Dir.
Bobcat Goldthwait, US, 2006, 87 mins
Cast: Melinda Page Hamilton, Bryce Johnson, Colby French
Review by Richard Mellor
Sleeping Dogs feels like a cinematic campaign
for cloning, such is the peculiar range of mentality, tone
and intellectual level on offer during its time on the screen.
Were it actually so, this indie oddball would offer up a
compelling, entertaining, but ultimately unconvincing case
for the practice.
Directed by the excitingly named Bobcat Goldthwait and starring
a cast of relative unknowns and movieland drifters, Sleeping
Dogs delivers a raft of taut, clever and undeniably funny
comedy, interspersed with moments of affecting melancholy
and strife. In so doing, the film seems utterly mature, mirroring
its grounded and leafy suburban setting. Yet the whole production
is centred on a stunningly gross gag, one that even the Farrelly
brothers might query: its hero, in her younger days as a
student, has a sexual indiscretion with her pet pooch one
lonely night.
The woman bearing this bestial burden is Amy (Hamilton),
a 20-something teacher locked in love with boyfriend John
(Johnson). The couple's prompt engagement leaves Amy with
two problems: not only does she have to introduce John to
her stuffy, conservative family (with the exception of Amy's
dope-smoking, rebellious brother)so that her father will
agree to his daughter's connection, but the sordid secret
will have to be expunged as well. Complete honesty is, of
course, central to any successful relationship.
Amy's canine secret is finally revealed to both family and
fiance, leaving her mortified and struggling to save her
would-be marriage. In the wag of a tail, Sleeping Dogs turns
off the hysterics and delivers total poignancy as our heroine
suffers for her shaggy sins. She finds comfort in the considerable
shape of fellow teacher Ed (French), only to realise she
may have to divulge her terrible admission once more.
As the miscast golden daughter, Hamilton is terrific; even
with the odd wooden moment. Most well-known as playing Desperate
Housewife's mischievous nun, she lends a real grace to Amy
on top of a flirtatious, giggly (but never sleazy) naughtiness
and raw sexuality. It is a considerable achievement to render
her dog-seducing character humble, emotionally laden and
exempt from any real contempt. Here lies a real talent.
Johnson's perpetually shocked boyfriend
erupts with delicious ire; French gets to deliver a wealth
of sarcastic gems as the weathered Ed. Both are good but
neither come as close to matching Hamilton as Geoff Pierson
and Bonita Friedericy, playing Amy's reactionary parents.
While Pierson's old man is as straight as he seems – touchingly so in the end – Friedericy's
mother hides mischief below her Roman Catholic exterior,
including some saucy stories involving Elvis Presley and
Roy Orbison.
Blessed with these unexpectedly heavyweight
performances, Goldthwait also benefits from his own talented
eye for comedy. In his company, there is humour in the
most mundane scenes, all of which work like a slow orchestra
building up to uproarious climaxes. He elicits giggles
from pauses, strange mannerisms or recurrent words; anything
seems amusing under his witty take. The more sincere episodes
are less convincing but still done well. From a director
who has one mainstream film – the
Robin Williams-flop Shakes The Clown, a whopping 15 years
ago – to his name, this is a resounding achievement.
With such dazzling production, Sleeping
Dogs veers tantalisingly close to fully-fledged brilliance – but finally falls
some way short. The blame for this lies with the very quip
the film is predicated upon – the un-Darwinian encounter
between heroine and hound. Such a juvenile quip jars with
the majority of subtle, layered and well-observed comedy
on offer, and even more so with the eloquent moments of solemnity.
Consequently, it's never quite possible to invest fully in
Amy's plight, despite Hamilton's titanic efforts to the contrary.
Semi-recent kitsch NYC classic Shortbus proved that it's
entirely possible to plunder emotional depth from rather
asinine, lewd predicaments. It's difficult to pinpoint exactly
why Goldthwait is unable to pull off the same trick, but
perhaps such contradictions are simply more permissible in
the Big Apple maelstrom than within Sleeping Dogs' stifling
suburbia. Shortbus' candour also seemed despairingly, nakedly
honest, whereas Sleeping Dogs' more earnest moments feel
more contrived, perhaps in direct relation to its burlesque
centrepiece.
Together with a conclusion that feels disappointingly hurried
and unsatisfactory, this problem of balance is all that withholds
Sleeping Dogs from fabulousness. Even so, this introvert
vehicle still easily merits its ticket price, if only for
the stand out scene as Amy's shocking secret is excruciatingly
divulged around the family dinner table. A truly magical
moment
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