's CUJO -- is apparently supposed to be rather more evil-minded than the enthusiastic, happy-go-lucky fool he appears to be throughout most of the film. And he is, in fact, a Tibetan mastiff, a bit of information the Phantom was able to glean from the review in the New York Times -- which can only mean that it was mentioned in the press kit, since the reviewer assigned to the unsavory task of writing up this turkey normally spends his time reviewing pop music and likely knows even less about dogs than he does about horror films. As no press kits were made available to the Phantom, he'll trust Mr. Holden got the breed right, even if the rest of his review was, as usual, something less than helpful.
The Phantom figured that Max (short for EMAX 3000, his official designation as yet another genetically-enhanced product of science run amok) was part of the "working dog" group, but it was hard to tell exactly what breed this smiling, happy dog was. Not St. Bernard, though that was the Phantom's first guess, perhaps influenced by the preview for BEETHOVEN'S 2ND, a movie that as it happens looks a lot like MAN'S BEST FRIEND with fewer prosthetic canine effects and one or two less maulings. And he certainly wasn't a Doberman, or a Rottweiller, or a German Shepherd -- or in fact any breed of dog bred for at least a modicum of aggression under the right circumstances. Or any breed in the Husky family that might, on first sight, raise uneasy thoughts of our none-too-friendly relationship with wolves and other wild predators. No indeed. This dog was just a big, sloppy, friendly dog of indeterminate breed who wouldn't scare a three-year-old; and unless one harbored an unreasonable fear of drool, it's hard to see how he could inspire even a worried thought or two, let alone real terror.
Cujo was a big, normally harmless St. Bernard-like mutt, which might have raised similar problems for King; however, Cujo was rabid, and a rabid St. Bernard could certainly engage in activities a tad more worrisome than chronic slipper-chewing. And while Lewis Teague's screen adaptation was not entirely successful, it did at least capture the horror inherent in the situation: a normally domesticated friend of man who, because he becomes possessed by forces outside of his control, turns on his master and everyone else he would normally do no more than drool on. It's exactly the scenario that made CHILD'S PLAY such an effective film -- what could be more frightening than seeing a friend turn on us, especially one that should be entirely in our control? Lafia, who as a writer-director turned in a very serviceable entry in the "small doll run amok" sub-genre of horror cinema with CHILD'S PLAY 2 (and whose witty screenplay helped make the original CHILD'S PLAY a sleeper hit), seems a bit at sea here, not knowing how MAN'S BEST FRIEND should play -- one moment we're convinced that Max might really run amok, and the next we're listening to a none-too-convincing parrot get all the best lines in the screenplay.
The very thin plot revolves around Ally Sheedy who, as a hot-shot television news producer, discovers that the friendly mad scientists at EMAX experiment on animals. After a daring break-in, Sheedy and her assistant go to some lengths to present us with a brief episode of "Vivisection on Parade" -- film which would make any PETA member proud, and which presumably provides MAN'S BEST FRIEND with its redeeming social value; then Sheedy discovers Max. Naturally upon seeing a very large, caged and tortured animal, the first thing she does is pose with him; the second thing she does is release him and take him home with her, making only a quick pit-stop at a local 7-11 to get mugged and allow Max to perform an off-camera Charles Bronson impersonation by mauling the mugger (in a startlingly non-graphic off-camera scene) and returning Sheedy's purse to her. The fact that the mugger is nearly dismembered is not revealed until very late in the film, leaving us to wonder both how the film planned to go about earning its "R" rating and how Max -- who returns to the parking lot looking just as happy and well-groomed as he left it -- cleaned himself up so much in the few seconds he had off camera. Just the first of far too many continuity problems in the sloppily-written screenplay; occasionally the Phantom enjoys keeping track of such blunders, but in the case of MAN'S BEST FRIEND it quickly became clear that if he kept count he'd need more than two paws to do so; in fact Lafia's screenplay is on occasion so bad that it seemed a whole litter's worth of paws might be needed.
