Werewolves (pt. II)

Ginger Snaps

The Howling

We’re celebrating the only Thursday full moon, and the only supermoon of 2022, with another round of one of my favorite kinds of creature features: werewolf movies. I’ve always been a werewolf bitch, and I think that’s partly due to the fact that this genre is so femme-centric. The Wolfman and Teen Wolf may have had male protagonists, but their stories are very much motivated by the women in their lives, and it could be said that their desire for these women is personified (or animalfied?) in their beastly alter egos. But films like Wolf (1994), Little Red Riding Hood, Blood & Chocolate, Cursed, and tonight’s films prove that a feminist element only makes these stories more interesting, and for this viewer, more relatable. As I said in my last round of werewolf double features, this creature genre is fraught with issues: confusing lore, ambitious special effects that come out clunky, and some truly wild juxtapositions (I’m looking at you, My Mom’s a Werewolf) Nonetheless, I’ve always been drawn to stories about this creature, partly because, like zombies, lycanthropy somehow seems somewhat likely. And as ridiculous as that may sound, I’ll remind you that there are grown adults out there who have dedicated their lives to finding Bigfoot. Bigfoot, whom autocorrect forced me to capitalize the name of because even our technology believes that there’s a chance this creature exists. I’m also drawn to werewolf stories because they’re often just allegories for the most barbaric, animalistic parts of ourselves. And even as I become desensitized to the insanity of the human race off-screen, I never get tired of watching the horrifying possibilities of our species unfold on screen. Both of tonight’s films break the mold in terms of typical werewolf lore, as they introduce us to some truly bewitching women, and some utterly bonkers rules for werewolf-ism. We begin with John Fawcett’s 2000 teen werewolf classic Ginger Snaps, a film that is still listed as not-rated, perhaps due to its violent subject matter, and its young subjects. Ginger Snaps follows the mysterious Fitzgerald sisters, Ginger and Bridgette, who, even before the trouble begins, are quite troubled. Ginger and her younger sister Bridgette aren’t just obsessed with the macabre, they have a sisterly suicide pact that they plan to carry out if they’re unable to leave the suburbs by the time they turn 16. But when a bunch of dogs get murdered in their neighborhood, they realize that they may have more to dread than just suburban boredom. (A quick side note, and this isn’t just this film’s fault, but so much of the media I’ve been consuming lately has featured dead dogs, and I just wanna know why. Like, for this film, I guess it makes a little sense. But still. Why do we always have to see the dead dog? We know you’re gonna kill the dog so why do we also need to see it? Like I can see a million people die on screen and feel nothing but I never need to see a dead animal. Among all the gory violence in this movie, that is my biggest trigger warning, but I digress…) On the same night that Ginger gets her first period, she is viciously attacked and bitten by a werewolf. As if puberty weren’t enough of a bitch to deal with. The combination of new hormones and newfound werewolf powers turns Ginger into a fearless, flirtatious, somewhat psycho version of herself—one that her poor sister Bridgette spends the whole film trying to cure. I went back and forth between loving these sisters and being confused by them, but my sympathy never wavered. Just like in Turning Red, this monstrous menstruation movie was incredibly impactful in its representation of female pain, pleasure, rage, and power. I love any film that focuses on femininity and ferocity, and Ginger Snaps perfectly captured the growing pains of coming-of-age with a great sense of humor and a grave sincerity—which is not easy to do. Ginger, played by Katharine Isabelle, was an excitingly complex character, one whom we got to know better as her monstrous transformation occurred gradually, not all at once by the light of the full moon. It shouldn’t have taken me this long to see this movie, and I really wonder what my thoughts on it would’ve been if I’d seen it when I first became aware of it at like 13. Ginger Snaps was the gritty feminist werewolf story that I wanted to write in middle school (the one I actually wrote didn’t turn out this good). I loved this movie’s gloomy and plaid aesthetic, its angst, its darkness, the way it keeps you thoroughly compelled and concerned. It was far scarier than I imagined it would be and so much more brutal. My only real issue with Ginger Snaps is its ending, which, unfortunately, makes me feel very conflicted. I won’t reveal how this gory, girly, grisly tale ends, but I’ll just say that given how dark the entirety of this film is, I’m not sure why I was so surprised by the conclusion. Where Ginger Snaps immediately pulled me in then left me slightly confused, The Howling confused me right up until it’s thrilling final act. Joe Dante’s 1981 film The Howling introduces us to anchorwoman Karen White—who is nervously walking through a seedy part town assisting the police in their search for a serial killer named Eddie, who has targeted her, specifically. As with many police operations though, it doesn’t go to plan, and Karen is led into a private room in an adult video store where she is nearly killed by Eddie. The police show up just in time to shoot Eddie and save Karen, who now remembers nothing of the evening, and is so tormented by horrifying nightmares, she can’t properly read the news anymore. Her therapist, Dr. Waggner, decides that what Karen (and her husband?) needs is to go to a place called The Colony: a mental health resort secluded in the woodsy countryside. The Colony is full of bizarre people, with bizarre issues that include, but are not limited to, an elderly suicidal man and a sultry woman who suffers from nymphomania. All is calm at the resort, until some unsettling howling begins, and Karen’s husband Bill is attacked by a wild animal. Karen enlists the help of two of her coworkers Terri and Chris, who’s investigation leads them to two shocking discoveries: one, that the body of Eddie the serial killer is missing, and two, that werewolves are definitely real. At this point in the film, I’m like, okay, now I get why they’re called werewolves because WHERE the hell is this werewolf? There’s all this suspense and a bevy of red herrings, some of which include these weird, dreamlike sequences of Karen being attacked and werewolves having sex, which seemed like a waste of time and an excuse to show full tits and full bush and absolutely zero male nudity. The Howling would also take time to focus on horrific imagery, only to follow it up with scenes of characters making dumb jokes—giving it that jarring 80s brand of sensationalism. But just as I was losing interest, just as I was vocally asking my television screen, “where is the fucking werewolf”, we see it, and I was not let down. I’m sorry to say that revealing anymore of this story would simply ruin it so the synopsis stops here, but The Howling was not at all what I was expecting, in the best way possible. This movie is a trip and a half, and includes some very fun nods to other horror films, if you can spot them. The special effects and makeup were originally supposed to be done by the acclaimed artist Rick Baker, but he decided to work on another werewolf movie instead: An American Werewolf in London. Under short notice and an increasingly-small budget, Rob Bottin (Baker’s assistant), did an incredible job creating these visual effects. While it was made at the height of werewolf hype in America, The Howling still stands out for its impressive cast, visual effects, and for this viewer, it’s completely unpredictable ending. It’s not often that a creature feature burns as slowly as this one, but it made it all the more unnervingly enjoyable. I know it’s not Halloween yet, it’s not even pumpkin spice season yet, but I really needed some good films to sink my teeth into, and these did not (entirely) disappoint.