102 DALMATIANS A film review by David N. Butterworth Copyright 2000 David N. Butterworth
*1/2 (out of ****)
Cruella De Vil reformed? Unlikely.
A follow-up to Disney's live-action "101 Dalmatians" that's better, more entertaining than the first? Just as unlikely.
With "102 Dalmatians," the Disney studios have proven that when it comes to going to the dogs, more is definitely *not* the merrier.
1996's "101 Dalmatians" certainly wasn't the greatest movie-going experience of all time, but it did feature Glenn Close in an outrageous, larger-than-life performance. In addition, we had two amiable leads in the form of Jeff Daniels and Joely Richardson, and lots and lots of adorable spotted puppies. This time around there seem to be fewer puppies on the screen, and Close's facial and physical gyrations are starting to feel as old as the 53-year-old actress under that startling black and white wig of hers. But that's only half the problem with Kevin Lima's laborious film.
What makes "102 Dalmatians" such a collosal bore is its embarrassing attempts at humor (here almost single-handedly foisted on a wisecracking macaw who thinks he's a dog, voiced by Eric Idle), its rabid plotlessness (Cruella goes after puppies again; winds up in goo again) and most of all, the incredibly wooden actors who plays the romantic "heroes" of the piece, a Welshman named Ioan Gruffudd and the blander-than-bland Alice Evans as a parole officer named Chloë. Gruffudd is cute and harmless, perhaps, but Evans can't even aspire to that. The dogs upstage them both, of course, but in the case of Evans, even Close's split ends are more animated.
Bad acting, however, seems to be a requirement for this sequel, since Gérard Depardieu shows up as a French furrier with a haircut like Robert De Niro's in "Men of Honor." Jean Pierre Le Pelt is a flamboyant fashion designer with a penchant for fine furs and Depardieu's over-the-top antics mimic those of the campy Close flail for flail, and wail for wail. France's most popular export besides brie has long since turned into a caricature of himself, and in "102 Dalmatians" the producers milk that realization for all it's worth--Le Pelt likes to refer to the furry little critters as "poopies," par example (and ad nauseum).
The finesses of the script (attributed to four screenwriters no less, and far removed from anything Dodie Smith ever dreamed up) are quickly dispensed with, since all it takes for a paroled Cruella to be shaken from her years of successful aversion therapy in the slammer is the tolling of Big Ben (?). That done, it's back to the mansion to roll around in her heretofore off-limits sables and minks and a plan to skin those little dahlings for the sake of a hooded designer gown.
The dogs are pretty cute--try making a puppy look otherwise--but that's pretty much all they are. There's always the feeling that there's a trainer off in the wings, coaxing the dogs to open doors, or pick up their food bowls in unison, or pop a tape into the videocasette recorder. Savvy holiday goers should skip "102 Dalmatians" and pop the original 1961 animated classic into *their* VCRs instead. It's one Dalmatian less, but 101% more satisfying.
-- David N. Butterworth dnb@dca.net
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