Review: ‘Paws of Fury’ a Sad, Declawed ‘Blazing Saddles’

This mage released by Paramount Pictures shows Hank, voiced by Michael Cera, left, and Jimbo, voiced by Samuel L. Jackson, in a scene from "Paws of Fury: The Legend of Hank." (Paramount Pictures via AP)
This mage released by Paramount Pictures shows Hank, voiced by Michael Cera, left, and Jimbo, voiced by Samuel L. Jackson, in a scene from "Paws of Fury: The Legend of Hank." (Paramount Pictures via AP)
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Review: ‘Paws of Fury’ a Sad, Declawed ‘Blazing Saddles’

This mage released by Paramount Pictures shows Hank, voiced by Michael Cera, left, and Jimbo, voiced by Samuel L. Jackson, in a scene from "Paws of Fury: The Legend of Hank." (Paramount Pictures via AP)
This mage released by Paramount Pictures shows Hank, voiced by Michael Cera, left, and Jimbo, voiced by Samuel L. Jackson, in a scene from "Paws of Fury: The Legend of Hank." (Paramount Pictures via AP)

Writer and director Mel Brooks’ 1974 Western spoof "Blazing Saddles" tackled racism so head-on that Brooks recently mused he wouldn’t be able to make the film today. Maybe, just maybe, he has done just that with "Paws of Fury: The Legend of Hank," but at a terrible cost.

Paramount's limp, animated remake actually triggers new stereotypes in the service of trying to expose racism for a pre-teen audience. The studio seems to have reached for legitimacy by bringing the venerated Brooks along for the bumpy ride, darkening both legacies.

What emerged sits uneasily at the corner of tribute, parody, theft and laziness. "Paws of Fury" follows Brooks' original playbook right down to a horse-punching moment and a group farting scene but doesn't capture his thrilling boundary-pushing vibe.

"Paws of Fury: The Legend of Hank" switches the setting from the original film's American West for an animated medieval Japan but is really of no time, and not in a good way. There is a timid, punning humor, as when a character announces "There’s no business like shogun business."

This is a Japan with cherry blossoms and origami and also dance clubs with VIP sections and house music. It has no real setting. The animators only a few times mix up the visuals, giving the film a predictable, big-eyed and overly violent look.

The screenplay by Ed Stone and Nate Hopper builds so much off "Blazing Saddles" that the original films' writers are credited, including Brooks, Norman Steinberg, Andrew Bergman, Richard Pryor and Alan Uger. For a while, the film was even titled "Blazing Samurai."

In both cases, an evil plan is hatched to send a rookie lawman to a town that instinctively hates him in hopes that townsfolk will scatter. In the film, it is a Black man in a racist town in the Old West. In "Paws of Fury," it's a dog in a community of dog-hating cats. Why Japan is natural for this setting is never convincingly made.

The put-upon pup Hank (voiced without distinction by Michael Cera) seeks a mentorship with a worn-out cat samurai (a perfectly cast Samuel L. Jackson) and the two begin a push-pull dance so familiar that Hank turns to his teacher and asks "Hey, this is the training montage, isn't it?"

That winking and fourth-wall breaking is a running joke, but it's not clear to what end. This is a film that borrows much of "Kung Fu Panda" and adds "Star Wars" references - "The cuteness is strong with this one" - and "Jurassic Park" gags, and sometimes has tone-deafness due to its long gestation, like this line: "Guns don’t kill cats. Cars and curiosity kill cats." That lands differently in summer 2022.

Many of the jokes - both traditional visual smacks and verbal joists - are dated and just not up to snuff. One dog gets hit in the face by a Japanese pot and that's called "woking the dog," "NWA" stands for "ninjas with attitude" and twice this gag is offered: "In case of emergency, break paper."

Ricky Gervais is excellent as a scheming noble cat, George Takei gets to offer his trademark catchphrase "Oh, myyy" twice and Brooks voices the shogun with his rat-a-tat one-liners. One recurring bit simply doesn't work - a big toilet joke - but the filmmakers return to it again and again.

Eventually, Hank proves himself a warrior, and the dog-hating cat town embraces their canine protector. "Go back where you came from" is exchanged for "We can all be better together." But as important as that lesson is, this is a poor vehicle to send it.



