Halloween 2024: September 17th

White Dog (1982)

Dogs are man's best friends for a reason. Their loyalty makes them faithful companions and their goofy playfulness helps us feel younger. However, dogs are also only a few genes removed from wolves, predatory animals that have inspired centuries of folk tales and horror stories. This duality, dogs' commonness and the unspoken potential that the kindest mutt could turn savage, has led to a number of horror stories and movies about our four legged friends. The most controversial of these dog thrillers is doubtlessly Samuel Fuller's 1982 film, "White Dog." The controversy is mostly the fault of the studio itself, as they feared this obviously anti-racist movie would be misinterpreted by the public and chose to basically shelve it for over a decade. After some critically acclaimed festival screenings, the film would finally be made available to the public at large thanks to a disc release from Criterion. “White Dog” is now regarded as another classic work from a respected auteur. 

While driving home one night, struggling actress Julie strikes a stray dog with her car. She takes the perfectly white German Shepherd to the vet and ends up bringing it home. After the dog saves her from an intruder, Julie bonds with the canine. However, whenever the dog escapes the house, he violently attacks the first black person he sees. After injuring a black friend of Julie's at a commercial shoot, she takes the animal to a trainer named Keys. Keys, a black man himself, immediately recognizes the Shepherd as a "white dog," a dog trained by white supremacists to attack and kill black people on-sight. Keys becomes obsessed with training the animal to unlearn the violent instincts taught to it by horrible racists. Is such a thing possible? And can it be done before the white dog kills again? 

"White Dog" is not subtle in its thesis. The dog is an animal, ultimately innocent in its intentions. This is emphasized in the scenes of it cuddling up to Julie, comforting her, or crawling into her lap. All normal dog behavior. It has been taught by hateful humans to act in a racist manner. This makes the dog a clear metaphor for people themselves. Nobody is born racist. Instead, it's something they learn from their family and peers. When Julie confronts the man who trained the white dog in the penultimate scene, she points to his granddaughters and says he better not teach "those puppies" to be so hateful. The question doesn't hang on if bigotry is taught but whether if it can be untaught. This is what Keys seeks to do. However, the film is uncertain about that. It poses the hypothetical to us: Once the poison of racism infects someone, can they ever be free from its influence? The ending is pessimistic and leaves us to wonder if hate can be overcome or if the effects of prejudice lingers in the mind after its been purged. 

As high-minded as Fuller's social commentary may be, he was also an experienced director who committed fully to any genre he took on, whether that be noirs, westerns, or war movies. The studio wanted "White Dog," to be "Jaws with paws," expecting the thrifty and fast Fuller to churn out a killer animal thriller before a writer's strike hit. As much as the movie's racial element caught execs off-guard, I doubt they were disappointed in "White Dog" as a horror film. When the white dog first gets out of Julie's house – while chasing a brown rabbit, surely foreshadowing – it attacks a black man driving a street sweeper. It's a scene full of fearsome violence, the camera shoved right into the tightness of the truck's cab, before the sweeper crashes through a storefront in a scene of excessive, eighties style pyrotechnics. When the dog pounces on Julie's friend, the scene proceeds in slow motion, focusing on the shocked faces, the horrified screams, and the dog's jaws unleashing torrents of blood. By far the most protracted moment of horror follows the dog as it wanders a neighborhood. We see a black child around a corner, barely out of the dog's sight. Clearly, the movie is mining this set-up for as much suspense as possible. The moment that follows, where the animal chases a man of color into a church and slaughters him behind a pew, is taunt with sickening tension. 

It's all very well done and very scary. Yet one has to ask why. Racism isn't a horror movie monster. Violence against black people is no idle genre entertainment. White dogs are a real phenomenon. Samuel Fuller was a veteran who fought real racists during World War II. He spent his whole life railing against prejudice and bigotry. I have no doubt that his intentions were entirely sincere. The film has nothing but disgust for white supremacy. Still, you can't help but wonder if the audience getting thrills out of scenes of the white dog stalking black victims is Fuller's genre instincts misleading him slightly. The film's disturbing, well executed scenes of horror makes me deeply uncomfortable but not because of their content... But, ya know, would a racist watch this movie and cheer for the dog? The worst people in the world misinterpreting a film is no fault of the filmmakers. And "White Dog" being suppressed by Paramount in 1982 was ridiculous. I do wonder if this was Fuller's story to tell. Maybe a black director should've handled the material. Maybe centering a story about racism around a white woman and shooting the scenes of violence like a monster movie were, in retrospect, not the best choices. 

