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#696 - Hachi: A Dog's Tale
Lasse Hallström, 2009
A college professor finds a lost dog and eventually decides to keep him.
I vaguely remember hearing the famous true story of Hachi the akita, but it had been long enough that I'd forgotten the specifics by the time that I ended seeing this American film based very loosely on said story. As such, I won't go into details in case people are not aware of the story - if you're really that interested then by all means go look it up, but I think there's something to be said for going in with as little conscious knowledge of the details as possible. I was originally intrigued by the fact that this film was on the IMDb Top 250. While that user-generated chart isn't necessarily the greatest indicator of a film's quality, the idea that a little movie about Richard Gere and his pet dog had been rated so highly was more than enough to make me sit up and wonder just what made this film so special. The film starts with an opening montage that sees an akita puppy being transported from a Japanese temple to an American college town only for his cage to lose the address tag and fall off the baggage cart. The forgotten puppy is discovered by a college professor (Richard Gere) coming home from work; being unable to leave it at the station overnight, he takes it home even though he knows that his wife (Joan Allen) won't stand for it. Though he does his best to find the dog's rightful owner or at least give it a good home, he ultimately ends up keeping the dog and together they form a powerful bond.
To go into further detail would definitely spoil this incredibly brief and lean film, but I think I've given it enough of a set-up. Considering how it's got an animal for a main character and is categorised as a drama, one can easily guess as to how this story is likely to turn out even without knowing the truth of the matter. As such, one can easily feel like the film is going for an easy emotional response as it starts off its story with scenes of a distressed puppy and only proceeds to keep tugging on the audience's heartstrings as things progress. Though this has the potential to alienate an audience who can see how the film is apparently trying to play them and will actively resist its methods (which is honestly how I felt myself reacting a lot of the time), it's compensated for by the extremely earnest manner in which it's handled. The film finds room to breathe within its incredibly straightforward narrative as it shows the ways in which everyone gradually warms up to the adorable dog (even if he shows no interest in normal dog pastimes like playing fetch). I can't decide if this is the film's greatest strength or its most glaring flaw as there does come a moment two-thirds of the way through that will make the unaware wonder how the film could possibly fill its remaining running time.
The acting by the various dogs needed to play Hachi at various ages all do commendable jobs, while a cast of largely recognisable human actors do alright with some fairly standard roles. Gere and Allen anchor the film alright as an older married couple who do have their fair share of arguments (especially when Hachi arrives on the scene) but they still have believable chemistry, while the film peppers its small number of settings with basic but fairly believable characters. Of note is the trio of locals (Jason Alexander, Erick Avari, and Davenia McFadden) who work in the area surrounding the train station where Gere and Hachi part ways and reunite every day, thus lending the area some much-needed character. The presence of Cary Hiroyuki-Tagawa as a colleague of Gere's who is able to provide Japan-related exposition does seem more than a little convenient for the story's needs, but it's carried off well as Hiroyuki-Tagawa plays a soft and empathetic role that's a far cry from the villains I'm used to seeing him play. Such a decision also serves as a sign of how the story does try to stay true to the spirit of the original Hachi by not diverging too greatly from the story's Japanese origins.
Hachi: A Dog's Tale definitely feels quite lightweight due to its decision to trade narrative complexity for emotional simplicity; it's easy to recognise the story's beats and after the "twist" comes the film does threaten to turn into a slog. In the hands of lesser filmmakers this could have become little more than manipulative drivel (and it doesn't start too promisingly with its framing story showcasing Gere's young grandson talking to his class about Hachi), but despite constantly threatening to do so it never quite falls into that category. The music is appropriately understated and conjures the right mood without feeling overly obtrusive; the visual style also does its best to avoid being distracting with the occasional concession to cinematic stylisation (such as multiple shots being done from Hachi's point of view). Despite all its shortcomings, it just works. Thinking about it as I write this review over a week later makes me remember the feelings just as much as I remember the usual details like performances or technique. There's no telling if I'll ever actually give Hachi: A Dog's Tale another viewing, but I think the fact that I still found it at least a little moving despite consciously refusing to let it truly get to me should say a lot about its emotional potency even in the face of knee-jerk cynicism. While that may not automatically speak to its overall quality as a film, I definitely feel that its sincere and uncomplicated take on its subject matter definitely makes it a good experience instead of a bad one.