Ziad Rahbani, Lebanese Composer and Son of Icon Fairouz, Dies at 69

Lebanese artist Ziad Rahbani performs at the Beiteddine Palace in Lebanon's Chouf mountains, south of the capital Beirut, during the Beiteddine International Art Festival on July 12, 2018. (AFP)
Lebanese artist Ziad Rahbani performs at the Beiteddine Palace in Lebanon's Chouf mountains, south of the capital Beirut, during the Beiteddine International Art Festival on July 12, 2018. (AFP)
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Ziad Rahbani, Lebanese Composer and Son of Icon Fairouz, Dies at 69

Lebanese artist Ziad Rahbani performs at the Beiteddine Palace in Lebanon's Chouf mountains, south of the capital Beirut, during the Beiteddine International Art Festival on July 12, 2018. (AFP)
Lebanese artist Ziad Rahbani performs at the Beiteddine Palace in Lebanon's Chouf mountains, south of the capital Beirut, during the Beiteddine International Art Festival on July 12, 2018. (AFP)

Ziad Rahbani, the visionary Lebanese composer, playwright, pianist and political provocateur, died on Saturday, at the age of 69, according to the state-run National News Agency.

The death was confirmed by a person close to Rahbani who spoke on condition of anonymity. The cause of death was not immediately clear.

Born in 1956 in Antelias, near Beirut, Ziad was the eldest son of legendary Lebanese singer Fairouz and composer Assi Rahbani, one half of the famed Rahbani Brothers. From a young age, he showed signs of prodigious talent, composing his first musical work at just 17 years old. Raised among artistic royalty, his world was steeped in music, theater, and political consciousness — a combination that would define his life’s work.

His mother performed some of his compositions at her sellout concerts, blending Lebanese folklore with Western syncopation and phrasing.

Lebanese President Joseph Aoun mourned Rahbani’s passing as a national loss, describing him as “not just an artist, but a complete intellectual and cultural phenomenon.” In a statement, Aoun praised Rahbani as “a living conscience, a rebellious voice against injustice, and an honest mirror reflecting the suffering and marginalized.”

He highlighted how Rahbani’s fusion of classical, jazz and Oriental music “opened new windows for Lebanese cultural expression” and elevated it to global levels. “Ziad was a natural extension of the Rahbani family, which gave Lebanon much beauty and dignity,” the president added.

While his parents helped construct a golden era of Lebanese musical theater steeped in idealism and nostalgia, Rahbani charged onto the scene with irreverent satire, unflinching political critique and jazz-inflected scores that mirrored the chaos and contradictions of a Lebanon at war with itself.

His breakout play, Nazl el-Sourour (Happiness Hotel), premiered in 1974 when he was only 17 and portrayed a society disfigured by class inequality and repression. The tragicomic narrative follows a group of workers who hijack a restaurant to demand their rights, only to be dismissed by the political elite. With this bold debut, Rahbani revealed his enduring theme: that Lebanese society was fractured not only by war but by entrenched power.

Rahbani’s subsequent plays solidified his reputation as the voice of the disenchanted. In Bennesbeh La Bokra Chou? (What About Tomorrow?), he plays a jaded bar pianist in post-civil war Beirut who drifts through a surreal landscape of broken dreams, corruption and absurdity. The work features some of Rahbani’s most poignant music and biting commentary, including the famous line, “They say tomorrow will be better, but what about today?”

More than just a playwright, Rahbani was a composer of staggering range. He infused traditional Arabic melodies with jazz, funk and classical influences, creating a hybrid sound that became instantly recognizable. His live performances were legendary, whether playing piano in smoky clubs in Hamra, one of Beirut's major commercial districts that harbors a multifaceted identity, or orchestrating large-scale productions.

His collaborations with Fairouz, especially during the late 1970s and 1980s, ushered in a darker, more politically charged phase in her career. Songs like Ouverture 83, Bala Wala Chi (Without Anything), and Kifak Inta (How Are You) reflected Ziad’s brooding compositions and lyrical introspection.

Rahbani came under fire from Arab traditionalists for his pioneering efforts to bridge the gap between Arab and Western culture with music.