'Firehouse Dog': Heroes And a Yappy Ending

Movie star dog Rexxx pulls off impressive tricks in the enjoyable if uninspired family comedy. (By Bruce Macaulay -- Regency Entertainment)

No, the dog doesn't die, all right?

Every time a dog movie comes out, those are the phone calls and e-mails you get. Does the dog die? Please, no, not the dog! Anyone but the dog. The kids, the president, take them, the nun who runs the orphanage, she can be chucked into the fire and die in slow, screaming, flesh-melting agony, but . . . not the dog.

So: Doggy survives.

Next question: Does critic?

Well, basically. "Firehouse Dog" goes into the marginally watchable category, aimed as it is toward the middlebrow family trade, preferably dog owners with their own Sparky slopping up the station wagon windows. It's about cozy stuff, the warm feeling you get when Muggsy snuggles his way under the covers and puts his warm, calming body next to yours, the even warmer feeling when he tilts his head sideways and his eyes go all chocolate-melty with gooey love and want, the way he's always there, the way he never says, "You were supposed to pick up the laundry" or "We can't afford it." No, thank God, the dog doesn't die or judge or want or demand or do anything except let you love him.

The movie expresses almost an article of self-evident faith: It's more than a coincidence that "dog" is "god" spelled backward! Yep, think it over. Anyhow, the story is actually a treacly meltdown of a whole slew of Disney themes, Lassie themes, Benji themes and Rinty themes. There's the foundling mutt a la the classic "Old Yeller" (the dog did die in that one), the plucky single dad, some mild "Hardy Boys"-level mystery-solving and attendant jeopardy, a nice little parody of showbiz, all held in pretty decent balance by director and TV pro Todd Holland (52 episodes of "The Larry Sanders Show," 26 of "Malcolm in the Middle").

In fact, professionalism rather than inspiration seems the hallmark of "Firehouse Dog." Begin with the very fine yeoman actor Bruce Greenwood, who is probably too handsome to be a leading man and must therefore be either a psychotic killer or a solid dad type. He's the latter here, fire captain Connor Fahey, who is in a kind of spiritual stasis, still recovering from the morale-shattering loss of his brother, another firefighter. He has a son, Shane (Josh Hutcherson), also bummed by the uncle's death (but for a different reason).

One day -- hey, presto! -- into Shane's life comes some kind of spiffy bounder that I'm told is an Irish terrier, with the cool eyes of a Clint Eastwood, the IQ of Bertrand Russell and the wit of Vladimir Nabokov, wearing the nametag "Dewey." Here's what we know that Shane doesn't: The dog is an actor and "Dewey" is actually his character's name. (This could be cleared up in a trice if Dewey talked, but, thank you God for your mercy, he does not.) The mutt is really Rexxx the Wonderdog (think Benji), the big Hollywood star who has been accidentally separated from his posh celeb's life. It doesn't take Shane long to figure out that he has the world's best firehouse dog -- fast, smart, brave, loyal. For Dewey, the movie anthropomorphizes his star's ennui into a hunger for new adventures and a more authentic dog life.

Then the other factors begin to play into the story: Oh, let's see, Shane has a crush on a firewoman's daughter and Connor has a crush on the mom. Then there's Rexxx's original owner, searching for him to recover the lost paydays; there's a serial arsonist in the employ of the de rigueur rich, corrupt businessman.

The movie is best in depicting firehouse culture, and for those like me who consider firefighters the true civic heroes of American life, the movie has a couple of nice saves, always good for a tear or two. Dewey, played by four dogs, or possibly four dogs and several animatronics duplicates, is always believable, as is Greenwood. Hutcherson, who was in "Bridge to Terabithia" a few weeks ago, is okay. It would be a much better movie if he were great. He's not. He's okay, okay?

But now that we're almost done with the review, let's blame Canada. Oh, this is going to be fun. When they shoot a movie in Canada (this time in the suburbs of Toronto, though the movie pretends to be happening in the United States), guess what? They set it nowhere. The weirdest feature of "Firehouse Dog" is its sense of taking place in a generic landscape. It has the texture of texturelessness. No fast food joints, no street life, no sense of culture or life as lived on Planet Earth, just clean, featureless buildings and mild, featureless streets. I know it's cheaper and maybe it even works, but does it have to be so dull?

Firehouse Dog (95 minutes, at area theaters) is rated PG for action peril and some mild crude humor.