Occasionally my dog Boomer feels compelled to review a movie, generally when that movie includes a dog or dogs, and this fall’s releases promise to keep him busy.
BEVERLY HILLS CHIHUAHUA: No Paws (out of four)
Okay, let’s get this straight: Chihuahuas are not dogs. They’re long-legged mutant rats developed by Nazi scientists in the 1930s and smuggled into Mexico with the hopes of spreading Bubonic Plague across the North American continent. This opinion has been widely held by most breeds and cross-breeds of dogs for decades. So for us to tart up these plague-ridden voles in diamond collars and set them dancing is like having a chorus line of Khmer Rouge perform selections from “Gypsy” on rice paddies.
Just watch these little bastards as the movie unfolds. They love being treated like royalty. They make jokes about humping, scratching and excretion as if those were bad things. And as if that’s not sinister enough, they amass in ordered groups to perform lock-step close-order drills that pass as “dance numbers.” I felt my flesh crawl.
Oh and by the way, Chihuahuas don’t sound anything like Paul Rodriguez, Cheech Marin or any of the other fine Latino actors and comics who were duped into participating in this sham. Chihuahuas sound like Hitler. Every last one of them. If I could work an MP3 player I’d show you. Slow down their shrill incessant yips and you’ll hear the frothing demands for a new order. But no, go on, keep spending your hard-earned money, laughing at the little parade of rodent stormtroopers, spreading their message of hate and world dominance. Don’t listen to me; what do I know? I’m just a friggin’ dog.