There's just no way to make Sleeping Dogs Lie sound enticing. The man who made the movie knows a description like "a romantic comedy by the dude from Police Academy 2" isn't gonna cut it, even for those of us who believed Bobcat Goldthwait was the franchise's funniest player. A cursory plot description of Goldthwait's third feature as director (the first was 1992's immortal Shakes the Clown) only makes it worse, seeing as it's hard not to mention that the movie begins with an amorous encounter between a curious young woman and her pet dog. Yet that too gives the wrong impression. "If this is a bestiality movie," says Goldthwait, "I really failed miserably."

One of the year's most audacious and likeable American comedies, Sleeping Dogs Lie is a dirty joke with a surprisingly tragic punchline. Goldthwait goes far beyond the lurid premise to explore raw truths about the expectations we have of the ones we love and the images we have of ourselves.

But as the veteran comedian and occasional filmmaker notes during an interview alongside his lead actor Melinda Page Hamilton at the Toronto International Film Festival, there's no getting away from the fact it's also "a dog-blow-job movie."

Please consider seeing it anyway. It'd be a shame if you missed out on Hamilton's deft performance as Amy, an apparently sensible woman who once did something repulsive and inexplicable back in college. She didn't do it again, but it's been her secret shame ever since. With her impending marriage to John (Bryce Johnson) comes the pressure to come clean. Surely her little indiscretion couldn't be that big a deal, right?

Provided you're better than Amy's fiancé and family at getting past the whole dog thing, you will be surprised by what you find here. "It's really a sweet story," says Hamilton. Goldthwait even admits to crying while writing the script, though "I blamed it on my glasses and the cigars I was smoking." The story is not intended to promote interspecies relationships — rather, it's about confronting "something that you couldn't get past." And after the initial shock and disgust, it's easy to feel sympathy for Amy, whose punishment far outweighs the seriousness of the original transgression. "That was the experiment," says Goldthwait, "to see if we could make a movie about such a terrible topic and still have people rooting for her. I would say this even if Melinda wasn't here, but she's the only reason you're talking to me right now. If someone else had done the movie, it would've sucked."

Hamilton laughs. "That's not entirely true, but I'm so glad I'm here to hear it!"

The filmmaker is right to believe that Hamilton's pluck and charm save Sleeping Dogs Lie from being a much crueller, more crass movie. (It also makes it easier to forgive the rudimentary style and production values.) That's not to say it's not funny — Jack Plotnik (as Amy's drug-addled brother) and Brian Posehn (as his dealer) provide many inspired moments — but the humour is grounded in feelings and situations that feel very true.

"All of us carry stuff that happened when we were younger," says Hamilton. "We all think we have that thing where if we told someone, they would think it's as bad as we do. Ninety per cent of the time, they wouldn't bat an eyelash. This is one of those rare instances when it is as bad as she made it out to be. It's like Amy says, ‘I did this really gross thing — do you think it's gross?' ‘Yeah, I do… and I don't ever want to see you again.'"

"I felt bad for everybody in this movie," says Goldthwait. "The reality is Amy's afraid to be happy and she's sabotaging her relationships on purpose. Even without this event, she would have found something else to bring up."

In Hamilton's view, Sleeping Dogs Lie also touches on "the myth of perfection that your parents carry and you needing to destroy that myth and still have them love you. It's such a primal, childish urge."

"That's certainly true for women," Goldthwait adds. "A dad can't sexualize a daughter — in his eyes, she can't be someone who has sex and she can't be someone who makes mistakes." He senses that we're all taking this a little too far. "Wow," he says, "I had no idea the movie was so deep."

Then again, the fact that a smutty no-budget comedy can be so psychologically acute might be a selling point. Besides, Goldthwait prefers this sort of talk to hearing from people at screenings who volunteer their own tales of animal love. "That was the last thing I wanted," he jokes. "Someone told me, ‘Yeah, I beat off my horse.' I'm like, ‘Jesus Christ!' People like that totally missed the point of the movie, which is: keep your mouth shut!"