Courtney Howard // Film Critic
DOGMAN
Rated R, 1 hour and 53 minutes
Directed by: Luc Besson
Starring: Caleb Landry Jones, Jojo T. Gibbs, Christopher Denham, Clemens Schick, John Charles Aguilar, Grace Palma, Iris Bry, Alexander Settineri, Lincoln Powell, Michael Garza, Marisa Berenson
For a fleeting 5 minutes during a climactic 3rd act showdown, DOGMAN becomes the ultra-violent WISHBONE feature we thought we’d never see in our lifetimes, where an impish diamond-necklace-heisting Jack Russell Terrier lures thugs into Kevin McCallister-approved booby traps to their death. However, in whiplash fashion, this silliness turns sobering when bigger dogs in the pack (though blessedly not stigmatized breeds) maul victims to their deaths. Had writer-director Luc Besson thought better of raining down vengeance utilizing canine calamity – one of a multitude of bad ideas in this overstuffed narrative – perhaps this pro-empathy anthem would’ve fared better. Instead, he all-too-frequently makes baffling creative choices that nullify their outcomes.
Besson has said he was inspired to write this story after reading about a French family who kept their 5-year-old in a cage. However, his filmic exploration of how traumatic suffering impacts human evolution and survival fails to bestow, or restore, any sense of dignity to this victim of unspeakable horror. This fictionalization is too terribly chaotic for that kind of reclamation. More so, it asks, “What’s worse: Being raised as a dutiful son by an abusive, religious zealot in Newark, New Jersey or as a lonely, disabled orphan by a pack of stray dogs in grim poverty?” The better question Besson should’ve been asked about these creative choices is, “What were you thinking?”
Mild-mannered Douglas (Caleb Landry Jones) has lived a hard knock life since a very young age when his evil, neglectful father Mike (Clemens Schick) locked him in the dog pen housing bait dogs for years on end. His older buffoonish brother Richie (Alexander Settineri) is equally lousy, yelling and taunting him. And his pregnant mother (Iris Bry) abandons him, leaving him with a couple of cans of food and her secret stash of women’s housekeeping magazines. They’re a heavily caricatured skewering of the Norman Rockwell-esque, picture perfect American family. But on the day Douglas finally wins his freedom, tragedy strikes again, taking away a finger and his ability to walk.
With a bullet lodged in his spine (one that could kill him lest he walk more than a few steps) and no guardians, Douglas must acclimate to life alone outside of the chicken-wire cage. As the film colors it, it’s even more imprisoning given his physical restraints, relegated to a wheelchair while in bulky leg braces. His journey takes him from a lonely existence in private school to finding sanctuary in the arts, performing in Shakespearean plays in his youth and glamourous drag shows in his adulthood. Still, it’s a bunch of stray dogs that act as his constant companions – those he commands to rob from the rich in order to fund his rough (ruff?) vigilante-ish side hustle providing community betterment.
If this sounds like “a lot of movie,” just wait. There’s even more: There’s a part involving an insurance claims investigator (Christopher Denham) who brandishes a pistol and flirts with Douglas, easily gaining access to his heavily guarded, tricked-out, neon-bathed lair in a derelict university building. There’s a Mexican gang leader (John Charles Aguilar) who retaliates against Douglas’ efforts to keep his friends and community safe. There’s a court-appointed psychiatrist/ single mom (Jojo T. Gibbs) tasked with listening to Douglas tell his sob story which provides the picture with its framing devices. And there’s the pack of dogs (played by dog-actors Gronk, Jackpot, Mars, Chester, Sweet, Junior, Pink, Boulette, Ioda, Nyloo, Tokyo, Ixia and Sybelle) who instinctively obey their pack leader’s orders to chomp baddies’ balls and fetch everything from flour to jewelry.
All these superficialities serve as minor distractions from getting to know the titular character as it relates to our rooting interest. Besson tests the “Save the Cat” (or, in this case, dog) principle, which guides audience affinity for a character. He’s kind to dogs – a dedicated advocate, giving them a new ‘leash’ on life – which is, of course, admirable. But we’re tested when his stalker-ish schoolboy crush on his drama teacher/ manic pixie dream girl Salma (Grace Palma) leads to his quiet outrage over a rejection of his love by her, a woman who dared make decisions on her own independence. He withdraws further into himself and from society in incel-like fashion. He later channels those frustrations, enacting violence to maintain peace. These dichotomies don’t make him fascinating or appealing. Rather they serve to point out that this character and his conflicts are poorly conceived and executed.
Jones, being expertly cast as this weird guy in a career filled with similar weird guy roles, gives his role depth and dimension. His vocals hit on the same tonal scale as Brad Pitt’s and so does his dramatic range. His drag performances soar, convincingly disguising himself as Edith Piaf, Marilyn Monroe and Marlene Dietrich with iconic costumes. Though the material isn’t up to par with his talent, which goes incredibly underutilized, he turns in commanding work. You can’t take your eyes off of his unblinking, wily bravura.
Part two-hander replete with unbelievable amounts of exposition, part bonkers character study actioner, Besson’s film ironically suffers from an identity crisis. Woof.
Grade: 1.5 out of 5
DOGMAN opens in select theaters on March 29.
