Christopher Guest has always found his muse parodying those in search of stardom. As guitarist Nigel Tufnel in Spinal Tap (which he also co-wrote) it was musicians; in Waiting for Guffman, smalltown wannabe actors. In his latest film he has chosen as his target the unique pedigree of empty suburbanites who choose to carry their pets hundreds of miles to have them judged and exhibited. Best in Show is a film about dog shows.
As with his earlier films, Best in Show takes the form of a mock documentary. We are introduced to five dogs and their owners in a series of straight-to-camera interviews. Guest allows his actors a very free reign, forcing them to improvise around a very loose structure. The result is characters that are painfully credible. "We have so much in common," says the young, big-breasted Sheri-Ann sitting next to her octogenarian millionaire husband. "We both like soup." Their pet is a ludicrously coiffured poodle called Rhapsody in White. Other characters include a pair of beautifully presented yuppie lawyers, Meg and Hamilton Swan, who met in Starbucks and live for materialism and retail. "We were so lucky to be raised among catalogues," says Meg with a lisp through his 'n' hers orthodontics.
The natural rhythms of speech, however, do fall foul of some slightly forced jokes. Guest's own Saturday-Night-Live sense of humour can be heavy handed, and too often each skit moves towards the obvious gag. The funniest moments come when least expected in throwaway remarks, like when the camp Scott Donlan (John Michael Higgins) mutters under his breath that Christy Cummings, short-haired and not terribly feminine, looks like "a cocktail waitress on an oilrig".
Guest's real skill comes in the creation of believable caricatures. His own role, Harlan Pepper, is an excellent character study. "I used to be able to name every nut there was," he says as he drives, glancing back to look at his bloodhound Hubert. His southern drawl and sagging jowls (all the owners look like their dogs) are almost hypnotic. You can't help but pity his quiet determination as he attempts to explain the intricacies of fly-fishing to other dog owners. He eventually abandons dog-showing to practice "the ancient art of ventriloquism".
Talking about Best of Show it is hard to avoid simply listing characters and describing their particular foibles. Because this is essentially all Chris Guest has done; there is no narrative to speak of, and the only development we see in the characters is through a short six-months-later epilogue. Often funny and at times acerbic, Best in Show is insubstantial but enjoyable froth.
As with his earlier films, Best in Show takes the form of a mock documentary. We are introduced to five dogs and their owners in a series of straight-to-camera interviews. Guest allows his actors a very free reign, forcing them to improvise around a very loose structure. The result is characters that are painfully credible. "We have so much in common," says the young, big-breasted Sheri-Ann sitting next to her octogenarian millionaire husband. "We both like soup." Their pet is a ludicrously coiffured poodle called Rhapsody in White. Other characters include a pair of beautifully presented yuppie lawyers, Meg and Hamilton Swan, who met in Starbucks and live for materialism and retail. "We were so lucky to be raised among catalogues," says Meg with a lisp through his 'n' hers orthodontics.
The natural rhythms of speech, however, do fall foul of some slightly forced jokes. Guest's own Saturday-Night-Live sense of humour can be heavy handed, and too often each skit moves towards the obvious gag. The funniest moments come when least expected in throwaway remarks, like when the camp Scott Donlan (John Michael Higgins) mutters under his breath that Christy Cummings, short-haired and not terribly feminine, looks like "a cocktail waitress on an oilrig".
Guest's real skill comes in the creation of believable caricatures. His own role, Harlan Pepper, is an excellent character study. "I used to be able to name every nut there was," he says as he drives, glancing back to look at his bloodhound Hubert. His southern drawl and sagging jowls (all the owners look like their dogs) are almost hypnotic. You can't help but pity his quiet determination as he attempts to explain the intricacies of fly-fishing to other dog owners. He eventually abandons dog-showing to practice "the ancient art of ventriloquism".
Talking about Best of Show it is hard to avoid simply listing characters and describing their particular foibles. Because this is essentially all Chris Guest has done; there is no narrative to speak of, and the only development we see in the characters is through a short six-months-later epilogue. Often funny and at times acerbic, Best in Show is insubstantial but enjoyable froth.