Then again, who am I to question Samuel Fuller? His directorial instincts are as confident as can be. The film's cinematography are full of prowling tracking shots, the audience observing the events the way a predator tracks its prey. P.O.V. shots from the dog's perspective, seemingly asking us to contemplate the animal's world view, reoccur throughut. (This is furthered by the opening and ending credits, depicted in black and white to parallel a dog's monochrome vision.) Fuller, a master of melodrama, uses more and more cinematic bombast as the movie goes on. A scene of the dog escaping its pen at Keys' training facility is full of tight close-ups of the dog's face and its legs as it tries to climb out. The sequence ends with a slow motion shot of the animal leaping over a sparking fence. Slow-mo is utilized again at the end, with multiple sequences of the white dog, teeth bared and tongue flapping in the wind, barreling towards the camera. It borders on the comical at times, the camera often panning away to black and white objects or images of animals. Not to mention zooms on the actor's faces pushing us further to emphasize with these protagonists. 

Ultimately, "White Dog" is extremely bold filmmaking with a very powerful point to make. Paul Winfield, often called upon to play the black intellectual, is ideally cast as Keys, a man with a Ahab-like determination to untrain the dog's racist ways. Kristy McNichol – doll-like face, big brown eyes, tussled curly hair – invokes the kind of little sister character everyone in the audience will want to protect. Burl Ives, that ideal figure of folkish, grandpa-like warmth, appears as Keys' partner and mentor. Also, it must be said that the dogs who play the titular character are all extremely good actors in their own way. Adorable as a fluffy friend with big, pleading eyes and terrifying as a snarling beast with vicious fangs, the animals perfectly capturing the opposing elements of the canine that is so central to the film. 

Honestly, the older I get, the more I question the ethics of training animals to appear in movies. Dogs are at least domesticated creatures that are usually happy to perform for their people. The story's animal center also features bears, elephants, big cats, and simians. The film never questions the morality of whether it's right to use wild beasts as entertainment. I guess that's one way Fuller was a product of his time. Nevertheless, "White Dog" is an intense and deeply uncomfortable viewing experience that asks some big questions, guided by certain and dramatic visuals. (Not to mention a melodic and contemplative score from Ennio Morricone.) Certain elements give me pause but, that audiences were denied a chance to judge for themselves in 1982, is strictly Hollywood being the anti-artist, corporate run madhouse it too often is. A remake from someone in the Jordan Peele school of filmmaking probably would've been a worthwhile experience. Instead, a film with the same title adapting the true story behind the source novel was made. Either way, Fuller's "White Dog" remains a distressing and deeply thoughtful motion picture. [8/10]

Children of the Corn V: Fields of Terror (1998)

I've seen more than one source refer to the “Children of the Corn” movies as slasher films. I suppose this isn't technically wrong. All the movies certainly feature lots of scenes of people being slashed. The first three sequels all resemble the structure of a slasher film, in the way they'll introduce characters strictly to off them in elaborate murder scenes. The entries in the franchise, up to this point, largely lack the tropes and quirks that truly define the subgenre. By the late nineties, "Scream" had come out. Bloody killer thrillers were hip again, as long as they catered to a young, ironic Gen-X demographic by being self-aware. Being another Dimension Films property, it was decided to steer the "Children of the Corn" series in that direction. In fact, the fifth entry was originally subtitled "Field of Screams" – spoofing another iconic nineties movie – before a fear that people might assume the sequel was associated with "Scream" forced a change. That's why "Children of the Corn V: Fields of Terror" has a title that feels like a half-formed pun. Anyway, part five was written and directed by Ethan Wiley, the same filmmaker behind the delightfully gonzo eighties sequel "House II: The Second Story." That gave me some hope that this one might be more inspired than its status as a direct-to-video follow-up suggests. 

Once again featuring few links to the original story, "Children of the Corn V" follows a group of college students on a road trip through the Midwest. Reserved Alison, goofy Greg, stoic Tyrus, and beautiful Kir are looking for the perfect spot to spread the ashes of a mutual friend. After crashing their car, they are stranded in the town of Divinity Falls. There, a man named Luke has gathered a following of young teens that tend to the corn fields and worship a deity called He Who Walks Behind the Rows. This startles Alison, whose brother Jacob ran away to join such a cult. He's discovered to be living on the farm, with a pregnant child bride. He wants to leave the cult, as followers must sacrifice themselves the minute they turn 19. Hoping to rescue her brother, Alison and her friends are soon terrorized by a boy named Ezekiel and the rest of the Children of the Corn. 

