Best In Show

Writer, director and sometime actor Christopher Guest may not be the most instantly recognisable name on the global cinematic landscape, but he deserves immortality for his spectacular idiot-savant peformance as gormless Spinal Tap guitarist Nigel Tufnel (he also wrote the script). After a few years of relative inactivity, Guest returns to the fray here with another ‘mockumentary’: Best In Show is a light comic satire on the surprisingly cut-throat world of dog-shows, and though it never remotely attains the comic heights of Tap, there’s still enough going on to keep it consistently entertaining.

Certainly, the target – though an easy one – is entirely deserving of an unmerciful savaging. America is home to probably several million of the sort of doggie-owners whose doting adoration of their mutts verges on extreme cruelty, and Best in Show takes the piss out of its sad-sack human protagonists in relentless if unsubtle style. Though it often commits the sin of thinking itself a good deal funnier than it really is (an endemic problem with American attempts at satire), the inherent ridiculousness of the characters can’t help throwing up a few laughs, and the beasts themselves are a hugely endearing bunch.

The action centres on the Mayflower Kennel Club Dog Show in Philadelphia, where a host of weirdos have gathered to parade their pooches in pursuit of prizes.

These include a yuppie couple (Posey and Hitchcock) whose constant bickering plays havoc with their highly-strung Weimaraner’s nerves; a stunningly effeminate gay couple who keep two impeccably-manicured shih-tzus; a silicon-stuffed brainless-blonde mannequin (Coolidge) with a designer poodle and a rich geriatric husband; and Guest himself prowling around as a near-lunatic loner who babytalks his magnificent bloodhound throughout in thoroughly excruciating fashion.

Some of Best In Show’s sketches have a somewhat forced, awkward feel to them, and the characters are an endless parade of stereotypes – but every time it threatens to run out of steam, some gag or other just about manages to raise a cackle. The stars of the show, obviously, are the actual dogs, who finally get to hog the limelight from their humans during a finale which verges on the surreal.

Best In Show is miles removed from being a classic, but it zips along effectively enough for its compact 90-minute duration – and, for those with a terminal soft-spot for our canine comrades, it’s inherently worth a look in what is otherwise the most barren cinematic fortnight for years.