BARKING MAD

‘Dogs’ is a slight entry in our never ending catalogue of films about nutty dogs and other killer creatures but it scores extra points for featuring a murderous cocker spaniel, and for having a really stupid freeze frame ending.

David McCallum plays Harlan Thompson, an extremely hairy English academic stuck in a mid-western US town. He is bored, separated from his wife and drinks heavily which only fuels his growing contempt for college politics and the ignorance of his students. With his beard and shaggy bowl cut, McCallum resembles an old English Sheep Dog, obviously hinting at the animal within all of us. He also wears double denim and puts on a Michael Caine accent, but we have no idea what that is all about.

When a series of nasty cattle mutilations extend to human fatalities, it soon becomes clear that the attacks are down to a pack of dogs. These aren’t wild animals, however, but pets – pampered pooches gone psycho. Theories abound: pheromones, perhaps, collective consciousness, maybe, or could it all be down to that top secret government facility up on the hill that drains all the power and emits an eerie, high frequency noise? These are all red herrings, really, as the sudden betrayal of man’s best friend is never adequately explained, and nor is their seemingly ability to be everywhere at once (there are only about half a dozen dogs in total). What is apparent, however, is that they like students, and the fatter and slower the better (they also like ladies in showers, but then who doesn’t?) 

Our favourite part is the following exchange between Harlan and his estranged wife (who is a very poor actress). Harlan bursts in, shotgun in hand, and grabs his wife by the arm:

“Get your things together – we're leaving!”

“The dogs?”

“Yes. And it was hideous!”

“What happened?”

“I'll tell you in the car, there isn't time - now, come on, get some things. You got something I can drink?”

Luckily, she has ('in the kitchen, over the dishwasher'), and he’s going to need it, because the silly cow has left all the windows and doors open, and the pack (who seem to be very clear about their specific targets) are on their way.

The film doesn’t so much conclude as just STOP – no climax, no exposition, no explanation, not even an explosion - just the shocked survivors driving out of town and hearing radio reports of other attacks in the area. It’s not particularly satisfactory, but at least it’s enigmatic - then the camera zooms in on a passing cat and ruins everything by attempting a shock conclusion (and a hint at a sequel) which is just deeply shit. It’s an embarrassing ending to what had, until then, been an unspectacular but quietly entertaining piece of hokum. 

DEVIL DOG

Peter Haining must have written or edited about two billion books in his lifetime and yet, when he died in 2007, he was still only 67 years old. He remains a hero to anyone who grew up in the last forty years in the grip of a worryingly intense obsession with mystery, monsters and the macabre - and, of course, for lovers of massive, angry dogs with comedy teeth. 

Amazing, indeed. Not sure if a car can legally 'murder' but, yeah, everything else seems plausible. 

ANIMAL OSCARS

There are a number of reasons to write about Robert Clouse’s 1977 film ‘The Pack’, not least the fact that is an excellent, suspenseful film that keeps the viewer entertained for all of its ninety eight minutes. It’s also unusual, and we like that, and it reminds us of the sort of thing Guy N. Smith might come up with if he had a load of cash and a course of subtle injections. The big thing for us, however, is that it features the greatest ever acting performance by a dog. 

Completely ignored by the Academy, this dog is absolutely superb and, as screen villains go, makes Alan Rickman look like the jumped up am-drammer that he is. This dog is better than 90% of human actors: he is the Robert Ryan of dog villains, seething with hatred and danger and rage. We don’t know what they were taunting him with, but we are glad that we are not it. Actually, this dog is so good that we expect that he didn’t need to be poked with anything, he simply had long conversations with the director about his character’s motivation, then made lots of detailed notes in the margin of his script before squaring his shoulders and going out and giving the performance of a lifetime.

The story is simple, but nicely set up. Joe Don Baker, the immovable object, is on remote Seal Island with around half a dozen other permanent residents and a party of tourists. JDB is the conservation warden, a former Alaskan fisherman (i.e. very tough) who was initially sent to the island 'to study prawns'. The island is a popular destination for holiday makers who, unforgivably, often buy dogs to bring on their vacation, only to abandon them as they jump on the weekly ferry for their homes in the city (something seems not quite right about that bit but we went with it and everything was okay). 

The abandoned and bitter and hungry dogs have formed a pack and, under the charismatic leadership of the greatest dog actor in the world, are now ready to mount a challenge to the humans, who they want very dead very much – partly because they hate them for their cruelty and partly, of course, because humans are extremely tasty.

The film unfolds slowly and deliberately, but from the first glimpse of the canine Laurence Olivier, teeth bared furiously, you know that this is all going to end in an almighty battle, and it does, as the surviving humans rally under Joe Don Baker to keep themselves alive until the next ferry comes, and the pack lay siege, desperate to take their revenge and have their favourite dinner. 

There are some illogical bits (JDB batters the top dog thespian with the butt of his rifle, despite it being easier to shoot him; a woman on the run from the dogs takes shelter in a barn full of dog shit and is then surprised when the pack come home and tear her to bits) but none of that matters AT ALL. The film is good, the tension is high, the setting is marvellous and, yes, the lead dog is a bona fide genius - and he doesn’t even get a credit. Dirty, delicious human bastards. 

...

Genuinely good animal actors are few and far between, of course. Toto was okay, but his role mainly involved trotting from one predesignated point to another and jumping up. We thought Babe was marvellous, until we found out he was a robot. Digby* wasn’t big at all, and so poor at expressions that the director combed his hair down over his lifeless eyes. 

Aside from our unnamed mongrel genius, the only ever truly great animal actor we can think of is Cheeta from the ‘Tarzan’ films. 

There is a persistent rumour that most of Cheeta’s acting was facilitated by rubbing peanut butter on his gums and letting him smoke opium but, even when he isn’t chattering and licking his lips, he presents us with a fully rounded character, a mischievous force of nature, as best displayed in this unforgettable vignette from the ridiculously enjoyable ‘Tarzan’s New York Adventure’ (1942).

We particularly likes it when he talcs his arse. Good luck with that powder puff, Jane.

* We are slightly obsessed with Digby, The Biggest Dog In The World and, inexplicably, we're also quite angry with him.

PUPPY POWER

It could have already begun...but it hasn't.

Previously published in 1966 as 'Mankind Under The Leash', part of this work is based on a novelette entitled 'White Fang Goes Dingo'. We're not making this up. The book was eventually used as the basis for the French cartoon 'Dogtanian'.

We made that up.