Obviously Max, the Air Bud of Middle ‘Murica ethics, is no good. A fly-over state moral play coached in Christian values and wartime oorah, Boaz Yakin’s family-friendly wag of the tail falters connecting with non-faith audience members but, worse still, fails to coalesce into a meaningful, cogent piece of cinema in its own right. Character motivations are thinner than a newspaper page with the stumbling centerpiece performances coming off as nothing short of tacky. That being the case, the titular dog Max gave one might performance; ’twas the most convincing one of the film.

This tale of a dog who’s lost his purpose begins in Afghanistan, hometown of turbans and Taliban, when Max and his handler Kyle (a strong-jawed Robbie Amell) spend their hot summer days sniffing out weapons caches. As if with the heightened senses of a well-trained K9, you can almost smell the lack of humidity in this supposed gun-slinging province. We’re told we’re in Durka Durkastan but we’re obviously peering out over So-Cal. Note, it won’t be the last “cheap” looking element of Max. Anywho, good, kind-hearted, heroic Kyle gets blowed up in blood-less fashion (though there’s lots of violence, there’s never any viscus) while Max suffers canine PTST and is shipped back home to be melted down into glue or something.

Dug deep in the Bible Belt, in a city of one-story homes and storage unit careers, Justin (Josh Wiggins) spars with his oppressively one-noted pops (played by a Thomas Haden Church barely putting in any effort). You see, pops is a war hero, just like his now deceased first son, and Justin plays video games and rides BMX. Their polar opposites because Justin says the word “freakin'” (and the Lord knows when you’re thinking of a cuss word in your brain.) They clash until Tyler spews the inevitable, “You wish that I was the one killed!” and rides his BMX off into the boiling sunset.

Long story short, Max enters the picture and forms a bond with Justin (who we’re lead to believe he imprints on because of his relation to Kyle – something I know believe could exist anywhere outside the confines of a faith-based story). Soon, the two unwanted mutts unearth a scheme involving Kyle’s former platoon-mate and some pesky Rottweilers. Cue CGI dog tussles, a surprising amount of explosions and father-son bonding that never warms up past a nod of recognition. You can almost feel the heat emanating off the screen.

Even taking into consideration all of Max’s problems – and believe you me, there are quite a few – it does occasionally manage to shoehorn in a peppy Disney moment or two. The bond formed between Max and Justin is hastily achieved though nominally potent and since the two – that being the boy and his dog – are the only ones who appear to be at least trying to act, it’s hard for you not to extend at least a shallow cup of goodwill their way.

With Remember The Titans (a film I recall being quite “good” when I watched years back) under his belt, Yakin has a sense (or at least, a history) for exploiting narrative melodrama but his slacking knack for camera positioning is often offensively bad. I’m not sure if he blew his wad on the dog CGI or what but some of the cinematography, editing and directorial choices in Max are glaring eye-sores. To get a sense of what I mean, picture a Lifetime movie from the early 2000 and then stick some explosions in there. From a purely directorial standpoint, Yakin appears stuck somewhere between amateur hour and happy hour. It’s not pretty to behold.

And for all its shortcomings, the rehabilitated dog story at the heart of the piece is ultimately winning. (Max’s actual offscreen handlers deserve major points for running him through a vast range of doggiemotions. If only the human performances could have kept up.) Sure the Bible-thumping parents are major turnoffs, the villains are a poorly cooked up personified MacGuffins and Yakin can’t help but give into his schmaltziest tendencies, but Max is never detestable. It’s just bad.