By Ann Hornaday
Washington Post Staff Writer
Friday, October 3, 2008
Scene: Hollywood studio, the office of its chief executive. The mogul sits behind a huge desk, the only items on it a Zen sand garden and a tiny rake. A young, nervous screenwriter enters.
Chief: Talk to me, kid.
Writer: Chief, the economy's imploding. Americans are losing their houses, their savings and their faith in their leaders. We're at war in two countries, Congress is a dysfunctional sinkhole and the Constitution is in tatters. To quote the president -- who makes a lame duck look like Michael Phelps -- this sucker's going down.
Chief: Bring me the happy.
Writer: A talking Chihuahua movie.
Chief: The what with the huh?!
Writer: A talking Chihuahua movie, Chief, with all the trimmings. We get a cute little dog, find some adorable canine co-stars, throw 'em all into a fish-out-of-water story -- except with dogs -- and animate their little mouths with some visual effects. A friend of mine who knows a drummer who used to date Drew Barrymore has already gotten her the script.
Chief: The dogs -- cartoon or real?
Writer: Real, Chief, right down to the fleas.
Chief: Hmm, talking Chihuahuas. Like those Taco Bell commercials . . .
Writer: Exactly! It's just the kind of boneheaded, super-cute escapism people need in desperate times like these!
Chief:. . . with Drew Barrymore as the dog. . . . You know what, it just might work. Kid, I like your moxie! Now go out there and make me a hit!
In saner times, "Beverly Hills Chihuahua," Disney's flatfooted attempt to cash in on a marketing craze that peaked 10 years ago, could be easily dismissed as the disposable piece of pop cultural detritus that it is. But things have gotten just crazy enough that, as overprocessed, high-concept and utterly dippy as the entire enterprise is, it's actually . . . not that bad.
Or maybe it's just that the delusional world it presents -- where dogs wear Chanel, walk around in little pink booties and speak to each other in human voices -- feels so preferable to the one currently going bonkers outside the theater.
The title character of "Beverly Hills Chihuahua" is Chloe (voiced by Drew Barrymore), a tiny, shivering white Canine American Princess who's the pride and joy of her celebrity owner (Jamie Lee Curtis). Lavished with seaweed wraps, tenderloin dinners and an ever-rotating wardrobe of designer doggie duds, Chloe is livin' la vida lap dog when her owner is called out of town and she's entrusted to an irresponsible party girl named Rachel (Piper Perabo). When Rachel and her pals take Chloe to Mexico, the little dog gets lost, only to be scooped up by a nefarious dogfight impresario. Barely escaping a run-in with a vicious Doberman pinscher, Chloe is befriended by Delgado (Andy Garcia), a German shepherd with a shadowy past and the grim demeanor of film noir's toughest gumshoes.
Like so many classics of which it isn't one, "Beverly Hills Chihuahua" is all about getting home and, in Chloe's case, getting in touch with her proud Mexican roots. In one of the movie's most amusing scenes, she and Delgado encounter a group of militant Chihuahuas whose collective response to baby talk, cutesie-poo names and tiny little dog coats is "No mas." Along the way, the pair also meet some noble strays, a larcenous rat and iguana, and a coyote who helps "uncollared" dogs get across the Mexico-California border -- and who happens to be an actual coyote. (The rat and the iguana are the only animated creatures in "Beverly Hills Chihuahua," which might explain why they're also the most tiresome.)
Meanwhile, a repentant Rachel is searching for Chloe, with the help of a handsome landscape architect (the very appealing Manolo Cardona) and his own little dog Papi (George Lopez), who has been crushing on Chloe back in Cali. As the voices of the supporting dog players, "Beverly Hills Chihuahua" features just about every Hispanic actor working today, including Edward James Olmos, Cheech Marin, Paul Rodriguez and Luis Guzmán; even Plácido Domingo shows up as the Chihuahua leader who urges Chloe to lose the diamond-collar, yippy shtick and "find her bark."
As depressing as it is to find so many gifted artists reduced to making a talking-dog picture, "Beverly Hills Chihuahua" turns out to be genuinely sweet, not least because the filmmakers have found some exceptionally charismatic real-life dogs for their cast (the dogfight veterans are particularly heart-rending). By far the biggest star is Samson, the German shepherd who plays Delgado, and whose strong, soulful presence is a perfect match with Garcia's silky growl.
Dog lovers may find themselves flinching during "Beverly Hills Chihuahua's" more hair-raising action sequences, which include some scary dogfights and a particularly harrowing bit on a moving train. (The film's more perilous action probably makes it too frightening for wee ones.) But they can rest assured that Samson and his five stunt-doubles handle the derring-do with a panache not seen since the days of Rin Tin Tin.
Indeed, Delgado serves as an understated, sober counterpoint to what could have been cuteness overload. But even Chloe -- played here by a Chihuahua named Angel -- manages to grow on viewers as she progressively loses her spoiled-girl perkiness along with those ridiculous pink booties. Voiced with good-natured pluck by the ever-game Barrymore, Chloe emerges as the perfect heroine for these nutty times: She's full of verve, telegenic charm and, to quote a recent "Saturday Night Live" skit, when she's cornered she becomes increasingly adorable. She should make someone the perfect running mate.
Beverly Hills Chihuahua (91 minutes, at area theaters) is rated PG for mild thematic elements.
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