It must have seemed like a great idea to all concerned back in 1981. Paramount Pictures wanted a “'Jaws’ with paws” horror film; teen star Kristy McNichol was looking for a project that would help her make the transition to adult roles; director Samuel Fuller (“Shock Corridor,” “The Naked Kiss”) needed a big hit to continue his comeback. But what they found was a movie that was ultimately too hot to handle.
The sad story behind “White Dog” illustrates how a misunderstood message movie sparked a controversy that derailed careers.
It’s amazing something as potentially incendiary as “White Dog” was even put into production by a major studio, but, as with so many things, it was all in the timing. “Dog,” based on a semi-autobiographical book by Romain Gary, had been on the back-burner at the studio since the mid-1970s when it was supposed to be directed by Roman Polanski. With potential strikes by the Writers’ Guild and the Directors’ Guild on the horizon, Paramount executives were anxious to stockpile as many pictures as possible and rushed “Dog” in front of the cameras.
Curtis Hanson (later to direct “L.A. Confidential” and “8 Mile”) collaborated with Fuller on a screenplay about a young actress, Julie Sawyer (McNichol), who saves an injured German shepherd, only to discover she’s been caring for a “white dog,” an animal trained by racists to kill African-Americans. Although Julie is advised to have the dog destroyed, she insists on taking him to Keys (Paul Winfield), a black trainer who thinks he can change the dog’s programming, using B.F. Skinner-style behavior modification techniques.
Keys runs an animal refuge called Noah’s Ark with his elderly partner, Carruthers (Burl Ives). “Can’t nobody unlearn a dog,” Carruthers insists, but Keys is certain he can complete his mission in five weeks. Winfield skillfully navigates the rivers of emotion flowing through Keys, who is clearly no stranger to prejudice and persecution; in Keys’ confrontations with the dog, editor Bernard Gribble cuts back and forth between the frenzied eyes of the snarling animal and the glacial glare of Keys, daring us to guess which one is ultimately more dangerous.
There are a few freakishly funny moments in “White Dog,” including a bizarre, possibly ad-libbed line from a police officer as he arrests a man who assaulted Julie (“Same damn rapist I nailed last year!”) and some weird walks down Memory Lane from Carruthers, who detests America’s obsession with technology and hurls syringes at an R2D2 dart board. It’s also easy to chuckle at the fuzzy tops, pastel-colored pants and Olivia Newton-John headbands in Julie’s oh-so-early-‘80s wardrobe.
But even when McNichol’s clothes are comical, the sincerity in her performance demands she be taken seriously. At the time “Dog” was filmed, McNichol was at the peak of her career, having just wrapped up a four-season run in ABC’s acclaimed series “Family” that brought her two best supporting actress Emmys. She’d had a surprise box office hit with the summer camp comedy “Little Darlings” in 1980 and had just completed filming “Only When I Laugh” with Marsha Mason. Although Julie may not be a complex or particularly fascinating character, McNichol gives her an impressive balance of vulnerability and volatility. When Julie finally erupts, it’s not a showy, “polish up that Oscar for me” tantrum: She sputters and repeats herself and gets caught up in loops of anger, just like a normal person in an emotionally charged situation. Honesty and straightforwardness were always McNichol's trademarks, and they are very much in evidence here.
Fuller was not a director given to pulling punches, and he builds the intensity to an almost uncomfortable level in some scenes. Far from being an enjoyably scary monster movie, this is a chiller that truly shakes you up, its foreboding mood constantly accentuated by Ennio Morricone’s gripping score (permeated with quietly churning pianos and strings that sound like muted sirens) and the outstanding cinematography of Bruce Surtee.
“White Dog” is ripe with unsettling images and offbeat directorial choices. In one sequence, the dog attacks a victim in an empty church. Although Fuller does not spare us from the anguished screams of the man being mauled, the camera drifts away from the violence and settles on a stained glass window depicting, of all people, St. Francis of Assisi. Similarly, when Keys pulls a gun on the dog during a standoff, the camera moves in not on the barrel of the revolver, but on Keys’ finger caressing the trigger. It’s not the weapon that will possibly kill this creature, Fuller is telling us, it’s the fury of the man who is wielding it.
For Fuller and company, the trouble began even before the cameras rolled. After the NAACP voiced concerns about the material, a representative was invited to supervise the filming; apparently, that wasn’t enough to calm the organization. “When you train a white dog to kill black folks, that gives the KKK and other white supremacist organizations ideas,” said Willis Edwards, then-president of the NAACP’s Beverly Hills/Hollywood chapter.
But if Edwards had bothered to wait until the film was completed, he might have seen that “White Dog” is an indictment, not an endorsement, of such practices. The screenplay attacks the sick minds responsible for turning the dog into what one character calls “a four-legged time bomb”; instead of being intrigued by the situation, the filmmakers are repulsed. One of the most terrifying moments occurs when Keys explains to Julie how racists can teach a dog to “attack black skin,” as he puts it: Hire an African-American wino or junkie to beat the dog regularly until it learns its horrible lesson.
Rumblings about a possible NAACP boycott led Paramount to nix a nationwide release of “Dog” in the spring of 1982. There are no signs the studio even bothered to make up marketing materials for it, such as posters or a trailer. Ultimately, the movie played a one-week test run in Detroit before being quietly shuttled off to the late-night cable TV graveyard. The film cost $7 million to produce and brought in less than $50,000 during its brief run.
The bad buzz around the film tarnished McNichol’s reputation (and her subsequent appearance in the campy Australian musical “The Pirate Movie” didn’t help a bit); a disgusted Fuller left America altogether, spending his remaining years in France.
Neither of them had any reason to be ashamed. "Dog" is a hard-hitting horror film with a staunchly anti-racist theme, and it’s exceptionally well played by Winfield and McNichol. Even without the controversy, it’s unlikely “White Dog” would ever have become a box office hit. But it remains one of the most disturbing films of its day, a movie that goes straight for the jugular — just like its namesake.
