Rock Dog emerges as a cautionary tale in cross-cultural animation, a project aiming for both Chinese and American audiences but ultimately pleasing neither. Reportedly budgeted at a hefty $60 million, this animated feature, financed by Chinese money, struggles to justify its expense on screen. While the opening hand-drawn sequence hints at potential, the animation quickly descends into a generic and visually unappealing style. Character design suffers from blatant recycling, with multiple sheep and wolf characters appearing as mere clones with slight alterations. One can’t help but wonder where the substantial budget was allocated – perhaps to its Texan production location, the inclusion of recognizable voices like Luke Wilson, Eddie Izzard, and Matt Dillon, or the licensing fees for Foo Fighters tracks. Regardless of the cost drivers, the investment yielded disappointing returns, particularly in China where Rock Dog became entangled in cinema chain disputes and grossed a meager $7.8 million.
Conceived in the vein of The Great Wall, Rock Dog aspired to bridge cultural gaps, aiming to “introduce cross-cultural values and philosophies.” However, this ambition faltered, leaving both target demographics underwhelmed. Based on a comic by Chinese rock star Zheng Jun, originally titled Tibetan Rock Dog, the film strategically omitted “Tibetan” for Chinese market sensitivities. Despite this concession, the film prioritized an English-speaking cast and a predominantly American writing approach. Zheng Jun himself admitted to dismissing “Hollywood’s best screenwriters” for their supposed inflexibility towards Chinese perspectives. A peculiar American reference, a pun centered around Pasadena, further underscores the film’s muddled cultural identity, likely lost on Chinese viewers.
Ultimately, Rock Dog delivers a derivative experience, a pale imitation of superior animated films like Kung Fu Panda, Zootopia, and even Yellow Submarine. Its shortcomings are glaring when compared to these inspirations.
J.K. Simmons, ironically a veteran of the Kung Fu Panda franchise, voices Khampa, the Tibetan Mastiff guardian of a mountain village – euphemistically renamed “Snow Mountain.” The setting thinly veils its Tibetan inspiration, a region politically sensitive for China. The village inhabitants, predominantly sheep, are frequent targets of wolf attacks. This threat prompts Khampa to militarize the sheep community, imposing a music ban, deeming it a frivolous distraction – a notion clearly held by someone unfamiliar with the motivational power of a good marching tune. Exploiting the wolves’ apparent lack of intelligence (or perhaps for plot-related reasons revealed later), Khampa outfits the sheep in clumsy wooden wolf costumes for daily, theatrical drills, intended as a scare tactic. Meanwhile, his son Bodi (Luke Wilson) disappoints his father by failing to master the family’s signature move: conjuring video-game style fireballs from his paws.
A pivotal moment arrives when a radio, falling from a passing aircraft, lands in Bodi’s village. Tuning in, Bodi is captivated by rock music. Inspired, and somewhat implausibly, the song lyrics prompt him to transform his two-stringed shamisen into a six-string guitar – a moment that might make Kubo cringe. Khampa, though disapproving, grudgingly permits Bodi to journey to the city to pursue his musical aspirations, but with a stern ultimatum: failure means forsaking music forever.
Here, the narrative takes another bizarre turn. The city near not-Tibet inexplicably resembles an American metropolis, populated almost exclusively by Americanized animals, save for Angus Scattergood (Izzard), a British cat rock star sporting a Union Jack-themed guitar. The city itself is essentially a bland, humorless, and uninspired Zootopia knock-off. The wolves menacing Bodi’s village are now depicted as suit-clad, gun-toting mobsters riding in limousines. This raises perplexing questions: why are these sophisticated gangsters preying on a remote, primitive village for sheep? Conversely, why doesn’t Khampa simply venture into the city to procure superior weaponry? Perhaps such logical consistency would make the film “too American”?
Rock Dog, despite its gangster-esque wolf antagonists, ultimately centers on Bodi’s quest to harness the power of music to defend his hometown from these meanies – a plot premise with echoes of superior animated features. To achieve this, Bodi must enlist the help of the conceited Angus Scattergood. Angus, a caricature of a decadent English rock star, initially proves resistant, but predictably undergoes a sudden change of heart.
Adding to the film’s eccentricities is a recurring Big Lebowski reference, embodied by Sam Elliott’s narration as Fleetwood Yak, a wise sage character. This element, while quirky, feels largely disconnected and does little to unify the film’s disparate parts.
Wilson’s voice performance as Bodi is adequate, though one can’t help but wish he had performed his own singing – even if subpar, it might have injected some much-needed humor. Lewis Black, voicing the lead wolf Linnux (a seemingly random computing in-joke), is a serviceable villain, though less dynamically menacing than his role in Inside Out. Izzard arguably steals the show, benefiting from his stand-up background, adept at delivering lengthy monologues.
However, these isolated actor moments fail to elevate Rock Dog into a worthwhile film. It remains sluggish, visually uninspired, and consistently misses the mark in humor and excitement. The occasional competent voice acting provides minimal solace should children somehow persuade you to watch it. Having paid a premium Burbank AMC ticket price, the reviewer suggests even a bargain bin DVD purchase is overpriced.
