Those are Bruno and Pippa, two-month-old offspring of my teacup Pomeranian Chloe and Pascal, half-Chihuahua and half-poodle. Sweetest little things. They were kissers like Chloe, and got the smarts of a poodle. I had to find the pups new homes last week since five dogs in a condo would mean hell (besides my grumpy Shih Tzu Bilbo wasn’t happy to have them around).
On the day I gave my two two-month-old puppies away, Hachiko: A Dog’s Story (2009) was playing on HBO. Couldn’t the timing be more manipulative?
Like all the canine movies I saw as a kid (Benji, Lassie, Beethoven, Digby, 101 Dalmatians), Hachiko has a very thin and predictable plot. Dog gets lost, dog finds a master, dog is up for adoption, master gets attached to the dog, dog stays with master till the very end, dog waits for dead master to come home for nine years, dog dies and gets iconic status. But do I mind? I don’t. I watch it every time it’s on.
Dog movies, other than Spielberg’s, are the most emotionally manipulative movies. Some do work at a more respectable level, like Marley & Me (family milestones with the world’s worst dog as a conspicuous footnote). We lap them up, find them excusable, and embrace the cuteness and sentimentality, just once in a while. Life’s too stressful for too much arthouse. Or crime, conflict, even Cujo.
No comments:
Post a Comment