Misunderstood Masterpieces: Garfield

Posted by Will Helm on 05.24.2005

…or, Giggly Tits and a Pussy: How Could It Be Bad?

Beginning with the German comic strip Max & Moritz in 1865, the cartoon, in both print and film form, has developed into one of the most significant art forms in the modern era. From the absurdity of Gary Larson’s The Far Side, to the lunatic brilliance of Warner Bros.’ Looney Tunes, to the sublime cinematic skill of Hayao Miyzaki, the cartoon has come to be regarded, by some art critics, as the last great medium, the last form of art that has yet to be fully realized. With the recent advent of computer rendering and three-dimensional CGI, the potential of this art form is heretofore greater than any other; even with the abundance of technology, however, traditional hand-drawn cartoons can still evoke a subtlety and wonder that the most powerful computer cannot convey fully.

While the work of the cartoonist is highly respected in some circles, it is a rare occurrence for one of these artists to be famous to the public at large . . . or, at least, their creation. While most comics and cartoons come and go with little fanfare, there are a few which make an indelible mark on the public consciousness. One example of this, found in print and on television, is Jim Davis’ popular Garfield strip. First premiering in print in 1978 – and on television starting in 1982 – Garfield was originally conceived as a study of the relationship between a human, Jon Arbuckle, and his pet, the titular cat Garfield. In later permutations, the strip became a sitcom of usual human foibles, told through the anthropomorphic lead feline. Of course, just as with nearly anything and everything remotely popular, Hollywood came calling with a movie in mind. Of course, logic would hold that Garfield would be an excellent animated feature, as its last animated foray, the awesome Saturday-morning cartoon Garfield and Friends, was a hit success. Then again, logic and Hollywood never go hand-in-hand, so the wise idea of an animated feature became the risky gambit of a . . . live-action motion picture. Surprisingly, Garfield, released in 2004, was not without a few coups, in particular the casting of hot property – and then-underrated thespian – Bill Murray as the title (computer animated) cat. In addition, the film also features on of this column’s favorite actresses . . . well, favorite actress nicknames: Giggly Tits herself, Jennifer Love Hewitt. Is it possible that the assets she brings to the table, as well as Murray’s deadpan delivery, can rescue the risky proposition that is Garfield? I’ve got the answer . . . read further to find out!

In an ugly home somewhere in America, someone listens to reggae. Yes, a strange choice to begin the film, but it was probably just some pop Jamaican band the studio had under contract; don’t worry, though . . . the musical choices get weirder after this. Mild-mannered something – I don’t think they ever mention just what he does for a living – Jon Arbuckle (Brecken Meyer) has pictures of himself and his trusty, corpulent orange cat Garfield (Bill Murray) all over his bedroom/office. Also, he has one of those cheesy novelty trophies, as if there’s truly an award for the “World’s Greatest Cat” or whatever. Then again, it doesn’t help that the pictures are just a wee bit creepy, as if Jon and Garfield have some sort of interspecies alternative lifestyle going. More on that bit later. Or now, actually, as we discover that Garfield, eerily, has a tiny bed next to Jon’s, where his terrible CGI body can rest at night. Yeah, that’s just a little odd.

Of course, as it is now morning, Garfield awakens and sneaks over to Jon’s bed in an attempt to wake up his master. I mean “owner.” I mean “pet parent” . . . whew. Although, when did we need a politically correct term for “pet owner”? “Pet parent” sounds like you got a woman impregnated by a German shepherd and you’re raising the bastard progeny. Anyway, Jon finally gets up, but he doesn’t get to enjoy his shower as a very impatient Garfield sabotages the watery goodness with a well played toilet flush. Jon, quite scalded by the predicament, moves on to breakfast, wherein yet again Garfield resorts to a dirty trick which ends in Garfield eating microwaved corned-beef hash and Jon eating cat foot. Hilarity, it seems, is trying – in vain – to ensue. After the repast, Garfield and his sinister Siamese buddy Nermal (David Eigenberg) plan on ambushing a hapless local milkman. Instead of going through with their animal attack, ensuring a place of honor on their local Fox affiliate, they utilize a complicated Rube Goldberg-ian device to get some milk from an old-fashioned glass bottle. Well, it’s a good thing that the milkman hasn’t heard of plastic, otherwise the cats’ gambit would’ve been all for naught.

