Cinema's Best Friend

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What do all Hollywood studio execs wish they had right now? A hot dog. The three puppy movies released in the past three months--lapdog empowerment tale Beverly Hills Chihuahua, ruff-road-trip comedy Bolt and man-meets-retriever weepie Marley & Me--have all taken in more kibble than any other dog movie in four years. On Jan. 16, the canine canon expands again with Hotel for Dogs, in which two kids find a way to house, feed and, crucially, toilet train more than a dozen strays. Plus, the kids are orphans. If by the end of the film you don't want to adopt something, check your pulse.

Why the sudden fondness for movies about domestic terrierism? Well, it's not that sudden; pooches have been a staple of family entertainment since Rin Tin Tin was a pup. We love dog movies for the same reason we love dogs. "A dog has no use for fancy cars or big homes or designer clothes," says Owen Wilson's character in Marley & Me. "A dog doesn't care if you're rich or poor, clever or dull, smart or dumb. Give him your heart, and he'll give you his." There it is: both dogs and dog movies afford us a chance to be incredibly sappy without feeling like a sucker. As the bajillion hits on Puppy Cam and the speculation over the particulars of the Obamas' hound of choice attest, dogs are the closest thing we have to a de-ironization device.

Hotel for Dogs takes full advantage of this ick-free wholesomeness. The children rig together such amenities as an old-shoe vending machine, a herding room and an open-car-window simulator. There's even groom service. They give the dogs the home the children can't find for themselves. For those who feel a little powerless--like kids or a nation in the middle of a crippling economic crisis--dogs represent something singular: a being even they can help.

And the content of puppy movies rarely gives parents paws. (Sorry. Another plus of dog flicks: the puns.) Marley dies but at the end of a long, mischievous life. The Chihuahua flirts, but the only doggy style in the movie is her couture. There are few worthier--or safer--recipients of a child's affection. "Dogs are not attached to any gender," says Alan Beck, a professor of human-animal studies at Purdue University. "They have no age, no race, no background. You don't have to justify anyone's love for them." With a few Cujo-like exceptions, dog movies are the nutritious comfort food of cinema, exactly what parents seek in uncertain times.

Of course, dogs know no uncertain times. That's what makes them more than just cuter, furrier actors, says David Frankel, Marley & Me's director. "There's something wonderful about the way dogs live in the moment. They don't look back. They don't yearn. They don't want what they don't have. Clearly, we are not like that as a nation."

That, plus it's not nearly so adorable when we chew the furniture.