If you’re like me, you’ve wondered how and why Hollywood continues to make non-animated movies about dogs. Haven’t all the fantasy themes been explored, the corny puns been made?
The shocking answer is that there is a wealthy, eccentric, old man in Los Angeles who claims that his dogs continually request new movies with which they can relate. This man, Mr. Smoreswood, appears unannounced to screenwriters, refusing to leave until the writer gives in to his request for a new canine-centric script. Whenever a new dog movie comes out, chances are Smoreswood is pulling the strings behind it.
His family is behind every dog movie, from The Shaggy D.A. to Benji to the Air Bud franchise and more. What goes down in a typical encounter with this strange, relentless man? Read on.
A screenwriter catches something from the corner of her eye as she types on her laptop at her regular coffee shop. She ignores it. Then a man appears close beside her, staring. She looks up, and recognizes Mr. Smoreswood immediately, based on the legendary description. She’s heard the rumors about him.
Other coffee patrons notice, and immediately pack up their belongings and leave the shop. The baristas hide in the back. A crumpled piece of paper blows across the coffee shop floor like a tumbleweed.
“No,” the screenwriter says, quietly to herself.
“Good morning!” Smorewood says, and pulls up a chair. “I’m Randolph Smoreswood, the force behind such classic movies as Beverly Hills Chihuahua and Karate Dog. Pleased to meet you. It looks like you’re writing a screenplay there?”
“I know who you are,” says the screenwriter, who shuts her laptop and glances at the door, wishfully.
“Oh! Let’s get down to business, then, ” Smoreswood says as he gets out his pipe, because of course he smokes a pipe everywhere.
“What if I call the police,” the screenwriter thinks out loud. Smoreswood laughs.
“I own the police! Let me make this simple for you. I want solid script ideas in ten days for the next dog movie blockbuster, or else I will come into this coffee shop and howl your name. Every. Single. Day.”
The screenwriter blinks, dumbfounded.
“Why do you do this to people? There’s nothing new to make in the dog movie genre!” she says, tearfully.
“My friends,” he nods to the store window, where outside a crew of various dogs looks in, panting, “need entertainment.”
The next day the screenwriter types away in the same coffee shop and looks up to see Smoreswood walking by with fifteen dogs on leashes. His pipe is in his mouth, and he nods and winks. She shudders.
Ten days later after his first visit, Smoreswood appears behind the screenwriter in the coffee shop. Patrons and baristas clear.
“What have you got for me,” he states rather than asks between pipe puffs.
“Okay, so there’s this super cute dog,” the screenwriter says. “A little boy adopts him. The little boy has just moved to a new town, his parents are engulfed in their jobs and don’t pay attention to him, or maybe they’re dead, not sure on that part yet. The dog becomes his friend.”
“Excellent! Novel work, keep going.” The pipe puffs.
“The boy is trying to impress a girl he likes, trying to avoid bullies, and then this crew of idiot criminals shows up and tries to steal the dog, because they think it can win show competitions.”
“Brilliance! I love it. And you thought there were no new ideas in this genre!!” Smoreswood says. “More. More!”
“The boy also needs to raise money, his family’s probably going to lose their new house for some tragic reason. He realizes he can put the dog in the competition himself, but has to be careful not to lose him. And there’s some slapstick humor here, a montage of trying to wash this dog and get it ready. The dog shakes off wet soap, and runs through the house knocking over furniture when the parents first meet with the banker who wants their house, but who probably actually works for the criminals, etc.”
“I’m with you. But how is this DOG special?” Smoreswood asks. “I want special, and so far this focus is mainly on this boy character.”
“Well, the dog can talk,” the screenwriter explains. “His mouth moves oddly, of course, but he can talk. He speaks Portuguese, because that’s never been done before in a dog movie. But the boy uses a pocket translator.”
“GENIUS!!!”
“Also, the dog is great at farming for some reason, and he has superhero powers. His eyes can laser away farm pests.”
“THIS HAS BLOCKBUSTER WRITTEN ALL OVER IT!!! But may I propose an idea? What about… what if the dog has bad gas? My dogs love poop and fart jokes!”
“Sure, Mr. Smoreswood.”
“Also, my dogs HATE realistic dialogue. How can you make the dialogue in this film stand out in terms of either being completely contrived or agonizingly mundane?”
“I can make it really mundane, Mr. Smoreswood. And very contrived in spots too,” the screenwriter fights her own eye roll.
“GREAT! You’re hired. When can you have it written to completion?”
“Given the groundbreaking nature of this story, it’ll be a struggle, I’ll admit-”
“Yes, yes, I understand.”
“-But I think I can have it done by tomorrow morning.”
“Brilliant!!” he proclaims, smacking his palm down on the table. “Tomorrow morning, swing by my place, then. It’s the mansion just up the hill-”
“With the giant stone dogs wearing sunglasses lining the long driveway, yes, I know the one.”
Mr. Smoreswood bounds out of the coffee shop, smiling, gathering his fifteen leashed dogs, telling them all about the new direct-to-DVD movie that will soon be made.