After having his fill of dairy goodness, Garfield mocks some big dumb Doberman (Brad Garrett) and then he and Nermal team up once more to steal a pie from a windowsill. Meanwhile, inside Jon’s house, Jon – mild-mannered something that he is – spies a mouse while working on his computer. Ah . . . I guess he’s an Internet porn impresario. Good for him. Jon, not man enough to deal with the vermin himself, orders Garfield to catch the damned mouse; Garfield, as per his particular idiom, is apathetic, but he goes off in chase of the mouse anyway. Outside, Garfield runs into the mouse (Nick Cannon), who just happens to be “urban” – remember that for future reference. It seems that Garfield and the “urban” mouse have some sort of arrangement going – this movie just LOVES to be vague – but, when Jon nears suspicious of Garfield’s dealings, Garfield pretends to eat the mouse, elating Jon. Note to self: never trust a big, orange pussy.

Later that evening, Garfield watches television and breaks down the Fourth Wall, addressing us, the audience, directly. Whoa . . . how post-modern! Then, just because cats have a short attention span, Garfield instantly switches to coveting Jon’s lasagna. Meanwhile, on television, some guy is very angry and allergic to cats. Ironically, the enraged individual is named Happy Chapman (Stephen Tobolowsky), which proves that his pseudonym is either ironic or just plain wrong. Oh, and in addition to being a bastion of wrath, Happy also has the deadly sin of envy taken care of, as he is insanely jealous of his serious journalist brother, who has a nice, cushy network gig. Ah, thank you for that little moment of character exploration, movie; I’m sure it’ll pay off in the end. Or not.

Back at Jon’s, Garfield, as he is wont to do, eats all of the lasagna in the house and then earns the film some money by mentioning by name a bevy of restaurant chains. Ah, there’s nothing like egregious product placement working its way into the script. Now excuse me while I drink some Fresca and eat some Good & Plenty’s while wearing a Durex condom. Perhaps it’s a good thing that I have some protection as Jon and Garfield take a little trip to see Garfield’s trusty veterinarian. Unsurprisingly, said veterinarian is a HOT CHICK with a short skirt (Giggly Tits) named Liz, who happens to have gone to school with Jon and who has been, in a plot motivating way, his unrequited love since then. After Garfield’s check up, he goes off to be preened and pampered while Jon and Liz chat. Jon, desperate and lonely man that he is, thinks Liz wants to date him; instead of getting a chance at her kitty, she gives him a dog instead . . . a dog named Odie. A live-action dog named Odie. OK . . . here’s what I don’t get: the only CGI animal in the entire picture is Garfield; all of the rest of the menagerie are merely CGI-enhanced live-action animals. That’s an odd creative decision, especially since it just makes Garfield look worse in comparison . . . but I digress. Often. After his ersatz spa treatment concludes, Garfield mocks the caged animals in the office and then he sees Odie in Jon’s car and gets very, very jealous. Hmm . . . so just what is going on between Jon and Garfield anyway? While Liz actually – sort-of – asks Jon out, Garfield freaks out, since now he’s terrified by the thought of vying for Jon’s attention and affection. Meanwhile, the thought of Jon getting with Liz doesn’t bother him at all. Strange . . . unless he knows something about Jon that we don’t.

Back at home, Garfield tells very bad jokes, which is just a ploy to kill some time – and the movie – until creepy Nermal can show up to annoy him. Garfield, his main ally now by his side, plots REVENGE on the canine interloper. Odie, meanwhile, attempts to endear himself to Garfield by licking his face . . . and then he ruins the built-up goodwill by stealing Garfield’s chair. Garfield, taking advantage of Odie’s inherent stupidity, tricks the dog into chasing his tail, freeing up the seat once more. Later, Garfield tries to get Odie to play “astronaut,” much like our feline friend and Nermal did earlier in the film to get some milk. Odie is curious, but his insipid nature causes Garfield to get caught in the trap himself. Hilarity . . . are you trying to ensue? Garfield, now quite annoyed by Odie’s resiliency, chases his rival through the cul-de-sac . . . until the big dumb Doberman corners our “hero” – and I use that term loosely at this point, as Garfield is nothing more than a conniving lout. Odie, as valorous as he is naïve, rescues Garfield from the clutches of the big dumb Doberman, greatly impressing Nermal and the unnamed female cat (Debra Messing) that we know as “Arlene.”

