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Wendigos and Sibling Rifts in ‘Devil in the Dark’ [Horrors Elsewhere]

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Horrors Elsewhere is a recurring column that spotlights a variety of movies from all around the globe, particularly those not from the United States. Fears may not be universal, but one thing is for sure a scream is understood, always and everywhere.

Returning to his hometown was not an easy decision for Adam. He has managed to stay away for fifteen years. However, he now finds himself back in his parents’ old and untouched house. The reason for Adam’s sudden return ultimately leads him and his older brother Clint deep into the mountain forest. What might have been a heartfelt reunion between estranged siblings quickly shifts into something unprecedented. Something unnatural.

In Devil in the Dark (also known as The Plateau), Clint (Dan Payne) has not seen his younger brother Adam (Robin Dunne) since their father died. Having him back is a surprise all on its own, but what is even stranger is Adam’s desire to go camping during his time home. Before the brothers venture off into the remote British Columbia forest, they quickly fall into their old patterns. Adam has no concern for others’ time and Clint always assumes the worst of Adam. These next six days will not be easy, the brothers soon realize.

The trip starts off on the wrong foot. Adam is not only hungover from a late night of drinking with old pals, Clint has resumed his fault-finding ways. He goes as far as to give Adam the bag of supplies he packed earlier all because he “had a hunch” he would not come prepared. And rather than take an ATV up to the destined plateau, Clint wants them to do things “old school.” The long hike gives the brothers plenty of time to get reacquainted after doing their best to avoid each other for so long.

Now, the poster — a young Adam in the foreground and a shadowy, antlered figure in the foggy background — promises a creature feature. Does that art mislead? No, not quite. Devil in the Dark more or less delivers what it pitches but with some caveats to consider. That foreboding, unearthly monster definitely appears in the movie toward the end. Bearing that in mind, the creature is hardly visible to the naked eye. There are the abstract parts of it here and there, but on the whole, the antagonist is a sight unseen or wholly shrouded in darkness. A good rule of thumb when making monster movies is less is more; showing too much will only strip them of their power in the long run. What little there is of the monster on screen forces the audience to use their imagination. Be that as it may, Devil would have benefitted from at least one substantial shot.

What exactly is the monster of Devil in the Dark? The antlers are a big clue. Ever since Larry Fessenden manifested his fascination with them, the Wendigo has incidentally become more at home in pop culture. Before then they were mainly the stuff of vintage pulp and comics. The mythological basis hails from First Nations folklore and is typically a wintry spirit born out of greed or other human weaknesses. Fessenden’s interpretation is credited for the signature yet fairly new elk-like traits, but Matt Fox illustrated a similar depiction in a 1944 issue of Famous Fantastic Mysteries. Meanwhile, the ashen namesake of Devil in the Dark takes after the modern Wendigo while also looking very human.

Oh too often Bigfoot and the Wendigo are conflated in spite of their disparate origins and activities. Movies involving the former tend to be straightforward and reactionary. Whereas Wendigo stories almost always dive deeper into the psyche and pluck out anything that could entice one of these fearsome abominations. For instance, Adam’s resentment toward Clint is transparent. He outright blames his older brother for his bad relationship with his father Glen (Daniel Cudmore), who had very little in common with his youngest. For this reason Adam was unconsciously excluded from father-son activities like hunting and other traditionally masculine pastimes. 

Adam’s lifelong burden draws him to the Wendigo legend, which is a cautionary tale to begin with. Those on the outside of their communities are said to be more susceptible to the Wendigo’s influence. Hence why the monster targets Adam; he sees himself as an outcast in his own family. A large part of that separation is voluntary later in life — Adam moved away and left Clint to take care of their father — but there is no denying Glen worsened matters between his sons by favoring Clint. Adam’s bitterness finally gives the Wendigo access to his heart and something new to feed on.

Seasoned horror audiences may struggle to find openly frightening material here. Yet possibly more alarming than a killer Wendigo is the lengths the story will go to deny the characters any closure. Rather than apologizing and moving on from their internalized heartaches, Adam and Clint act stubbornly. They are harshly punished as a result. That continuous sting of regret on both sides goes beyond the abrupt ending.

This is a tense family drama first and a horror movie second. At the risk of turning potential new viewers away, it is only fair to point out how elusive the horror elements are here. What little there is is intentionally delayed in an effort to better expound the complicated relationship between the two brothers. The leads’ convincing chemistry and performances along with a coachload of atmosphere all make for a better creature feature. Tim Brown and Carey Dickson approach the concept differently than most, and the success of Devil in the Dark does not lie in its macabre parts. 

Paul Lê is a Texas-based, Tomato approved critic at Bloody Disgusting, Dread Central, and Tales from the Paulside.

Editorials

‘The Company of Wolves’ at 40: One of the Most Underrated Werewolf Movies Ever Made

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There’s a compelling idea in anthropology that many ancient werewolf legends are derived from our species’ need to rationalize the more animalistic side of humanity – which is why lycanthropy has historically been used to explain everything from medieval serial killers to cannibalism. While I personally think there’s a lot more to unpack when it comes to tales of wolfmen and women, this is still a great example of why so many of our most enduring fairy tales involve big bad wolves.