The protagonists of the previous "Children of the Corn" movies were usually parents, to emphasize the patricidal rules of He Who Walks Behind the Rows. Part five makes its heroes a group of photogenic young people who aren't quite young enough to fall under the sway of the corn. This immediately marks "Fields of Scream" as an attempt to emulate "Scream" and the slasher revival it spawned. The fashions, slang, and general attitudes of the heroes are indicative of 1998. While not a full-blown horror/comedy, the sequel features enough smart-ass dialogue and humor – a friend of the group, inexplicably played by Frank Zappa's other son, marks his path with blow-up dolls – to show Kevin Williamson's influence. The slasher influence is most evident in scenes of victims being stalked and bloodily cut up by the children, especially those that engage in premarital sex. Overall, the general look and feel of the movie marks it unmistakably as a product of the late nineties. The soundtrack, cinematography, editing, and "Dawson's Creek" worthy cast are abreast with all the low-budget imitators of "Scream." 

Ethan Wiley supposedly took on making a fifth "Children of the Corn" movie because he was interested in exploring the cult angle of the story. You can see this a little bit in the finished film. In defiance of all the rules of the previous films, the Children are seemingly led by an adult man named Luke. Played by David Carradine in full-on Kwai Chang Kaine mode, he presents himself as a faux-divine figurehead seeking to protect people against a corrupt outside world. That his cult is made up exclusively of teenage runaways reflects how groups like this prey on vulnerable outsiders. Luke also mentions that he's been accused of being a pervert, which speaks to the sexual abuse rampant in situations like this. Jacob and his assigned wife Lily were drawn deep into this religion before realizing they had given up all their freedoms to a violet, obsessive dogma. When they threaten to leave, they are tortured and punished. If IMDb is to be believed, then "Field of Terror" was filmed in July of 1997. A few months after the Heaven's Gate tragedy. Instead of wearing simple, Amish style clothes, these Children sport the modern fashion of the time, reflecting the changing face of Apocalyptic Christianity in the late nineties. "Field of Terror" doesn't have time to explore any of these ideas too deeply, owing to only being 83 minutes long, but it is an interesting angle to bring to this story. 

Despite its intriguing ideas and occasional bursts of trashy slasher theatrics, "Children of the Corn V" isn't usually as interesting as that suggests. It's young heroes are all fairly dull. Eva Mendez, in her first film, is so terrible as Kir that it actually inspired her to take acting classes. Her story arc, of grieving for a lost lover and falling into bed with the equally wooden Greg Vaughan as Tyrus, is tedious. Greg, played by a Shaggy-like Alexis Arquette, harbors a crush on Alison, another example of the melodramatic script. The stalking and slashing is mostly limited to the beginning and end of the film, leading to a largely uneventful and suspense-free middle section. A typically hammy Fred Williamson as the town sheriff can't liven up these scenes either. The film is never as fun again as an early moment where Ahmet Zappa and Esmarelda Villalobos are stalked and cut up in a corn field. Ezekiel, this sequel's Isaac stand-in, is played by Adam Wylie. Wylie was a common presence in nineties TV – usually playing adorably awkward dorks, as in the made-around-the-same-time Disney Channel movie "Under Wraps" – making him a bit hard to swallow as an evil devil child. 

Despite its many dull stretches and largely bland or miscast actors, "Children of the Corn V" isn't all that bad. Director Wiley and cinematographer David Lewis (who shot the first two "Night of the Demons" movies and a couple Weird Al videos) make a decent looking film. The night shots of the foggy cornfield are cool, there's some decent pyrotechnics at the end, and a scene of Alison reading the cult's Bible while in a rocking chair is clever. The fate of Carradine's character or the hilarious final shot suggests this sequel could've been a loopier experience, if not confined by the low budget parameters of straight-to-VHS filmmaking. Flaws and all, this is still sturdier than you'd expect the third direct-to-video follow-up to a movie that wasn't that good to begin with. It's entirely possible I'm a bit nostalgic for this time period too... [6/10]

Night Gallery: They're Tearing Down Tim Riley's Bar

Every year, when I review an episode of "Night Gallery," I feel like I open by pointing out the show wasn't as popular, acclaimed, or influential as "The Twilight Zone." However, there's at least one episode of the other Rod Serling that seems beloved. "They're Tearing Down Tim Riley's Bar" follows Randy Lane, a sales director who has been at the same company for twenty years. Randy, a widower, is drinking more and his work performance is becoming increasingly erratic. He feels like his boss is ready to replace him with a younger, more reliable employee. When his favorite old bar is prepared to be torn down, Randy becomes trapped by nostalgia for an idealized past that he can never recapture. Moreover, he begins to slip back and forth through time, experiencing the memories he made at Tim Riley's Bar again at his present age. Only his secretary, a kind woman named Lynn, seems to notice how increasingly desperate Randy has become...