Of course, that night, any rapport that Garfield and Odie may have built up is lost when Garfield finds Odie in bed with Jon, enraging our feline protagonist. The next day, the TENSION mounts as Garfield and Odie fight over a seat on the chair while – for some unexplained reason – watching a Black Eyed Peas video. More product placement, perhaps? Just a hunch. Garfield and Odie, their feud spilling to the floor, have a DANCE BATTLE in the living room. The Rhythm Rogues would be proud. The duel rages all over the lower story of the house and even out the door, where Nermal and the unnamed female cat see Garfield and Odie’s antics in full view. The scene is finally broken up when Liz the HOT CHICK vet pulls up in her penis-envy pickup truck. Seriously . . . what other reason would a petite, demure young woman have for owning one of those? It seems that she and Jon – and Odie? – are going on a date together; Garfield, spurned and quite jealous about it, chases the truck. After a few moments of hot pursuit, Liz just happens to slam on the brakes, allowing us to view the “hilarious” visual of Garfield splayed out on the back window in an all too familiar pose. Ah, thanks for that cliché, filmmakers.

The saccharine trio, with Garfield in tow, goes on their date . . . to a dog show? It can’t be bad, though, as it’s sponsored by Petco – product placement, oh how I love thee! – and is seemingly emceed by a fake Tony Curtis. Luckily for all of us, even though there are probably Yorkshire terriers in attendance, he isn’t nude. Whew. After a serendipitous series of staged events, Garfield somehow ends up in the center of the judging area leading, unsurprisingly, to all hell breaking loose as the usually well-behaved show dogs chase him through the backstage area. Fake Tony Curtis, taking some initiative, orders the bewildered sound technician to kill time with a song . . . which just happens to be by the Black Eyed Peas . . . which just happens to make Odie dance . . . which just happens to win over the crowd with its endearing absurdity. Meanwhile, after molesting a husky woman for no particular reason other than to provide an especially gruesome visual, Garfield finds himself cornered by the dogs! It’s really just some unneeded TENSION, however, as Garfield escapes with ease, only to discover that Odie has somehow won the dog show? Well, usually it stands to reason that you actually have to compete to win, but I’ll go with it this time, movie. Just this time, though . . . no more funny business. Not that the movie was terribly funny to begin with. Anyway, just to tie in our dangling plotlines, angry Happy from earlier in the film sees and wants Odie for his very own, since he is, of course, EVIL!

Back at home, Jon invites Liz into his humble – and garishly painted – abode, but she refuses due to work and the fact that she’s just not that kind of girl . . . even though she does have a predilection for short skirts. I think there’s a term for that . . . “something tease.” Hmm . . . don’t worry; it’ll come to me soon enough. Anyway, while Jon and Liz say their goodbyes and make googly-eyes at one another, Garfield surreptitiously slips into the house and, in the process, sets off another Rube Goldberg-ian chain of events which leads to Jon’s bedroom/office being utterly and totally wrecked. Jon, not one for thorough investigation, throws Garfield out of the house that night . . . and then he lovingly bathes Odie. Wow. That’s like dumping your live-in girlfriend and then forcing her to watch you get it on with some random chick. I guess Jon’s not one for delicacy in these situations; perhaps someone ought to warn Liz. Anyway, after seeing his master cheating on him with another species, Garfield does what any other jilted lover would do: he sings the blues . . . to a Billy Joel tune. Now, I don’t know about you, but if my music were being massacred in this way, I’d drunkenly drive into houses too. Anyway, after the impromptu musical number, Odie, insipid mutt that he is, tries to make up with Garfield through a window, perhaps proposing a pet threesome, of sorts. Garfield is unmoved by Odie’s generosity, even when Odie joins him outside. Garfield, since he is an unequaled example of moral values, uses this opportunity to break back into the house, leaving Odie outside to chase a scooter and get lost, only to have some creepy old lady find him.

