Doghouse (2009)
Starring Danny Dyer & Stephen Graham
Directed by Jake West
Written by Dan Schaffer
I don’t want to write this. I don’t want to have to tell you how I really feel about Doghouse. I really want to be sitting here at my desk grinning like Nicholson’s Joker, figuratively if not literally gushing over my keyboard, telling you how this movie was everything I wanted it to be. And it’s not as if I went in with unrealistic expectations. I didn’t think Doghouse was going to redefine the genre and immediately carve its name into the great tree of the all time horror classics. But I did expect ninety minutes of shits and giggles; a good dose of belly laughs and belly-ripping action, with a soupcon of incisive social commentary. But while Doghouse is certainly not devoid of these attributes, I’m afraid it doesn’t dish them up nearly as well as one would hope. I suspect the intent with this movie was to elevate Jake West out of the realm of low-budget gory-naughty-weirdness (where he has fared so well) and into the big-time. But as much as it pains me to say it, I fear that this movie may wind up doing his career more harm than good.
As you may have surmised, even if you haven’t seen my profile of him in BtZ#5 or my 20 Questions for him in BtZ#7, I’m quite a Jake West fan. Razor Blade Smile and Evil Aliens pretty well epitomise what BthroughZ is all about, what I like to think of as Friday night beer and curry movies: trashy, absurd, high on splatter and sex appeal, low on taste and decency. (I choose to overlook the deathly dull Pumpkinhead 3: Ashes to Ashes, as it wasn’t his brainchild, but merely a for-hire gig.) From the not-at-all-bad premise, Doghouse looked likely to follow suit. Our protagonists are a bunch of thirtysomething males, united by the universal masculine bonding agents of lager, football and an inability to fathom the workings of the opposite sex. To help one of their number get over his divorce, the lads take an excursion to an isolated country town called Moodley – a town where the women significantly outnumber the men – to go out on the piss and on the pull (translation for the Yanks: get drunk and score chicks). But on arrival, they find Moodley is in fact entirely bereft of men, because the women are in the grip of a hideous virus that has turned them all into mindless mutants with a hunger for flesh and blood; not quite what a British bloke has in mind when he says he wouldn’t mind a gobble.
As the tagline has it, ‘the battle of the sexes just got bloody.’ You can see why I was optimistic for some witty social commentary. With the casting of Danny Dyer and Stephen Graham, two of the UK’s most celebrated movie ‘geezers,’ it was clear that the makers were aiming to augment West’s typical splatstick with the kind of manly bravado that made popular hits of the likes of Snatch and The Business. I’m no great lover of films of that ilk, but that’s neither hither nor thither. The potential was there for an interesting exploration of gender relations, but instead things slip very quickly into survivalist cliché, as the gang gets broken up, shelter in abandoned homes and shops, and struggle to come up with an escape plan. Sure, it’s an over-familiar setup, but nothing that a hearty injection of wit wouldn’t fix. But Dan Schaeffer’s script just isn’t up to the task. I haven’t seen any of his comic work so I don’t know how it compares, but on this evidence he’s a writer with a good imagination but lacking conviction when it comes to putting it down on paper.
One thing that’s likely to hurt this movie is its unavoidable similarity to Lesbian Vampire Killers. The movies have an almost identical central conceit – lads visit a remote country town (for reasons that are never particularly convincing) where the women have turned into monsters - and both movies attempt a similar balance between lager-lout tomfoolery and old-school horror. And while Lesbian Vampire Killers wasn’t anything special, I’m sorry to say it’s probably the better of the two. It at least had a cartoonish aesthetic that helped set it apart. Doghouse just feels rather unsure of itself, and I can’t help suspecting this is down to West reigning in his trashy impulses for fear of putting off the more mainstream audience. This is a real shame, as considering that the film is shot digitally (which had I not known I would not have suspected) it does look good. The creature make-up designs are also really quite unusual, distinctive and funny; particularly notable are an Elvira-ish sword-swinging Goth, an eye-popping fat lady, and Britain’s crown princess of horror Emily Booth as ‘The Snipper,’ a scissor-wielding hairdresser. In one of the funnier moments, the boys discuss which of them they’d still be willing to have a pop at, in spite of their ‘condition.’ But here’s another little quibble – these creatures are referred to in the credits as ‘zombirds.’ Why is this marvellous term never used in the movie?! See, this is why I am so frustrated by this movie. For everything I like, there’s something I dislike. For every potentially laugh-out loud moment, there’s a lazy throwaway gag that lets it down. For every great new idea, there’s a hackneyed plot device that scuppers it.
And the real kicker, the reason Doghouse really leaves a bad taste in the mouth: the ending. Or rather, the complete and total lack thereof. Without spoiling anything, it feels like it’s gearing up to a great final face-off, you’re sure there must be at least another ten minutes to go – and it just stops. Now I get what they’re doing – it’s a riff on Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid, referenced earlier in the movie. But it just doesn’t work at all. Sometimes, if the preamble has been smart and satisfying enough, a movie can get away with denying the audience closure, as No Country For Old Men and The Wrestler recently proved. But Doghouse is not that kind of a movie. It’s a brash, basic, man versus she-monster battle to the death – or, at least, that’s what sold us our seats. It’s all build-up and no payoff. Cutting things short the way this movie does just leaves the viewer feeling cheated, and based on the not-too subtle sounds of dissent from some of my fellow audience members at my viewing, I am most definitely not alone in feeling this way.
Back in January, Mr West assured us that ‘Doghouse is shaping up like a real pedigree, can't wait to take it off the leash and let it bark all on its own.’ I wish I could agree, I truly do. To continue the canine-related allegories, Doghouse might not be the runt of the litter, but it’s far from the best in show. I was hoping for the dog’s bollocks, but the end result just feels neutered. But, for once, I must stress that I hope people don’t agree with me. I hope Doghouse does great business, and that as a result of that we’ll have more Jake West movies. I haven’t lost faith in him. Like baby-oil pony-tail sax guy in The Lost Boys, I still believe – and I have every confidence he’ll get back on the horse and come up with something better next time. I just hope it’s sooner rather than later, then I can put this disappointment behind me.
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