Lasse Hallström, 2009
A college professor finds a lost dog and eventually decides to keep him.
I vaguely remember hearing the famous true story of Hachi the akita, but it had been long enough that I'd forgotten the specifics by the time that I ended seeing this American film based very loosely on said story. As such, I won't go into details in case people are not aware of the story - if you're really that interested then by all means go look it up, but I think there's something to be said for going in with as little conscious knowledge of the details as possible. I was originally intrigued by the fact that this film was on the IMDb Top 250. While that user-generated chart isn't necessarily the greatest indicator of a film's quality, the idea that a little movie about Richard Gere and his pet dog had been rated so highly was more than enough to make me sit up and wonder just what made this film so special. The film starts with an opening montage that sees an akita puppy being transported from a Japanese temple to an American college town only for his cage to lose the address tag and fall off the baggage cart. The forgotten puppy is discovered by a college professor (Richard Gere) coming home from work; being unable to leave it at the station overnight, he takes it home even though he knows that his wife (Joan Allen) won't stand for it. Though he does his best to find the dog's rightful owner or at least give it a good home, he ultimately ends up keeping the dog and together they form a powerful bond.
To go into further detail would definitely spoil this incredibly brief and lean film, but I think I've given it enough of a set-up. Considering how it's got an animal for a main character and is categorised as a drama, one can easily guess as to how this story is likely to turn out even without knowing the truth of the matter. As such, one can easily feel like the film is going for an easy emotional response as it starts off its story with scenes of a distressed puppy and only proceeds to keep tugging on the audience's heartstrings as things progress. Though this has the potential to alienate an audience who can see how the film is apparently trying to play them and will actively resist its methods (which is honestly how I felt myself reacting a lot of the time), it's compensated for by the extremely earnest manner in which it's handled. The film finds room to breathe within its incredibly straightforward narrative as it shows the ways in which everyone gradually warms up to the adorable dog (even if he shows no interest in normal dog pastimes like playing fetch). I can't decide if this is the film's greatest strength or its most glaring flaw as there does come a moment two-thirds of the way through that will make the unaware wonder how the film could possibly fill its remaining running time.
The acting by the various dogs needed to play Hachi at various ages all do commendable jobs, while a cast of largely recognisable human actors do alright with some fairly standard roles. Gere and Allen anchor the film alright as an older married couple who do have their fair share of arguments (especially when Hachi arrives on the scene) but they still have believable chemistry, while the film peppers its small number of settings with basic but fairly believable characters. Of note is the trio of locals (Jason Alexander, Erick Avari, and Davenia McFadden) who work in the area surrounding the train station where Gere and Hachi part ways and reunite every day, thus lending the area some much-needed character. The presence of Cary Hiroyuki-Tagawa as a colleague of Gere's who is able to provide Japan-related exposition does seem more than a little convenient for the story's needs, but it's carried off well as Hiroyuki-Tagawa plays a soft and empathetic role that's a far cry from the villains I'm used to seeing him play. Such a decision also serves as a sign of how the story does try to stay true to the spirit of the original Hachi by not diverging too greatly from the story's Japanese origins.
Hachi: A Dog's Tale definitely feels quite lightweight due to its decision to trade narrative complexity for emotional simplicity; it's easy to recognise the story's beats and after the "twist" comes the film does threaten to turn into a slog. In the hands of lesser filmmakers this could have become little more than manipulative drivel (and it doesn't start too promisingly with its framing story showcasing Gere's young grandson talking to his class about Hachi), but despite constantly threatening to do so it never quite falls into that category. The music is appropriately understated and conjures the right mood without feeling overly obtrusive; the visual style also does its best to avoid being distracting with the occasional concession to cinematic stylisation (such as multiple shots being done from Hachi's point of view). Despite all its shortcomings, it just works. Thinking about it as I write this review over a week later makes me remember the feelings just as much as I remember the usual details like performances or technique. There's no telling if I'll ever actually give Hachi: A Dog's Tale another viewing, but I think the fact that I still found it at least a little moving despite consciously refusing to let it truly get to me should say a lot about its emotional potency even in the face of knee-jerk cynicism. While that may not automatically speak to its overall quality as a film, I definitely feel that its sincere and uncomplicated take on its subject matter definitely makes it a good experience instead of a bad one.