When I first saw a poster for Marley and Me, I thought, “Jeez, Jennifer Aniston is doing a Lifetime Television movie of the week?  What happened to her career?”

Then I saw Owen Wilson looking freshly-scrubbed (not baggy-eyed) and finally Marley, the dog, and thought, “Here we go again.”

I mean Come On!

Now I haven’t seen the movie, yet.  I’ll likely watch it in a couple of years on HBO on a Sunday morning, or Saturday afternoon.  I’ll likely have a box of tissue next to me, my coffee cold in its cup.  Because we ALL know where this movie is going.  K-9Turner and HoochOld Yeller!!??

Scrap of a dog (not Wilson, but Marley), enters woman’s life (Aniston).

Marley is difficult to manage, but easy to love.

Marley teaches Aniston patience and how to not be such an uptight bitch.

Marley teaches Wilson how to shave, be a better man and how to run along the beach looking like Mr. California.

Wilson and Aniston realize the lessons Marley has taught them and give him a bone.

All seems hunky dory until tragedy strikes.  Marley meets a sudden end on the leafy street in front of Aniston’s tidy Bungalow while she and Wilson are reading the morning paper.

“Marely Noooooooo!!!!

Marley dies, Wilson cries, women in the audience cry, children in the audience suffer from acute lip quiver, men have “something in their eye.”

The last scene is either a close-up of a picture taken of all three at Marley’s favorite park, or (even worse and more manipulative) a montage of Marley clips with Aniston and Wilson during happier days.

Hell, I want to cry now, and I haven’t even seen the damn movie.

The only reason I might see it in the theater is Kathleen Turner, especially if she’s the one driving the Benz that does Marley in.  Woof, woof.

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