White Dog

Anyone who has ever owned a dog can attest to the awe-inspiring, unconditional love that flows through them. You come home after several hours to be greeted by longing eyes, a wagging tail, and paws pressed against your calves. Vessels of love, these creatures. Free of prejudice and bias.

Not always. Some canines will as soon tear out your jugular as lick your face. Sometimes, it's because you are unfamiliar to them. Might be your gender, your clothes. Even the color of your skin. What made them that way? Personality disorder? Something innate? Or was it taught?

WHITE DOG, Co-writer/director Samuel Fuller's all-but-forgotten 1982 drama, examines this question primarily through the eyes of a striking white German Shepherd. One night, a Hollywood actress named Julie (Kristy McNichol) is speeding through the Hills and accidentally hits the pup. After rescuing the dog, she decides to keep him. The decision turns out to be wise, as a few nights later she nearly gets raped by an intruder. The dog mauls the perp sufficiently to keep him grounded until the cops show up.

Julie's boyfriend is suspicious of her new roommate. The dog disappears for a few days, then returns covered in blood. This is because the Shepherd had just attacked a street cleaner, as we're shown in a rather chaotic sequence. A little while later, the dog strikes again, while Julie is filming a scene on a movie set. Her unfortunate co-star is ripped and scarred by the white beast. Like the earlier victim, her skin is black.

Eventually, Julie seeks out an animal trainer. Perhaps an obedience school. She meets Carruthers (Burl Ives), who runs a camp for potential animal stars. The old coot lectures her for awhile, bemoaning how cute robots will replace live animals in movies (as he says this, he throws tranquilizer darts at a poster of R2-D2). "Mark my words," he growls, "by the time your kids turn 25 there will be no animal actors." Of course, neither Ives nor likely his character lived long enough to see MARLEY & ME, but I digress yet again.

As Carruthers sends Julie on her way, the pooch sees a black man on the lot, and proceeds to attack him. "That's a white dog," Carruthers screams, now even more intent on sending the young lady away, "trained to kill black people!" Meanwhile, another black man happens by. Keys (Paul Winfield) is an animal trainer who specializes in the dangerous sorts. He even un-trains certain creatures, sometimes those who attack and kill black folks. He accepts the new challenge against Carruthers' warnings. Thus begins a long effort of deprogramming, and perhaps, re-training? If successful, if the dog is "cured", will he merely be a benign friend who chases sticks and gnaws on rawhide? What if the hatred cannot be expunged, but rather re-directed?

The one-on-one, man vs. dog scenes are fascinating. Keys dons heavy layered protection to cover his skin. At first. Gradually, he reveals his arms, his abdomen. The dog seethes with anger, ready to sink his teeth. Wear him down. It seems to work, but then the dog escapes and kills again. This time, a very unfortunate man of color. Chases him into a church no less. When the dog again returns covered in blood, even Julie thinks it's time to put the monster down. Keys, even through his devastation with the scenario, disagrees. How can we stop hate by just putting a band-aid on it? One must get to the root, or the cycle will continue.

There's also another problem. Julie, Keys, and Carruthers are now accessories to murder. All the nobility of the un-training will not spare the trio of legal repercussion if it is discovered that they did not turn over the four legged killer. Such a dilemma reveals that some thought went into the screenplay. Keys ultimately decides to bring the dog back and resumes the un-training. We are led to a finale that cannot be described as triumphant.

The plot here is rife with potential. Writers Fuller and Curtis Hanson (L.A. CONFIDENTIAL) adapt Romain Gary's (to whom the film is dedicated) 1970 novel, based on a true incident. We learn that white dogs are molded. A racist will hire a black man, usually a street person/wino/drifter, to relentlessly beat and starve a puppy within an inch of its life. By the time the torture ceases, the dog will have grown into a beast that will chew up any African-American he sees. Conditioning. Toxic learning. Lack of positive exposure. It doesn't take a genius to discern the larger statements of this screenplay. What a powerful indictment this film could be!

Unfortunately, instead of a bitter little classic, we get an often laughable, overwrought B-movie filled with abysmal acting, numerous unintentional laughs, and an overbearing score by no less than Ennio Morricone! Fuller originally wanted Jodie Foster for the role of Julie. McNichol instead plays it with a solitary expression of blankness throughout. The nadir comes near the end, an absolutely vital confrontation scene of such great importance that it may well be the thesis of the film. McNichol's acting is so flagrantly bad it almost completely destroys the mood until the climax sets things back on course for a rightfully disturbing final statement. But the script doesn't get off scot free, either. Poor dialogue, as bad as any sexploitation slasher of its time, riddles the film. While there are several inventive camera shots, others are just as campy as what might have been seen in the later dog horror show, CUJO.

Indeed, the studio (Paramount) wanted a horror film, an exploitation cheapie ala their very successful slashers of the day. Fuller, of course, had something far more serious and ambitious in mind. Always an auteur who commented on the breakdown of race relations, Fuller imagined WHITE DOG to be an opportunity to make a contemporary pic on how far we hadn't come. It didn't quite work. To add salt in the wound, Paramount shelved the film before a proper release due to (completely unwarranted) fears that the film itself was racist. After running on HBO, the film was doomed to obscurity, with no video release and only a brief revival during a Fuller retrospective in the early 90s.

Criterion to the rescue. But was it necessary? Worthy of the trouble? Despite my numerous reservations, I am glad this important film was given a new lease. As I mull over the themes, cumulatively recalling it, it works a little better. WHITE DOG is one of those films that seems better than it is when you discuss the themes later, the very relevant poisons that set so many on a course of hatred. If this film un-trains anyone, perhaps it was worth the effort.