**½/**** Image A Sound A Extras B+
starring Molly Shannon, Laura Dern, Regina King, Tom McCarthy
written and directed by Mike White
by Travis Mackenzie Hoover A sea change has happened in cinematic irony. Where the well-dressed snarky bastard of the Eighties would scapegoat the consumer mentality of the expendable poor, the ironist of the new century knows the landscape is manufactured and that he or she is implicated in an artificiality nigh impossible to avoid. Thoughtful Wes Anderson occupies the high end of this movement, oblivious Jared Hess its nadir; Year of the Dog resides somewhere in the low-middle. It's intriguing to see Mike White–author of scripts for more naturalistic filmmakers Miguel Arteta and Richard Linklater–resort to this tactic for his directorial debut, and it certainly adds a layer of meaning that could've helped his screenplay for Arteta's The Good Girl. Though I fear the approach goes for instant recognition instead of entering deeper and pretty much says that resistance is futile, Year of the Dog still manages to wring a little moisture out of the damp rag of the style.
I admit the early scenes made me nervous. We're introduced to alienated plain-Jane Peggy (perfectly-cast Molly Shannon) in quotes, through the increasingly familiar, micro-managed nouveau-irony. The super-austere office where she works and the super-banal furnishings in her apartment–every item is lined up in a sort of kitsch neatness–seem to mirror her own sensibility. And everybody else in the movie is an airbrushed type: her friend and co-worker Layla (Regina King) is supposed to be funny because she's over-effusive and openly sensual, while brother Pier (Thomas McCarthy) and sister-in-law Bret (Laura Dern) are insincere bourgeoisie who paranoically shelter their young daughter. After her adorable pooch dies and she goes on a disastrous date with hunting-obsessed neighbour Al (John C. Reilly), we start to wonder if Peggy is just one more object of condescension–we can practically hear the "aww" rolling up from the back of the house.
But Year of the Dog does something with its comic detachment that's interesting. Distraught at the loss of her beloved pet, Peggy falls in with similarly-alienated SPCA man Newt (Peter Sarsgaard)–only to have her subsequent hopes for a love connection dashed when he declares himself celibate. Regardless, she picks up his veganism and animal-rights stance–and this not only intensifies her already great love of animals, it also gives her the stick she's been looking for to beat the environment that's stifled her all along. Peggy's sudden militancy isn't merely political conviction, but a revolt against her cold, loveless environment. This makes the aesthetics–which, precious as they are, practically beg for Peggy Lee on the soundtrack wailing, "Is that all there is?"–more germane to the conversation. The protagonist doesn't want her prefab world or anybody who accepts it at face value. Although her mission of mercy spins out of control, it somehow doesn't reflect as poorly on her as it does on the people who made it necessary.
The problem with the film's pointed mise-en-scène is that its pervasiveness seems utterly insurmountable. While Peggy gets super gung-ho about her activism, Year of the Dog isn't so sure: the ultimate message is that life is a sad compromise between what you want and what you're allowed. Both White and the style he's chosen limit as much as they illuminate, leaving one with less righteous indignation than a deep melancholy that kills your will to fight. The film is instinctually onto something, though. Its use of the current trend in irony is perceptive enough to grip you when you least expect it, leaving you with more than just a hip comedy about unhip people. I only wish that White had distanced himself even further outside than he already is–to see the inner workings of his world, and maybe how to change them.
THE DVD
Paramount handles Year of the Dog well on DVD. The 1.78:1, 16×9-enhanced image crisply handles the clean lines of the film's design in addition to vividly rendering the broad range of colours in its palette. The Dolby 5.1 audio is fine, too, creating an excellent surround mood with a very uncomplicated mix. Extras begin with a feature-length commentary pairing White and Shannon. A more actor-centric yakker is hard to imagine: White was clearly more into performance than anything else, and while he intimates a few visual sources (Gates of Heaven being one of them), he's more about saying how awesome Laura Dern is. Shannon interjects occasionally but isn't a prime mover. More detail is lavished on "A Special Breed of Comedy: The Making of Year of the Dog" (16 mins.), wherein White reveals the project's origins in the death of his own cat as well as his attempts to avoid drifting off into smugness like some other ironic directors. It gets a tad repetitive, with the cast and crew enthusing about the ambiguity and the director's singularity, but for once they have something to say.
"Being Molly Shannon" (4 mins.) finds the actor explaining her process, and again there's more on offer than in the usual featurette. She's fairly articulate in describing the difference between her comedic and dramatic approaches within the film. Ditto for "Mike White Unleashed" (4 mins.), more from the director: candidly, he confesses he wasn't sure he could handle the on-set conflicts until he actually got in the driver's seat. Could have been longer, but it's a nice taste of his modesty. "Special Animal Unit" (3 mins.) of course deals with the massive undertaking of training the film's many dogs; trainer Ursula Brauner lays down the law. Wastes too much time on praise for the likes of Brauner, though there's the odd tidbit here and there.
Seven deleted scenes (with optional White commentary) grace the disc, a few of which are worth singling out. Peter Sarsgaard gets to develop his character further in an extended date scene with Shannon in which he describes his coming to awareness of his compassion for animals; another scene, wherein he cautions Shannon on her new, violent dog, would've significantly altered our perception of Newt. Likewise of note is a hilarious scene with Josh Pais, as Peggy's boss, trying to console Shannon by telling the story of the time he pulled the plug on his mother. An insert reel (2 mins.) is all the inserts cut together and set to music, while a gag reel (3 mins.) is bloopers, albeit of a greater variety than is typically included in these things. Finally, an episode of "Moviefone Unscripted" (6 mins.) has Shannon and White trading quips while responding to earnest questions. Alas, there's no right answer to "What legendary rock musician would you love to play?" Trailers for Next and Blades of Glory complete the package.
96 minutes; PG-13; 1.78:1 (16×9-enhanced); English DD 5.1, Spanish DD 5.1; CC; English, Spanish subtitles; DVD-9; Region One; Paramount
