BE GLAD I SAT THROUGH THIS DOG OF A MOVIE — SO YOU DON’T HAVE TO
The Art Of Racing In The Rain (PG) Verdict: Car-crash cinema
JUsT before the lights came up at the end of this almost unendurably poor film, an illustrious critic in the seat next to me started rooting around on the floor. ‘i’ve lost something,’ he whispered.
i was tempted to ask whether it might be his self-respect, on the basis that wading through this much cinematic slurry is no way to earn a living. On the other hand, we have suffered so that you don’t have to, which feels like a genuinely worthwhile service.
The Art Of Racing in The Rain is the worst film i’ve seen all year, a distinction of sorts. Largely narrated by a golden retriever called Enzo (voiced by Kevin Costner, who really should fire his agent), it doggiepaddles frantically in its own syrupy sentimentality, before being dragged beneath the surface by a powerful under
tow of tweeness, and finally drowning in horrible mawkish excess.
Maybe that’s overdoing the metaphor count, but when you live by the metaphor you deserve to die that way, too.
This film is full of them, as Enzo repeatedly reflects on the many striking ways in which manoeuvring a car round a race track is akin to navigating one’s way through life.
He believes in an afterlife, too, having once watched a TV documentary about Mongolia. Not only has he been raised to love fast cars no less than Lewis Hamilton, he is also a kind of blessed canine philosopher, a cod dog god.
In fairness to director Simon Curtis and screenwriter Mark Bomback, this incredibly daft idea wasn’t theirs. Before The Art Of Racing In The Rain became a movie, it was a bestseller, by Garth Stein, translated into no fewer than 38 languages.
To make any sense of the book’s global success, we’ll have to assume it works 100 times better on the page than on the screen. Alongside this pile of poop, 2019’s other drama about doggie reincarnation, A Dog’s Journey, was a masterpiece, a Citizen Canine.
The film begins with Enzo on his last legs, then treats us in flashback to the story of his life since puppyhood. His owner is a Seattle mechanic and part-time racing driver called Denny (Milo Ventimiglia), who names Enzo after the founder of the Ferrari racing empire.
As man and dog bond, it rapidly becomes clear that what the narrative is lacking, apart from wit, charm and credibility, is a woman. Enter Amanda Seyfried, playing wholesome Eve, who in pretty short order gets pregnant, has a daughter called Zoe, then gets terminally ill and dies.
So crashingly predictable and manipulative is this tragic turn of events, that to paraphrase what Oscar Wilde said about Little Nell in Charles Dickens’ The Old Curiosity Shop, it takes a heart of stone to watch Eve peg it and not laugh.
But wait, there’s more. Eve’s bereaved parents are richer than Croesus, disapprove of their oily-fingered son-in-law, and conspire to win custody of Zoe. Denny must fight them in court, which isn’t easy, even though he has decency on his side, not to mention the loyal Enzo, who keeps spraying Socratic epigrams around like lesser mutts spray their scent.
Only once have Denny and Enzo fallen out, when the latter was accidentally locked in the house for two days and, mad with hunger, savaged young Zoe’s collection of furry animals. This episode was sparked by a hallucination in which a cuddly zebra went ape, or as Enzo solemnly describes it to us, a ‘demonic vision driven by lack of glucose’.
I wish I could say that’s the most risible line in the movie, but it isn’t even close.
And in case you’re thinking that a cheesy family film might be just the ticket this weekend, The Art Of Racing In The Rain also manages to be offensive, with a golden retriever telling us that the great racing driver Ayrton Senna died at Imola in 1994 not because of an appalling crash, but because ‘his soul had learned what it came here to learn’.
Absolutely barking.