The Howling’s Bark Is Worse Than Its Bite.
The Howling (1981) takes the werewolf genre by the scruff of the neck and gives it a hard shake, creating something that feels both schlocky and subversive in equal measure. Directed by Joe Dante, fresh from his collaboration with Roger Corman, the film is a blend of 80s sleaze and wry genre deconstruction, delivering fur, fangs, and some wonderfully gooey practical effects that were groundbreaking for their time. Though it never quite decides if it wants to be a straight-up horror or a wink-and-nod satire of the genre, it certainly knows how to keep the audience entertained—provided you don’t mind a bit of narrative meandering between the transformation sequences.
Dee Wallace stars as Karen White, a TV reporter who, after a traumatising run-in with a serial killer, is sent to a remote retreat in California to recover. Spoiler alert: it’s not exactly the peaceful getaway she might have hoped for. The retreat’s residents are just a tad too hairy, too wild-eyed, and before long, Karen realises she’s stumbled into a den of werewolves. What could have been a basic monster movie plot gets a twist, with the werewolves here presented not as tragic victims of a curse but as a secretive, proud community embracing their animalistic nature. It’s werewolf horror reimagined for the self-help, personal growth era, with just enough satire to make you think Dante might have been watching one too many late-night infomercials about primal screaming.
If there’s one thing The Howling has in spades, it’s a love for its own absurdity. The film is littered with in-jokes and genre nods, from Dr. George Waggner (Patrick Macnee)—whose name is a not-so-subtle homage to the director of The Wolfman, the film which up until The Howling’s (and An American Werewolf In London’s) release had set that template for lycanthropic cinema – to the background references to classic werewolf films of old. It’s a film that knows exactly where it stands in horror history, and Dante leans into this with just the right amount of playfulness. He even throws in some moments of full-on black comedy, particularly in the supporting cast, with John Carradine and Slim Pickens hamming it up as eccentric locals who are clearly in on the joke.
But let’s be honest—what keeps The Howling in the conversation four decades later isn’t the plot or the clever nods to horror history; it’s the transformation sequences. The practical effects by Rob Bottin, an up-and-coming protégé of Rick Baker, are the film’s crowning achievement. The extended transformation of serial killer Eddie Quist (Robert Picardo) is a showcase of Bottin’s talent—stretching skin, bubbling muscles, and elongating snouts in a drawn-out, squelchy, gloriously grotesque process that makes you wonder why anyone would want to CGI a werewolf transformation ever again. It’s messy, visceral, and genuinely unnerving, a stark contrast to the often campy tone of the film. These moments feel like pure, unfiltered horror at their best—no winks, no nods, just raw, 80s body horror that sticks with you long after the film is over.
Once Karen arrives at the retreat, it has to be said The Howling slows down to a crawl, wandering through subplots that seem more interested in setting up the next transformation than building genuine suspense. For a film about werewolves, it spends a surprising amount of time focused on Karen’s husband Bill (Christopher Stone) and his questionable dietary choices, choices which culminate in an awkward affair that seems more like an excuse to indulge in some freaky, furry werewolf sex than to develop any actual character dynamics. By the time the fur starts flying again, you’ve almost forgotten you’re watching a horror film.
Still, what The Howling lacks in pacing, it makes up for in its willingness to be weird. The film’s ending is a particularly ballsy move—Karen’s on-air transformation into a werewolf, witnessed by millions of TV viewers, is a moment of absurd brilliance. It’s a final wink to the audience, reminding us that this was never meant to be a straightforward horror film. It’s a chaotic, somewhat uneven ride, but one that sticks the landing with a gleefully bizarre final twist that was a decade ahead of its time in horror’s evolution.
Ultimately, The Howling is a film caught between two worlds: part creature feature, part horror-comedy, never fully committing to either but still managing to be an iconic entry in the genre. If you’re looking for tight plotting or deep psychological horror, you’re better off with An American Werewolf in London. But if you want a film that revels in its own campy absurdity, with transformation sequences that will make your skin crawl in the best way, The Howling is worth a midnight screening, just maybe not on a night with a full moon.
