Marley and Me

As I walked out into the midday winter sun after Doubt, I faced a dilemma. On the one hand, there was a reason why I rarely see more than one movie in a day. It is that I very much like to give each movie its own "breathing space" for that day, to let the emotional residue sink in, and to let the story play out in my head. This is especially true for masterpieces like Doubt. On the other hand, I really wanted to go for another three-movie day.

I went for the best compromise I could muster, which was to spend the hour-or-so break until the next round of shows to take a walk, and to linger in Dunkin' Donuts drinking coffee and meditating about what I had just seen. Still it felt like too short of a time when I was back in the ticket line of the lobby of the AMC multiplex, purchasing a ticket for Marley and Me. Perhaps the switch to comedy would be less injurious to the post-movie meditation phase than a drama.

This is the movie I had called "the dog movie" to my sister, while advising her that perhaps it was not as much a family movie as a romantic comedy. In doing so, I spoiled the movie for her, since I already knew the ending from clicking on this link (warning spoiler, but I'm going to spoil it below anyway, so go ahead, it's funny).

My hunch about the movie would turn about to be correct, but you couldn't tell that from the crowd. Marley and Me had turned out to be the biggest grossing release of Christmas Day, and the auditorium---the largest in the entire multiplex and the same one where I had seen Four Christmases all by my lonesome---was crammed full of families with young children, all toting popcorn and treats and filling up the aisles all the way down to the front.

I found a seat along the aisle halfway up the lefthand section, but like the day before, I found myself moving, and for exactly the same reason: the slow torturous crinkling of the paper sack as the children behind me fished out every last nugget of popcorn. When they started talking to each other as well, I leapt out of my seat and slinked into the fifth row, with the great big mugs of Owen Wilson and Jennifer Aniston looming above. Happy Holidays!

As I said, the movie sort of masquerades as a family movie about a dog. Really it's the tale of a contemporary man-boy in his attempt to finally grow up as he turns forty years old. Yes, that story, the one that's in half the romantic comedies made these days. The dog story serves as a platform on which to tell this other story.

The man-boy, like all postmodern men, has no direction in his life. He is being led through his life by his wife, who is the one with "the plan," which he dutifully follows, asking her what each next step is. Even in his career, he is adrift, being pushed and pulled in various directions by his wife and his grumpy-but-lovable boss (Alan Arkin brightens up any movie).

His lack of (classical) direction, even despite the passing years and the birth of three (gasp) children, will result in mounting frustration and anger from his wife. One of the best lines of the movie occurs when she is trying to get him to pick out a color for the paint in their son's room. "I could use a little help in making a decision here!" she screams. Such is the anguish of the postmodern woman, summed up in one sentence.

The dog (Marley) functions as a symbolic manifestation of his lack of manhood. The animal is undisciplined and unable to be disciplined. We learn that the wife is the true "master." The husband plays second fiddle, and is not even the Alpha Male in his own home. When it comes time to neuter the dog, it is of course the wife who must make the decision to "cut his balls off."

The dog even fades out for much of Act Two, while the movie focuses on the increasingly troubled marraige. The animal returns to prominence in Act Three, when the husband, having reached the Doomsday Age of 40 and feels his best gettin' laid years are behind him, begins to contemplate actually following through on something resembling a life plan. He actually makes a proactive career move, and the dog springs back into importance as he totes his family off to Pennsylvania to live in a giant suburban house with a sprawling yard. The man-boy is finally growing up.

But be warned: the price of seeing this movie is to be exposed to a horrible and hideous truth which may damage your soul forever (spoilers follow here).

Let me explain. As I sat below the big wide screen, I was right in front of a twenty-something young man with his date. At every sight gag involving the dog, he made a little braindead stoner chuckle, occasionally mumbling something like, "that reminds me of my dog, heh, heh." Believe me, this was a lot better than the crinkling popcorn sack.

As the credits rolled, I began to recap my thoughts. Here we had a movie, ostensibly about a Golden Retriever who has the great fortune of getting adopted by a loving couple who raise him with all the pleasures any dog could want, including getting fed, getting to run free, and being adored by children. He spends many years in the company of this family, with no real hardships. Eventually he grows old, very old, and his fur turns white.

As it happens (brace yourself), dogs do not live forever. They are mortal creatures, and eventually old dogs will pass away. Some, like the dog in this film, may be so lucky as to be taken care of, get second chances from the vet, and when the time finally comes, be put down painlessly with loving gentle care.

Shocking, I know. Well, it was too much for the twenty something behind me. As he scooted out into the aisle during the credits, he just repeating to his date, "That's the saddest movie I've ever seen in my whole life."