And in the world of film, I think there’s only one feature that really nails the folkloric origins of werewolf stories, namely Neil Jordan’s 1984 fairy-tale horror classic, The Company of Wolves. Even four decades later, there’s no other genre flick that comes close to capturing the dreamlike ambience behind this strange anthology, and that’s why I’d like to take this opportunity to look back on one of the most underrated werewolf flicks ever made.

The Company of Wolves was originally a short story contained in the 1979 anthology The Bloody Chamber, a collection of deconstructed fairy-tales intended for mature readers penned by English author Angela Carter. With the book quickly becoming a hit as readers became fascinated with its subversion of classic folk stories and (then) controversial feminist undertones, it was soon transformed into a duology of BBC radio-dramas which adapted both The Company of Wolves and Carter’s reimagining of Puss-in-Boots.

These radio-dramas soon attracted the attention of then up-and-coming Irish filmmaker Neil Jordan, who decided to meet with Carter to discuss expanding on her stories and bringing them to life on the big screen. The duo soon realized that a single short story wasn’t enough material for a feature-length film, so they decided to adapt all of Carter’s werewolf tales into a single anthology.

With a completed script and a $2.3 million budget, Jordan decided to tackle the project like a hybrid between a theatrical period drama and a schlocky monster movie. Effects-heavy creature features were a hot commodity back in the ’80s, with films like The Howling and An American Werewolf in London proving that there was an audience for horrific lycanthrope transformations, so the director soon recruited a team that could turn this odd collection of feminist folk stories into something commercially viable.

Not exactly a great pick for family movie night.

Shooting would eventually take place almost entirely within the England-based Shepperton Studios, with notable production designer Anton Furst (who would later be known for his work on Tim Burton’s Batman films) helping to bring Jordan’s vision of a darkly romantic fairy-tale world to life. Appropriately enough, production would also involve a real pack of trained wolves (as well as a collection of dyed dogs), though extensive puppetry and animatronics were also used to flesh out the more gruesome parts of the flick.

After a grueling nine-week shoot where budgetary constraints led to corners being cut on props and costumes, The Company of Wolves was finally released in September of 1984 – just in time for spooky season. In the finished film, we follow the strange dreams of a sulky teenage girl named Rosaleen (first-time actress Sarah Patterson) as the film unravels an Arabian-Nights-inspired tapestry of both familiar and not-so-familiar stories about big bad wolves.

From sexually charged cautionary tales to parables about female empowerment, this surreal collection of deranged bedtime stories is much more than the creature feature that the marketing initially suggested. Like a more horror-oriented version of Jim Henson’s Labyrinth, The Company of Wolves exudes that same kind of hormonal teenage energy that transports us back to a time when the world was both scary and exciting in equal measure.

That’s not to say that this is an entirely pleasant experience, however, and I’m not just talking about the film’s horror elements. A big portion of the flick’s overtly sexual moments involve the then 13-year-old Patterson coming to grips with her blossoming womanhood and the dangers of predatory men (usually marked with a humorous unibrow), something that naturally makes for some intentionally uncomfortable viewing – especially in the year of our lord 2024.

Obviously, I don’t think it’s my place to dissect (or even judge) the effectiveness of the film’s commentaries on being a young woman, but even as a man I can still appreciate the thought and care that went into crafting this Jungian cocktail of serious themes in a genre-movie package that almost certainly went on to inspire future werewolf movies like Ginger Snaps.

Not the worst wedding I’ve been to.

That being said, what really keeps me coming back to the film is the absurd amount of memorable imagery. From a wedding party being taken over by canines to lonely treks through snowy groves, this is exactly the gloomy world I imagined as a child when reading Grimms’ Fairy Tales – and the dreamy atmosphere is only enhanced by the movie’s overall theatricality.

This also extends to the effects, as it’s easy to forgive decapitated dummy heads and ripped rubber skin when everything is happening in a magical hyper-reality, with a great example of this is being the scene where Grandma’s head unexpectedly explodes like a porcelain doll when it’s knocked off by a wolfman. That’s not to say that the effects are bad, as several of these transformations are downright grisly and likely influenced future lycanthrope effects like those in Underworld and even Trick ‘r Treat (even if the wolf-dogs here often look more cute than scary).

Of course, these aren’t the only things that The Company of Wolves has going for it, as the main trio of Patterson, Micha Bergese and the late, great Angela Lansbury exceptionally bring these exaggerated caricatures to life and the orchestral score is an absolute delight. I also really get a kick out of that bizarre ending implying that the dangers of adult life have literally come crashing into Rosaleen’s bedroom.

The Company of Wolves may not be a perfect film, suffering from some wonky pacing and the classic anthology problem where some stories are clearly much more enjoyable than others, but I’d argue that the flick’s iconic visuals and powerful thematic throughline more than make up for any minor flaws. And while we’ve seen bigger and better werewolf films since then, when it comes to adult-oriented fairy-tales, this is one psycho-sexual journey that is still worth revisiting 40 years down the line.

The Company of Wolves

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