J Paul Johnson
As a native North Dakotan, I always enjoy seeing my erstwhile home state making a contribution to cinema of any kind. Those are few and far between. On occasion you’ll see an adaptation of a novel set in Fargo or a genre-indie film shot on location there. One of Minot’s own has become a bona fide star but, by and large, the state rarely makes much film news. AJ Goes to the Dog Park, an everything-and-the-kitchen-sink comedy made on a dime by a group of friends in Fargo and set to tour the Midwest, isn’t necessarily going to put North Dakota on the “map of the stars” or anything, but it will draw some attention to the charm and quirk of its setting.
The Fargo it depicts isn’t too far off from the Coen brothers’ fictional Fargo of a few decades ago, even if that modern classic featured only one scene set in its titular town. AJ Goes to the Dog Park is populated with eccentric oddballs who speak in the quirky cadence known only to the specific region. Where Fargo took place largely in the bleak of winter and in a milieu of crime and grift, AJ Goes to the Dog Park is all warm summer sunshine and gentle comedy. It’s every bit as silly as its title, if not more.
AJ (played by AJ Thompson) is your everyday-average North Dakotan. If you’ve lived there, you’ve met him. He’s a creature of routine, content in his humdrum cycle of cinnamon-sugar toast, dinner with dad or friends, and slow-paced workdays. He’s so content with his routine he blanches at the mere notion of a disruption like a promotion or a move. The highlight of AJ’s day is his regular trip to the dog park with his beloved chihuahuas, Diddy and Biff.
Conflict comes when suddenly one day milquetoast AJ discovers his beloved dog park has been the subject of an urban renewal pet project of the evil mayor. Now, it’s a “blog park” where keyboard warriors peck away at their laptops. Get it? Blog park? Just so you know, that pun is pretty representative of the simplicity of this film’s humor. But the conceit will suffice to give the film’s protagonist a shake from his doldrums and a purpose to his life.
To reclaim his community dog park, AJ will have to shed his placid demeanor and fight city hall—or, more specifically, the despot of a mayor whose pet “blog park” project is near and dear to her blackened heart. To level a challenge to her draconian rule, AJ will have to, as the screwball plot warrants, “fight, fish, scrap, scrape, and sap,” none of which will make a whole lot of sense to non-North-Dakotan-native viewers but feels just rational enough in this film’s squirrelly universe.
The film’s aesthetic, courtesy of writer-director-producer and former Fargoan Toby Jones (not to be confused with the British actor, not that you would), borrows from pretty much everything and everywhere for the film’s constant stream of gags. Shot over the course of three summers, on a shoestring budget and with a nonprofessional cast and crew, Jones’ direction is undaunted. There’s no sight gag, no bad pun, no absurdity, or tangent the film refuses to engage. Much of the film’s joie de vivre comes from its visual aesthetic, especially in animated sequences. One in particular, a battle near the end, is sheer Mystery Science Theater 3000-inspired bliss.
Props go to Jones and crew for making this happen. The film’s sheer bravado, its cheek and sass, remind more than a little of the genius Hundreds of Beavers, another recent Midwestern indie comedy that refused to kowtow to any commercial or generic constraints. I can’t say I found AJ Goes to the Dog Park especially funny, save for a few modest chuckles here and there and a general appreciation for the endeavor. Too many gags fall flat and and, though it pains me to say so, Thompson makes for a credibly genial Fargoan but not much of a charismatic film protagonist on whose shoulders a full-length feature film narrative can rest.
Jones and crew are probably all good with that. He remarks in the film’s press notes that there’s nothing “as satisfying as coming up with something impossibly absurd and putting it on tape, regardless of our complete lack of resources.” There is indeed something, as he says, “rebellious and cathartic” about making a film for the sake of making a film, with a friend group and family one’s known for years, without concern for whether not anyone else will love what they’ve done. Whether you laugh or roll your eyes at AJ Goes to the Dog Park, there’s no denying it’s made in the sense of the purist of independent cinema.
For a full list of the film’s Midwestern and other theatrical dates, see Music Box Films.