The next day, Jon searches in vain for Odie while, elsewhere, Happy, in order to move up the entertainment food chain, wants a dog. Ironically – as if there isn’t enough of that going around in this film so far – Happy finds a “found” poster for Odie while Jon wastes time putting up “lost” posters for the same dog. After Jon calls his friends for help with no luck, Liz shows up for their previously scheduled dinner date. While Jon bumbles around the house, confused over whether to tell Liz about Odie’s disappearance and his true feelings for her – Liz, not Odie – Liz confesses that she finds Jon clumsy and cute, which is why, like Jon, she’s had a crush on him since high school. After consulting with Garfield – and not taking his cat’s advice – Jon reveals that he also had a crush on Liz and that Odie is missing. Instead of reporting him to the ASPCA or taking him on the floor right then and there, Liz volunteers to help Jon in his search for Odie. Garfield, seeing himself farther down on Jon’s totem pole, is still jealous. And perhaps the “totem pole” reference isn’t exactly the image I want in my brain right now. Ick.

Elsewhere, Happy, posing as Odie’s rightful owner, claims him from the creepy old lady. Meanwhile, Garfield is slowly guilt-tripped into atoning for his actions by the television and the local pets of the area. Oddly, Garfield is quite unaffected by the sledgehammer of plot, so he just goes on his merry way . . . until he sees Happy on television with Odie and Odie dressed in lederhosen. Such a demeaning site raises Garfield’s hackles, as well as the news that Happy is taking Odie with him to New York so they can both star on a morning show together. Garfield, perhaps finally seeing the error of his ways, attempts to notify Jon of the important plot development, but Jon is merely ignorant, simply thinking that Garfield is distracted by a bit more product placement, this time from Wendy’s. Mmm . . . Wendy’s: if you find a finger, you put it there yourself! Meanwhile, just to hammer home the fact that he’s EVIL, Happy reveals that he plans on using an electrified collar on Odie in order to ensure perfect performances every time. Dum-dum-DUM!

Garfield, now envisioning his quest for atonement, plans on getting Happy and, in the process, rescuing Odie. But first, unlike Lancelot before him but as per his particular idiom, he eats. And then he goes forth, triumphantly, to the big city; in order to speed his voyage, he seemingly hijacks a bus . . . or at least stows away. Meanwhile, Jon, perhaps the worst pet owner – excuse me, “pet parent” – in the history of humanity, realizes that Garfield is now missing as well. Once in the city, Garfield takes a turn down a deserted alley, where he is cornered by a veritable army of rats (Richard Kind, Debra Jo Rupp, et. al.). Before they can tear the flesh from his bones en masse, the “urban” mouse from earlier in the picture arrives on the scene to bail Garfield out of trouble. See, it’s good to have some connections in the ‘hood, no matter how suburban you are. Although if the mouse scores Garfield some smack, I’m shutting off the movie. The “urban” mouse, serving more of a purpose than just being a paean to the “hip-hop” demographic, acts as Garfield’s guide through the intimidating city.

Back at Jon’s, our hapless “pet parent” calls Liz for more help. Instead of reporting him to the police for animal cruelty, she obliges. Meanwhile, Garfield, with the “urban” mouse leading the way, arrives at Happy’s EVIL lair . . . which is just your average, nondescript skyscraper. I have to add drama somehow, you know. Garfield and the “urban” mouse part ways, but not before the “urban” mouse warns Garfield about the local animal constabulary. Geez . . . even the vermin have to be stereotypical nowadays, huh? I guess since he’s “urban,” the mouse has to, of course, have an inherent mistrust of authority. Good work there, movie. Garfield, now once again on his own, breaks into the building through the ductwork, but the janitorial staff comically blows him through the ventilation system, thinking him to be a simple blockage.

While Jon and Liz, elsewhere, find one of the creepy old lady’s “found” posters, Garfield makes a different find, discovering Odie deep within the bowels of Happy’s hideout. Garfield, perhaps guilty for his dastardly actions, sort-of apologizes to Odie; his attempt to free his newfound friend is short-lived, though, as Happy enters and demonstrates his amazing remote-controlled collar ringing Odie’s neck, much to Garfield’s chagrin. Garfield, as before, swears REVENGE for Happy’s inhumane nature, so he uses a serendipitously placed lunch tray to “surf” down a few flights of stairs. Garfield’s ingenious idea doesn’t work out too well, sadly, as he somehow ends up falling out a window and, oddly enough, into a conveniently parked lasagna truck. You know, if I were a more suspicious man, I’d think it was planned that way. Hmm . . .

