In Strays, (from left) Jamie Foxx voices Bug, Will Ferrell voices Reggie, Isla Fisher voices Maggie, and Randall Park voices Hunter, as a group of dogs seek out revenge on a derelict pet owner.Chuck Zlotnick/The Associated Press
Strays
- Directed by Josh Greenbaum
- Written by Dan Perrault
- Starring Will Ferrell, Jamie Fox, Isla Fisher, Randall Park, Will Forte
- Classification R
Just over a week after my therapist told me that it seems as if I were going through something wholly “existential” (although – thankfully – the word “crisis” was not used), I found myself seated for Barb and Star Go To Vista Del Mar director Josh Greenbaum’s latest comedy, Strays. As the first 10 minutes of the R-rated doggy flick trudged on with the grace of a forgotten South Park episode, I found myself thinking “My therapist must be right.” What other reason could I have had for being, dare I say, excited to watch a live-action film following a group of dogs out for revenge on a derelict pet owner? What exactly had possessed me to spend my time like this?
Perhaps it was my recent rewatch of a vaguely thematically similar canine retribution flick, John Wick? Maybe I was still riding on the high of my own dog’s recent (and, admittedly, over-indulgent) birthday party? I knew that the premise had obviously struck some sort of interest for a past version of me but now, weeks later, in the open prison of my theatre seat, as I watched Will Forte (playing the foul pet owner in question) shave a giant pile of pubic hair off of his genitals, I knew that something had gone terribly wrong for me.
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With a script written by Dan Perrault, Strays’ cast alone is promising: comedic shapeshifter Jamie Foxx, crowd favourite Will Ferrell, and the more recently celebrated Randall Park round out a furry cast who, alongside Forte, should be more than able to carry a movie like this. Instead, with what is clearly Perrault’s first feature script, the stars here struggle to keep up their energy in what adds up to be 93 minutes of crude jokes.
While I love some bawdy humour myself, Strays’ repetitive bits about schlongs, poop, and pee start to feel more like a gross twenty-year-old dude endlessly harassing you at a bar rather than a raucous good time. Perrault takes dirty jokes and, rather than offer the adult ribaldry of blue comedy, instead goes fully pubescent, leaving us with humour that begins and lands in the same place. It’s a string of mostly uninspired locker-room gags that – outside of a few decent swipes at melodramatic dog flicks like A Dog’s Purpose and well-timed digs at Marley and Me, therapy dogs, Labradoodles, and the like – never rises above its premise.
As a self-proclaimed fan of ill-loved movies like Glitter and the entire Saw series, I’m absolutely not a critic who is above anything when it comes to matters of so-called taste. I’m happy for people to enjoy the things that they enjoy – even as the credits for Strays rolled and the audience around me burst into applause, I was glad (albeit extremely confused) that (mostly) everyone had found just over 90 minutes of amusement in this potty-mouthed Homeward Bound. I, however – now having seen the movie in full – remain baffled, perhaps even befuddled, at Strays’ appeal. I found myself asking: Is there something wrong with me? Did I miss something glaring and obvious? Is zooming into a Great Dane’s penis really that funny? Am I, in fact, not a human after all? Needless to say, after much thinking during my commute home, I took a much-needed shower and promptly booked a new appointment with my therapist.
In the interest of consistency across all critics’ reviews, The Globe has eliminated its star-rating system in film and theatre to align with coverage of music, books, visual arts and dance. Instead, works of excellence will be noted with a critic’s pick designation across all coverage. (Television reviews, typically based on an incomplete season, are exempt.)