Bruce Weber may be one of the world's premier fashion photographers…but you have to question his state of mind when he ascribes human levels of awareness to his pet dogs.
Apparently one of his pampered hounds fell into a deep depression following the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center and would gaze mournfully skywards whenever a plane flew over. Yes, Bruce.
To back up his theory he introduces a redneck farming family whose matriarch - a God Loves America T-shirt festooned single mom - maintains her animals all kept schtum for weeks as Ground Zero smouldered. I'm still not convinced.
Yet, if you can persevere past this hippy-drippy nonsense (apparently True "is the only one who listens to me"), there's much to enjoy in what amounts to another reel of Weber's star-strewn home movies.
His exclusive access to intensely private celebrities such as Elizabeth Taylor and Dirk Bogarde ensures he's always got a tale to tell and he cleverly works in archive footage to flesh these yarns out.
Touchingly, he reveals how Bogarde's partner revealed he was suffering from cancer and the observation that it may all be a mess "but at least we had those twenty years in Provence".
Taylor's appearance in Lassie Comes Home rather tortuously continues the canine theme but Weber was a true friend and her comforting phone call to one of his friends who was dying from AIDs displays a compassion not normally associated with the star.
Marianne Faithfull and Julie Christie are wheeled on to - rather pointlessly - spout poetry and the subject matter veers from the genuinely impressive (Larry Burrows' extraordinary war photography) to the sloppily sentimental (Bruce's hounds getting a makeover from a bevy of hunky kennel lads).
Yet it remains eminently watchable and there's no doubting the affection Weber feels for his chums, pedigree or otherwise.