Rod Serling's writing always showed sympathy for the outsider or anyone left behind by society. In "They're Tearing Down Tim Riley's Bar," he creates an achingly sad protagonist. Lane has devoted his life to his job. When his wife caught pneumonia, she died alone because he was at work. Now, the same job he's given so much to is treating him as nothing but a disposable employee. The imminent destruction of his favorite watering hole is another example of how the world is leaving Randy Lane behind. We're all going to get tossed aside eventually, making the heartbreak at the center of the story all too relatable. The way Randy is being specifically crushed by the wheels of progress, by a capitalistic society that always favors the young and more cutthroat, feels especially pointed. This is a story about how you can give everything to your job that will be ready to throw you away the minute it no longer deems you useful.

"They're Tearing Down Tim Riley's Bar" is also a story about nostalgia and how easy it is to be trapped by it. Randy is fixated on an idealized version of his past. He loiters around the condemned bar, getting arrested for trespassing and public drunkenness. This was an important place in his life, that he associates with a happy homecoming after the war, meeting his wife, and countless celebrations. However, that way he'll enter these past recollections without warning, disrupting his present life, shows how nostalgia can be a prison too. When he exists the home he used to live at, with his deceased wife, he relives the night she died too. This shows that the past can be as painful as the present, which is also reflected in the figures of Randy's memories becoming more and more aware of their own replacement. Men like Randy Lane get left behind by a culture that's always moving forward. Clinging to a past that is gone, that's never coming back, and wasn't as perfect as you remember it being anyway, isn't going to help anyone either. 

At his best moments, Serling's scripts could get a little didactic or wordy at times. That's evident in this episode, as the dialogue often puts too fine a point on the story's themes. However, a pair of powerful performances bring the wordy script to life. William Windom – one of the busiest character actors of his era, who I'll always remember as the voice of Sonic the Hedgehog's uncle – is heartbreaking as Lane. He spends the entire episode looking disheveled and sopped, every pain he's felt clear on his sad sack face. Windom brings an anger and a resigned sadness to the character, all too aware of how hopeless his situation is but powerless to change it. Diane Baker seems so kind and patient as Lynn. There's a suggestion of romantic feelings between these two but the episode smartly leaves that unspoken. Instead, Baker plays Lynn as a deeply empathetic person who sees another human being drowning and feels like she has to help him. "They're Tearing Down Tim Riley's Bar" has a more sentimental and hopeful ending than the one I would've written but still remains a sad and touching ode to the inevitably of loss. The ghostly visions or time travel push this narrative into the supernatural, though it's still not a horror story at all. If that's what you're looking for, the second half of this "Night Gallery" features a more typical tale of astral projection and revenge, with a bloody twist ending. But I can see why "Tim Riley's Bar" overshadowed that segment. [8/10]

The Addams Family: Green-Eyed Gomez

We know from the previous episode of “The Addams Family” that Gomez has a jealous streak. His wife apparently didn't though, as “Green-Eyed Gomez” sees her invite an old college friend Lionel Barker. Lionel is visiting strictly because he wants to drag the Addams into a stocks scam but nobody else knows that. Gomez' attempt to drive the guy off fail, forcing him to touch on another plan: Hire a maid specifically to seduce Lionel. Named Mildred, a misunderstanding has Morticia believing Gomez has began an affair with the maid. Now both halves of the couple are in jealous misery.

“Green-Eyed Gomez” features a series of gags macabre enough, that I'm honestly surprised 1964 network censors let the show get away with it. After becoming convinced that Morticia is in love with Lionel – after hearing him, out of context, read an old love poem to her – Gomez decides he wants to die. Unwilling to off himself, he asks Fester and Lurch to murder him. I can't say I expected a sixties sitcom to joke about suicide, much less build an entire sequence around it. Here we are, Fester picking up a pistol to shoot his nephew and Lurch tightening a noose around his master's neck. It's a good sequence too, Gomez being rather practical about the machinations of his own demise. He doesn't die, of course, but I still didn't expect “The Addams Family” to go this dark.

Otherwise, this episode is built around comedic misunderstandings. What the Addams find repellant is perfectly hospitable for other people, displayed when Gomez' attempt to make Lionel's room unpleasant backfires. Similarly, they hire Mildred because Fester thinks she's a looker, when the audience is clearly meant to read her as homely. (Though actress Pattee Chapman is actually cute, in her own way.) Gomez and Morticia's confusion that the other is cheating pulls decent chuckles from the classic comedic device of a conversation with two meanings. How they patch things up is adorable though and shows the depths of their love. I also like a moment where Thing emerges from a flower pot to comfort Morticia. Can Thing magically appear from any opening or is each hand linked to some enormous underground body that runs through the whole house? Maybe that's a question we aren't meant to ask... [7/10]