The Breed (2006)
Review by The Film Fiend
I should probably preface this snarky review by boldly proclaiming my absolute hatred of all dogs great and small. I loathe the mangy beasts with every inch of my geeky being, especially the ones that tend to bark and whine and wail during all hours of the night. My hatred, mind you, is not unjust. As a frail, brutally innocent little boy, I had the right side of my face savagely gnawed upon by the family canine, an event that has left me quite bitter towards and impossibly afraid of man’s so-called best friend. If mutts can truly sense fear, my pores probably ooze pure sugary terror whenever one of those four-legged creatures happens across my path.
Naturally, one would assume that a glossy horror flick featuring dozens of blood-thirsty dogs would be an underwear-soiling experience for yours truly. You would, of course, be completely wrong in that assumption. While the events that unfold in the 2006 evil puppy thriller The Breed may have rattled my plucky chicken heart in the hands of someone capable of generating palpable suspense and fear, I’m proud to say that not a drop of human waste was found upon my person after viewing this lifeless direct-to-video snoozefest. Being an insufferable bore is the worst crime a horror movie could ever commit, which may help to explain why I’m ready and willing to slap this flick with the death penalty.
Don’t worry, dear readers — The Breed won’t feel a thing. I promise.
The story concerns itself greatly with the trials and tribulations of a group of everyday twenty-somethings who decide to spend some much-needed quality time on a secluded island in the middle of nowhere. As socially responsible men and women usually do in situations not unlike this, our jovial gaggle of blemish-free characters spend way too much time ingesting alcohol, lounging by the lake, and trying to figure out if Michelle Rodriguez is actually an underground Latino boxer in drag. I say boxer because I’m pretty sure he/she could lay me out with one solid right hook to the ol’ kisser. And when I say pretty sure, I mean definitely.
Before too long, our bickering buddies are faced with a serious problem, one with four legs, two eyes, one tail, and a bottomless stomach when presented with a veritable human buffet. Legend speaks of a notorious animal research outpost situated somewhere on the island, an organization that may or may not be responsible for the angry little puppies currently circling our heroes’ well-stocked cabin. Using their limited wits, lots of rope, and 180 pounds of pure dumb luck, can these lifelong friends escape this precarious predicament without developing a permanent psychic link with their tormentors?
What the hell did I just say?
The Breed, I’m sorry to report, is filled with all sorts of nifty unanswered questions. For instance, how does this psychic link work, and why does it only affect those who have been bitten by these mean-spirited mutts? Who were the individuals responsible for the creation of these genetically-altered canines, what happened to them, and where did their considerate offspring bury all the dead bodies? It’s almost as if someone — or some THING — decided to chop this oh-so important information out of the film in order to delivery a breezy 90-minute horror flick that could easily be consumed by the masses. Not that it really matters, of course, seeing as how the movie is a disaster with or without the mammoth-eating plot holes it kindly asks you to step around on your way to the bathroom.
Director Nicholas Mastandrea — who has made a career out of assisting other directors with their own horror productions — does an admirable job of keeping this mess lively. There’s nary a moment to be found when the characters aren’t drinking, laughing, goofing off, performing death-defying stunts, or feverishly making out with one another.
Unfortunately for those who are still swayed by the legendary Wes Craven’s name on a poorly-conceived DVD cover, a lot of random movement is all you get. The characters are nothing more than pretty placeholders powered by a boring premise littered with oodles of boring dialogue. Did I mention the film is boring? I can’t stress that enough.
You can tell by the light flickering dimly in the eyes of the cast that they’re well aware of the fourteen-foot pile of manure they’ve mistakenly dropped their respective careers into. Michelle Rodriguez, God bless her, can even smell how bad this film is; the actress’ patented “I smell sumthin’ poopy” face is in full force for the duration of this highly generic outing. Also along for the ride is a group of reasonably talented individuals that would greatly appreciate you not mentioning this movie to anyone within 32 thousand miles of your present location. It’s not a lot to ask.
If you’re the sort of person who enjoys watching packs of shaggy dogs meet their maker in a variety of mildly creative ways, perhaps The Breed is a horror flick you should sink your crooked teeth into. However, were I forced at gunpoint to stick a pretty little label upon its adorable doggy face, I’d scribble SCI-FI THRILLER across The Breed’s flea-ridden forehead and take it for a long drive in the country. Wes Craven should be ashamed of himself for lending his moniker to this sort of drivel. It’s already bad enough that hundreds of thousands of no-talent amateurs armed with cheap digital cameras are making podunk horror films these days. The last thing we need is someone with Craven’s reputation supporting lukewarm material such as this.
Oh, and if you see Horace Pinker, tell him to return my copy of Cursed, would ya?
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