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The Portland Phoenix
October 26 - November 2, 2000
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Second bestGuest taps into a dog’s life with ShowBy Peter Keoughr
The premise seems a recon guration of Guffman, in which disparate, deluded mediocrities collect around a dream of kitschy transcendence. In Guffman, however, the participants are all from the same community and are putting on a show; they’ve already forged a bond, and their own hearts and souls are what’s thrown up there on the stage. Here the characters, from all over the country, are united only by their common obsession with canines. And the dogs are their surrogates — pampered, pristinely groomed, but oddly without much personality, they’re poised to take the spotlight at Philadelphia’s fictitious Mayflower Dog Show. But the real stories, those of the flawed and far from pedigreed masters, are backstage and episodic. They are, in some cases, also disappointing. Among the duds are the Swans, Meg (Parker Posey, whose brittle indie star may be crumbling) and Hamilton (Michael Hitchcock), a pair of yuppies whose characterization doesn’t go much farther than their matching braces, obsession for catalogues, and neurotic abrasiveness. Their skittish Weimaraner Beatrice makes her appearance on a psychiatrist’s couch; it’s the film's first gag, and it’s not auspicious. Neither is there much hope for Sherri Ann Cabot (Jennifer Coolidge), a bland bombshell who’s married, Anna Nicole Smith–style, to a moribund millionaire but whose real passion is for her poodle Rhapsody in White and her dog’s trainer, Christy (Jane Lynch, a cross between Anne Heche and David Bowie). As with the Swans, there’s not much going on here except for nasty ambition, confused desires, and class stereotypes. These are the bad guys, and Guest has a hard time making them funny. More entertaining are the frivolous contestants, like the campy gay couple Scott (John Michael Higgins) and Stefan (Spinal Tap veteran Michael McKean) with their impossibly coiffed shih-tsu Agnes, and those who are the salt of the earth, like Harlan Pepper (Guest himself), who’s as hangdog as his beautiful bloodhound Hubert. Stealing the show, though, are Cookie (Catherine O’Hara) and Gerry Fleck (co-writer Eugene Levy), a couple as down-to-earth as their sawed-off Norwich terrier Winky. Gerry’s hapless good nature and perpetual discomfort (there’s a running foot gag that’s worth the price of admission) and Cookie’s unpretentiously checkered and inescapable past allow Guest to engage in his funniest flights of fancy, as when a visit to one of Cookie’s former boyfriends ends with Winky held hostage on a garage roof. Unlike Guffman, though, Show never really comes together. The characters remain separate entities even through the anticlimactic contest, and the documentary aspect is more of a device to string together comic bits than an organic part of the film. Thank God, or perhaps dog, for Fred Willard, who appears midway through as Buck Laughlin, an irrepressible and triumphantly ignorant TV commentator. With his stiff-upper-lipped colleague Trevor Beckwith (Jim Piddock) as a marvelous foil, Buck takes his patter from crushing banality to transcendent surreality. Short of turning the whole thing over to the dogs, I’d name Willard the best in this show.
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