Hey Netflix – we need to talk about these movie titles. I mean, Eat Pray Bark? Really? Maybe that’s better than the direct German translation, Therapy on Four Paws, although that’s marginal, and arguable. I guess it effectively communicates that this is nothing to take too seriously, a featherweight dog-centric comedy that makes you wonder if Julia Roberts’ emotional turmoil and surely rather expensive privileged-lady find-yourself trip to India might’ve been avoided if she had a cute pooch to dote on. You know, the old animals-as-therapeutic-companions thing. Or, the title might just reflect a general laziness in concept, writing and execution that’s all too prevalent in this forgettable bit of comedy fluff.
The Gist: These dang dogs – they steal your underwear, nip your partner, scare the Uber driver. Agents of chaos, they are. And you know what you call pups that bark all the time and chew on the carpet and whizz wherever they want? Regular-ass dogs, that’s what. That’s an old dog-trainer joke for you. Might be funnier than anything in this movie, which opens with Ursula (Alexandra Maria Lara), a politician angling for a seat on the European Parliament, committing a hot-mic gaffe on live TV, during which she expresses her dislike for dogs, which immediately makes her the next Stalin. What kind of horrible human being doesn’t like dogs? And part of her public-image rehab involves adopting a dog she doesn’t want, and who doesn’t like being controlled. So, yeah, a regular-ass dog. Her name is Brenda. And she’s cute, of course. That goes without saying.
Ursula’s assistant books a weekend dog-training boot camp for her to attend, and she considers it the equivalent of a half-century sentence to the gulag. She puts on a wig and sunglasses so no one will recognize her as That Woman Who Don’t Like Dogs and heads to the Tyrolean mountains, where a dog whisperer will help train the wild beast. This guy, his name is Nodon (Rurik Gislason), and he looks like the love child from a three-way among the Braveheart guy, Legolas and Thor. Leather pants, turquoise jewelry, eyes of a shade of Daniel Craig ice-blue. One look at him and you’d think he’d melt Ursula’s icy heart until it dribbles down and moistens her pants. But no. She’s an angry, bitter, tough cookie, and not even the stunning Austrian landscapes that flank the inn will ever make her happy, ever.
Much to her dismay, this isn’t a private session. Three other dogs and their stereotype humans are also here to learn how to achieve holistic communion: Little tote-bag Yorkie Gaga arrives with her flamboyantly gay daddies, Ziggy (Doga Gurer) and Helmut (David Striesow). Rambunctious Torsten uses the leash to nearly yank Babs’ (Anna Herrmann) shoulder out of socket. And shep Roxy wears a big metal muzzle that gruff Hakan (Kerim Waller) refuses to remove. Afraid of being recognized, Ursula introduces herself as Urschie, and proceeds to endear herself to the group by treating everyone like shit and constantly whining about the no-phone/no-internet policy. Babs is sweet and friendly but will ugly-cry with only the slightest nudge. Ziggy and Helmut constantly bicker, because the former treats Gaga like a princess and the latter is tired of the bitch biting him. And Hakan just sits there, grunting softly. Nodon, in his leather pants – and is he wearing a tunic? – touts the philosophy, “I don’t train dogs, I train people.” Methinks he has his work cut out for him this time.
What Movies Will It Remind You Of? The amount of thought that went into merging Eat Pray Love and Must Love Dogs HAS to be three, maybe four seconds, tops. Add a few more ticks of the watch hand if you consider the setting is similar to the ski lodge in Hot Tub Time Machine. Or Hot Dog… The Movie.
Performance Worth Watching: Cheers to Gislason for amusingly poker-facing his way through the archetypal smoking-hot weirdo-guru role (and looking better in a loincloth than most), which sets him up for a career playing capoeira instructors and romance-novel cover models in dream sequences.
Sex And Skin: None. Not even a dog-humping gag. Be grateful!
Our Take: Eat Pray Bark is a lackadaisical meander from one ineffective scene to the next, and those scenes are populated with either miserable shitheads or simpering annoyances. These are the kind of characters who never transcend the broadest notions of their types, signifying a lack of inspiration in writing, direction and performance. The only character here worth putting your emotional chips behind is Nodon, and even then, he’s a 1.75-dimensional character who’s more rakishly braided hair than man. He looks amazing standing in front of postcard scenery, drawing our eyes to his dashing physical architecture while posing hands-on-hips at the base of an Alp. Which is more majestic, the man or the mountain? How much time do you have to wage a debate?
Where was I? Right – this is a lousy movie with terrific scenery. There’s nary a surprise among these 91 minutes. Characters with totes-adorbs dogs and simplistic problems wearily hoof it behind an Icelandic Adonis up trails to remote locales for sit-stay-heel training, or to therapy tents where they sit cross-legged, reluctantly and awkwardly sharing whatever emotions the script has hastily sketched for them. Occasionally, they pause to eat freshly harvested twigs and raw bird eggs, which is Funny In Quote Marks. The comedy is big and dumb and broad, and executed with so little enthusiasm that it barely inspires an under-the-breath chuckle. Meanwhile, the soundtrack pours quasi-Enya music into our ears, because royalty-free is much cheaper than the real thing.
I guess a low-stakes Comedy In Quote Marks like Eat Pray Bark has its escapist appeal, but its lack of effort and inspiration is a real drag. The overarching plot about human-animal connection barely registers, and a pair of expose-the-fraud subplots come off generally lifeless. Stakes are raised for three, maybe four minutes when a mudslide calamity is haphazardly tossed into the third act. Better films of this ilk puff up their breezier qualities for an agreeable hang with some funny people, but getting anything out of this listless script is a blood-from-a-stone scenario. The only thing with any narrative or thematic grit is Ursula’s conundrum, which equates an offhanded negative remark about dogs with an act of treason, and finds her political nomination usurped by a male pol with DUIs and other yucky malfeasances. Perhaps this is some satirical commentary on the state of public opinion in our psychologically diseased Western societies? Or maybe I’m just reaching for something, anything, to assuage the boredom.
Our Call: Annoyingly insubstantial, Eat Pray Bark quickly dissipates from the memory like a Yorkie yip into a blustery gale. SKIP IT.
John Serba is a freelance film critic from Grand Rapids, Michigan. Werner Herzog hugged him once.
