Desultory, horrifyingly generic movie, which can't even photograph dogs well. With the possible exception of McKinney's lugubrious dog psychiatrist, there's nothing in the film that's even faintly funny, and it's certainly not insightful - the attempts to tap a vein of contemporary romantic wistfulness are particularly lame. It's very hard to know what McCulloch had in mind with such a shapeless exercise. The dog park isn't exploited to its full potential, relegated to the site of a few lazy one-liners and a hopelessly messy finale. The odd promisingly deadpan scene (like Robertson's and boyfriend's discussion over whether to have sex or eat first) certainly don't generate any heat in practice. The most uniformly bland movie I've watched in ages (which, as the doting owner of a labrador retriever puppy and a regular visitor to the dog park, I was suckered into by the advertising).