Putting continuity and a distinct lack of horror aside, early on it became obvious to the Phantom that Sheedy was, herself, part of what's wrong with MAN'S BEST FRIEND, and that he was not the only member of the audience hoping for her timely demise (hopefully at Max's hand -- or rather, his paw). Her character is written as unlikable and stupid, and Sheedy certainly does the role credit; yet as incredible as it may seem, Sheedy's character is the most likeable and intelligent in the film. Her yuppie boyfriend certainly goes to great lengths to be as unappealing as possible, and yet it's not until the film is nearly over that Max decides to put us out of our misery by engaging in yet another off-camera mauling. Tied for third in the "least appealing character in this film" contest are everyone else.
This would not necessarily be a bad thing, since after all there's nothing like watching a really annoying character get chewed to death, but Lafia is curiously reluctant to show much of anything on camera. Yes, special effects are expensive, but what's the point of making an R-rated horror film that's less violent than HOME ALONE? So as in JURASSIC PARK, much of the carnage is left to our imaginations; of course Speilberg wanted JURASSIC PARK to be as much of a horror film as JAWS and DUEL were and filmed it as such, whereas it looks like Lafia aimed for horror/comedy and missed. MAN'S BEST FRIEND, on the infrequent occasions when it does decide to turn back into a horror film, plays a lot like ALIEN might had it been set in the middle of a open, sunny field, rather than on a dark, claustrophobic spaceship. Since the maulings are all shot from Max's perspective; since we know where everyone is throughout; and since in any event the carnage is something less than graphic, the audience doesn't find itself exactly overwhelmed by feelings of tension or terror. Which leaves the comic aspects of MAN'S BEST FRIEND, about which the less said the better.
And then there's Max himself, who is presented throughout the first two-thirds of the film as a sort of Lassie on steroids, able to maul muggers, rid the neighborhood of pesky cats, and perform minor light truck repairs while bounding around with a suspiciously sunny disposition. Even by the end of the film, and wearing a fair amount of uncomfortable-looking canine prosthetics, Max just doesn't come off as a worthy successor to DEVIL DOG: THE HOUND FROM HELL (the mid-seventies, made-for-television production that remains one of the prototypical "Man's Worst Enemy" horror films). We wait, it seems in vain, for Max to get mean, or angry, or even the least perturbed, but waiting is the order of the day in MAN'S BEST FRIEND -- nothing much happens when the screenplay isn't focused on a cliched set piece (Max chases a cat; Max finds true love in the form of a collie named Heidi; Max pays back the abusive, crazy-looking, junkyard-dwelling loner with which the idiot Sheedy left him after reading his "Dog needed for endless, cruel abuse -- large friendly dogs with amiable, sunny dispositions preferred" want-ad in the newspaper and deciding that this would be the best way to keep Max out of the hands of the mad scientists at EMAX). And when Max finally snaps, he does so only because he's been so thoroughly provoked that even had he been cross-bred with Ghandi he could hardly have restrained himself further. Although Max is not exactly kept on the shortest of leashes in this film, he generally does little more than perform a set number of impressive tricks and wonder whether every washed up, post-BREAKFAST CLUB actor will eventually be reduced to co-starring with members of another species.
Lance Henriksen, as the mad-scientist-who-would-dare-to-play-God, blunders through much of the film harassing two stereotypical cops and urging them to find his million-dollar dog; should Max continue to remain unfound, there's no telling what might happen. Dire things are predicted: once the drugs that keep Max looking and acting an awful lot like a very clever, well-trained and friendly Tibetan mastiff wear off, he will be transformed into a crazed, unstoppable killing machine, ridding the film of extraneous characters left and right. Maulings; chewings; fatal lickings -- anything could happen. Carnage-A-Go-Go -- really! But the Phantom should have known better, much as the two people who walked out on the film midway through obviously did. Any film that talks this much about terrible things to come generally provides little in the way of terror, and much in the way of being just plain terrible.
The Phantom could go on, but let's face it -- this film just doesn't work. Sheedy needs to call her agent; Max should call his trainer; and Lafia should stick to playing with dolls. Although MAN'S BEST FRIEND has a few funny moments, it can't hold a candle to BEETHOVEN; and as far as horror goes, it was fairly obvious to the Phantom that the screenplay wasn't HOUSE-broken enough to qualify. Calling this film a dog is too easy; but as we're just days away from Thanksgiving, calling it a turkey will do.
: The Phantom : sbb@panix.com
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