The Howling: Legendary Lycanthropy
The Howling is tongue-in-cheek, but not to the point of expunging suspense and a solemn aura. It’s wry and self-aware, mindful of what type of film it is and what genre fans will expect from it. It delivers on all fronts – as a drive-in bloodbath, as a social satire, and even as a psychologically-inclined character piece. Werewolf flicks seem to lend themselves to depth, and this one is no exception. It gives us ample time to cozy up to the characters before the “wolf bane blooms” and everything goes amiss.
Dee Wallace Stone gives a natural, lenient performance as Karen White, a TV reporter dispatched to a colony of werewolves. I bought every word that came out of her mouth, and didn’t vacillate in sympathizing with her. Karen is a three-dimensional person, not just a name scribed on a piece of paper. Stone definitely deserves the “scream queen” title. Not only is she a first-class actress, but she also has the blood-curdling scream to back it up!
Dee’s real-life husband, Christopher Stone, plays her on-screen husband, Bill Neill. Needless to say, he shares palpable chemistry with his leading lady. Bill is likeable enough, and making him a vegetarian was a nice touch. Sadly, Christopher Stone died of a heart attack in 1995. The side characters are more fleshed out than what I’m used to seeing from side characters. Belinda Balaski is solid as Terry, and is allotted one of the best stalk sequences in horror film history. It may be a tad long-winded (more on that later), but the payoff is a worthwhile jolt to the wits. Dennis Dugan plays Chris, a behind-the-scenes technician at the TV station where Karen works at. Dugan is a versatile talent. Here, he demonstrates that his acting chops are adept, and he would later go on to helm Problem Child, Happy Gilmore, Beverly Hills Ninja, and Big Daddy.
Rounding out the cast is a bevy of horror luminaries. We get cool cameos from Roger Corman, Forry Ackerman, Kevin McCarthy, John Carradine, and Dick Miller. I should take a moment to lionize the patience and fortitude of Robert Picardo, the poor sap who had to keep the make-up chair warm for hours on end to serve as Rob Bottin’s subject of torture. He plays Eddie Quist, and stars in one of the most grueling transformation sequences ever captured on film.
It’s scenes like these that make you truly appreciate the sizeable exertion that goes into good ol’ fashioned latex and prosthetics. The special effects may seem rudimentary by today’s standards, but damn it, tangible effects are always preferable to digital “wizardry.” Quist looks like he’s turning into a werewolf, not a brassy, ostentatious cartoon. Kudos to Bottin for being resourceful with limited resources, and kudos to Dante for practically pausing the film to focus on Eddie “shapeshifting” so that I would have plenty of time to salivate over it.
The pace is lively for the most part. The first act is engrossing, as it expertly builds a sense of rising action and introduces us to many amiable characters. The third act packs a torrential wallop, as it contains the bulk of The Howling‘s creature feature fun. The second act is where the narrative stutters. Everything slows to a crawl, and a whole big bunch of nothing happens. Terry’s chase sequence, in particular, is drawn out beyond reason.
Taken as a whole, it’s a well-executed chain of events, but it could have been sheared by five minutes. Such a denunciation is petty in the long run, though. Joe Dante does everything in his power to illuminate this flick’s haunting mood. The fog is thick, the woods are intimidating, and of course, the moon is always full. At times, the film felt like an amorous throwback to Universal’s branch of monster movies, and not just because it features a clip from The Wolf Man. It’s conventional and “old school” at heart, which can never be a bad thing.
The conclusion is transfixing. It’s tragic, heartrending, and shrewdly satirical. However, it’s also bittersweet; it leaves itself wide open for a sequel. Everytime the end credits scroll over that damn hamburger, the bungling sequels spring to mind. I can’t recall any other franchise that experienced such a drastic downshift in quality from one film to the next. What happened??? I’ll own up to the fact that part five wasn’t so inept, and that part six was foolhardy enough to be amusing, but I draw a line in the sand at were-kangaroos.
