Nello, a good-hearted peasant boy, lives with his sled dog, Patrash, and his grandfather, aptly named Grandfather, in nineteeth-century Flanders. The three of them are poor, but happy, making their living carrying the villagers' milk into town to sell. Yearning to express himself, Nello utilizes his precious spare time to engage his hefty but raw artistic talent. He sketches the people he loves, drawing his inspiration from the paintings of Peter Paul Rubens (the Flemish artist, not Pee Wee Herman). Nello's dear friend Alois, the daughter of the richest landowner in town, is the only one who truly appreciates his talent.

Grandpa's death, following a series of financial crises, leaves Nello saddened and alone. Matters become worse when Nello is falsely blamed for burning down the windmill owned by Alois' father. With his reputation shattered, Nello finds himself all but unemployable. Yet Nello has one last opportunity to leave his peasant life behind him - the local museum is holding an art contest. And the winner will receive a hefty amount of cash as well as an art scholarship. With all hope pinned on the contest, Nello submits a portrait of his Patrash and late Grandfather, gambling his life and livelihood on the decision of the judges.

Primarily, "The Dog of Flanders" is a simple tale with simple characters, something not too common in anime these days. Setting aside the irony that it takes Japanese animators and musicians to realize a Flemish tale on the screen, there is nothing surprising about the tale. The good guys are incredibly good. Nello, especially, goes so far out of his way to do a good deed that his inherent virtue goes unquestioned. The bad guys, too, are incredibly bad. Grandpa's landlord is so evil that John Williams would have scored him with some recurring ominous motif. However, since the good guys have infinite rectitude and the bad guys have no redeeming characteristics, there is simply nowhere for the characters in this story to go. The good guys will stay good and the bad guys will stay bad. The only avenue for movement is along the absurdly overplayed life-death axis.

Furthermore, this tale is replete with pretentious biblical allusions. Nello longs to see the romanticized Christian style of Peter Paul Rubens' paintings, on display at the local museum. The Rubens' model of Christian virtue provides a template on which to build the young boy's character. Just as Nello condemns himself to starvation by doing a Christian deed (returning a lost money pouch to Alois' father after finding it in the snow), the subject of Ruben's paintings are revealed to be the passion of Christ. In the closing scene, Nello sees these paintings for the first time, an act that thematically binds together him, Ruben and Christ as one entity. That Nello is not really a Christ figure seems to be lost on the creators of the film. The profane truth remains that Nello suffers because he is too good to steal and too proud to beg, not because he is part of any divine plan. This mismatch between Nello and Divinity results in the story indulging in self-importance.

"The Dog of Flanders," despite its shortcomings, possesses a surprisingly moving story. The simplicity of the characters and even the mostly bad dubbing (with the exception of Robert Loggia as Grandfather) do hold some sort of ineffable appeal. They are helped though by Taro Iwashiro's excellent soundtrack. The film certainly tugs at the heart strings, creating an pitiable urge to scream, "Stupid Nello! Eat, dude! Eat!" The credit for inspiring such concern in this wretched hive of ho-hum and simplicity lies with the strengths of the original nineteenth-century novel, successfully conveyed by director Yoshio Kuroda. For this reason alone, the film achieves a level of emotional resonance even as any intellectual potential withers into mush.