Before Garfield can become the first pussy to eat itself out, he’s sadly captured by a clumsy animal-control officer. Meanwhile, Jon and Liz chat with the creepy old lady, who helpfully provides some exposition before slamming the door in the frantic couple’s face. Thanks for showing up, old lady. Over in the bestial pokey, Garfield sings the blues . . . again. In addition, he meets Happy’s former cat (Alan Cumming . . . noticing a pattern?) who was quickly eschewed once Odie came on the scene. Surprisingly, the formerly employed cat doesn’t want REVENGE . . . he just wants some respect. Don’t we all, sad kitty; don’t we all. After the meeting of the minds between Garfield and Happy’s ex-cat, our feline hero explains his mission to the rest of the inmates; before they can organize a full-scale rescue, a annoyingly WASP family shows up to adopt one of the prisoners. Amazingly, they choose Happy’s cat, mainly because they annoyingly WASP daughter recognized him from television. Now, how she could recognize him but no one else could remains a mystery. I guess it’s as if the cat were a ghost and the girl was Lydia Deitz. Speaking of which, you really have to appreciate the fact that Lydia Deitz was Goth way before Goth was cool. Or before Winona Ryder became a kleptomaniac.

Happy’s cat, perhaps wanting REVENGE on his former owner after all, wriggles free of the annoyingly WASP family and opens all of the cages in the animal prison, causing – you know it had to happen – a JAILBREAK! AC/DC, as always, would be proud. While the other inmates riot, Garfield escapes to an Art Deco train station, where Happy is calmly and coolly sauntering to his train to New York. An Amtrak train, just in case you haven’t had enough product placement. After Happy sits in the dining car and ironically states that he hates lasagna, Garfield sneaks into a remarkably unsecured control room and, intending to knock out the train to New York, messes quite catastrophically with mass transit. “Catastrophically” . . . no pun intended there. Because there’s no humor in a terrorist cat, Garfield stops all of the trains before havoc is fully wreaked and then slips into the now disabled train to New York. Once inside, Garfield releases Odie from his cramped cage in the cargo hold. Meanwhile, I gaze in wonder at the awesomeness that is alliteration.

As Odie and Garfield leave the scene of the crime, Happy spies them through the window and, panicked, gives chase. Surprisingly for a man of his athleticism – which is to say “none at all” – Happy catches up and corners Garfield and Odie. Before he can continue on with his dastardly plan, a bevy of Garfield’s fellow prison escapees arrive on the scene to, essentially, make Happy their collective bitch. Pun intended there, meanwhile. Garfield, orchestrating the mass animal attack, orders the fugitives to maul Happy; instead of becoming a pulpy mass of torn flesh and entrails, Happy merely ends up with the electric collar around his neck. As a finally act of REVENGE, Garfield and Odie team to torture Happy with some well-placed shocks to the system, incapacitating our hapless, helpless villain.

In the aftermath, Jon shows up on the scene to break out of his pantywaist demeanor and knock out Happy with one punch. While Nermal and the female cat watch on television curiously, Happy’s “serious journalist” brother covers the story and then freaks out when he learns his brother is the culprit of the great tumult at the train station. Sometime later, Jon and Liz watch television together and make out, which I guess means that they all live happily ever after. Including Garfield and Odie, who have developed an odd passive-aggressive relationship, with Garfield torturing Odie over a chair and then dancing again. Ah, there’s nothing like ending with a time killing musical number.

With all that, I can’t say that Garfield is atrociously bad, and not even because of Giggly Tits’ involvement, either. It’s just mediocre and stretched far beyond its capacity. Much like other films of the ilk, based from shorts, sitcoms, and Saturday Night Live sketches, Garfield runs out of things to do in short order, so the film has to fall back on a hackneyed kidnapping plot to fill out the rest of the movie. Then again, perhaps it’s a good thing they used a kidnapping storyline, since Garfield mistakenly having stolen jewels or a bomb on his person would have been a little TOO much for me . . . not that a cat foiling a kidnapping by hijacking various forms of mass transportation isn’t.

Join me next week as I bring to you the full-length, live-action adventures of a corpulent hero to millions of “urban” youth . . . in the ‘70s. See you then!