The big-screen comic adaptation no one was waiting for, Marmaduke has arrived, and all the questions you never had are answered at last: Is Marmaduke still a hilariously big dog? Who exasperates his owners? Will live-action technology be used to render his flatulence in real time? Does he try on bikinis and say "Ack ack ack!"? A creaky comic strip whose mediocrity has become a brand interchangeable with that of fellow syndicate mainstays Family Circus and Cathy, Marmaduke was inexplicably chosen to drive a feature vehicle; at least Garfield had the "talking cat" thing going on. Ah, but lo: Marmaduke speaks! And when that giant, slobbering pup turns to the camera, jowls digitally jiggling, and Owen Wilson's wobbly voice comes out, that final unasked question is put to bed: Will your worst fears be realized? Yes. Yes they will.
Having nothing but a running (56 years and counting) sight gag in its narrative quiver, Marmaduke's total improbability as a feature film left writers Tim Rasmussen and Vince Di Meglio and director Tom Dey with a whole lot of wiggle room. An unenviable task, and one they met with noticeable strain: The one thing Marmaduke can definitively be said to be, other than a Great Dane, is a symbol of middle class domesticity. Here he is shoehorned into an outsider narrative: As a teenaged dog with self-esteem problems, Marmaduke doesn't fit in with the crowd; an arc is built around the folly of his attempt to be the leader of the pack.
When Phil Winslow (Lee Pace) gets a new job, he moves his wife Debbie (Judy Greer), three kids, dog, and cat Carlos (George Lopez) from Kansas to California. Already feeling like an outcast, being uprooted and dropped into a status-conscious dog park (Dey lifts a sequence straight out of Mean Girls, where the various social strata are delineated, with the Pedigrees subbing for the Plastics at the top of the chain) really stresses Marmaduke out. Luckily, he is befriended by a trio of geek dogs led by a cutie named Mazie (Emma Stone). When a backlit Collie named Jezebel (Fergie) from the right side of the water fountains catches Marmaduke's eye, it becomes clear that the plot of Some Kind of Wonderful will be rehashed in earnest. Now with more drool.
There are more talking animals than humans in Marmaduke, which isn't necessarily a bad thing: The film's most impressive feat may be bringing a cartoon character to life while turning actual humans into 2-D cutouts. Their most actorly challenge is to find 43 different ways to holler "Marmaduuuuuke!" and, presumably, maintain their composure. Pace bears the brunt of the physical gags (trust that many humans eat dirt at Marmaduke's whim), but Greer is unforgivably flattened by the funny-pages patter and lame human plot (Phil is so focused on his job that he has stopped listening to his family). William H. Macy appears as Phil's barefoot, Type A-hole boss, and I think my typing those words is punishment enough.
Marmaduke's incessant narration mostly serves to drive home how badly matched Wilson's shaggy dog drawl is to an ungainly, impassive Great Dane. Keifer Sutherland, on the other hand, is a Rottweiler if I ever heard one, and does a nice job with Bosco, the king of the dog park. I imagine kids might get a kick out of some of the broad doggie comedy, although even that is slim pickings, and of course the message is so unobjectionable it's almost obsolete. But it's not the kids or the Marmaduke fans (?) I worry about -- neither is known for their discriminating taste -- it's the parents. The poor, poor parents, sentenced to 88 minutes in the comedy desert with nothing but stale references to The O.C., Almost Famous, and Baha Men to sustain them.