A woman drives a truck along a deserted road. There’s a dog in the middle of it. She’s unsure of what to do. Is it friendly? Injured? She gets out.
We flash back to a week before. The dog is in a plane with its master, James Belmont (Brad Pitt). Then tragedy strikes. He gets a heart attack. The plane crashes.
Over the next ninety minutes of Heart of the Beast (12A) we watch a man and a man’s best friend negotiating every peril you could imagine on land, sea and air as they struggle to stay alive.
It turns out that Odin – the dog – is combat-trained. Belmont is a retired Green Beret.
Odin is injured. He only has three legs but he’s still a brilliant help to Belmont. The pair of them do their utmost to survive against the elements, rampaging wolves, a treacherous wooden bridge.
James’ coronary results in the plane crashing into the water. Not to worry. It doesn’t stop him diving under it to lug two joynormously heavy boxes to land.
After popping a few aspirin he’s more than ready for more heroics. Green Berets are tough hombres.
Brad is convincing as one of their ilk. He cuts the mustard as a Crusoe figure, showing us his charm as much as his muscles.
Contrary to previous performances, here he’s a true-blue, card-carrying Action Hero. The transition from sometime heart-throb is effected courtesy of a shaved head and a battle-scarred torso.
He isn’t as pretty as he used to be. This is an asset in a film where a guy is going mano a mano against the ravages of nature.
Robert Redford was too good-looking in similar tussles in Jeremiah Johnson. Likewise Leonardo Di Caprio in The Revenant. Not to mention Burt Reynolds in Deliverance.
Today Brad is craggier than he was in the Jennifer Aniston years – or even the Angelina Jolie ones. You’ll really believe he can clobber those wolves to death. He ignores the kind of injuries that would have the rest of us screaming for an ambulance to bring us to the nearest ICU facility.
It’s all in a day’s work. What are a few broken limbs when Odin is on hand? He can help make a tourniquet. All those years on combat duty (we get flashbacks) means he knows how to assist at such surgical procedures. He applies the requisite amount of pressure to a leather strap beside the bandage and Bob’s your uncle. Or even Brad.
I shouldn’t jest. The film is directed so well – by David Ayer – we suspend disbelief at such canine nous.
I think it was Clark Gable who once said, “I stopped being serious about acting the day I discovered Lassie was getting more fan mail than I was.”
That’s Hollywood for you. Give us anything with four legs – or three in the present instance – and we melt.
There’s no resisting those pleading eyes.
