Directed by David Frankel

Somewhat unjustly savaged by many critics, this film delivers more or less what you would expect - and if you don't like dog movies, or Jennifer Aniston movies, or Owen Wilson movies, then don't expect to like this. Except that... I went in with my usual heart of stone (this is the woman who sat unmoved throughout Gran Torino), and was actually pleasantly surprised, and - oh come on admit it - at times moved.

One of the film's strengths is that it is based on a real book by someone who can write, the journalist John Grogan, whose weekly columns in the Philadelphia Enquirer about their untameable, lovable Labrador were a hot success and became a best seller. It's a tale of a dozen or so years in the life of family, which if you can overlook the fact that they are unfeasibly attractive, fit and well-off for a pair of journalists (believe me, I know some) will have resonances with many in the audience.

Deciding to get a dog (though you'd think one fluffy floppy Labrador type in the form of Wilson himself would be enough for them), the nice but daffy pair of newlyweds (Wilson and Aniston) fall in love with the naughty one of the litter, who immediately proves totally intractable as a puppy, and (very unusually for a Labrador I would think) doesn't really get any better, through four pregnancies, house and job moves, and the usual buffetings that family life throws up. Wilson keeps his zaniness reined in (I am aware this will not be a good thing for Owen Wilson fans, but for me it is), and I actually believed him in this role. Aniston is fine and beyond her usual bright-as-a-button gloss manages to bring in some serious stuff too. The real gem of the film, though, is Alan Arkin, as the dour, wisecracking old editor who sets John on the path of his popular column, a stereotype if ever there was one, but Arkin manages to invest it with a wit and freshness which is of a different class.

There's too much of Marley (named after Bob, whose music he seems to enjoy) ripping up furniture and dragging unwilling victims off behind him on his lead, but just about enough wrily funny moments to compensate, and beyond the usual Hollywood polish there a heart.

Sadly no dog movie is complete without its comically inappropriate humping moment, and the unfortunate victim here is, sadly, Kathleen Turner, as a bullish (and yet unsuccessful) dog trainer in the mode of a hollerin' Barbara Woodhouse. Not your finest hour, Kathleen. Otherwise, well, dogs do die. But then that's another intrinsic factor in these dog films isn't it? How many people's first ever film tears were over a dying animal? And predictably after the film the ladies was full of women cleaning up their eye makeup. You have been warned.

Seen at Cinema Days, Cineworld, Milton Keynes, January 2009