Unimonster’s Oubliette of Obscure Horrors - Moon of the Wolf
The early 1970s were a golden age for Horror on television. With only three
networks, not counting PBS, and 200 million people to entertain, competition was
fierce. And as always, competition inspires improvement in the products offered,
and Network Television was no different. Every network had its own idea of how
to bring in the biggest number of viewers, but one thing the networks have in
common is the popularity of their Made-for-TV movies. Covering all mainstream
genres, these “Movies of the Week” featured prominently in each network’s weekly
schedules. And just as Horror was big at the Box Office in the early ‘70s, it
was equally as popular on the small screen. And no one did Made-for-TV Horror as
well as did ABC.
In 1972 alone there were at least nine Science-Fiction or Horror films in ABC’s
weekly lineup, including the best such production of the ‘70s, The Night
Stalker, which aired on January 11, 1972. And on September 26th of that year, a
much less famous, but equally well-produced movie aired on the network—Moon of
the Wolf.
Based on the 1967 novel of the same title, written by Les Whitten, Moon of the
Wolf is a Southern Gothic tale of a small Louisiana bayou town, Marsh Island,
and the mysterious murder of a young Cajun woman, Ellie Burrifors. The two
Cajuns who find the girl’s body, Tom Gurmandy and his son, Tom Jr. (Royal Dano
and John Davis Chandler), think that wild dogs killed her, but the parish
Sheriff, Aaron Whitaker (well-acted by television veteran David Janssen) isn’t
certain of that, doubts which the town’s doctor, a good friend of Whitaker’s
named Druten (John Beradino), confirms at the autopsy. The victim was killed by
a powerful blow from a left-handed man, then savagely torn and bitten.
Old Hugh Burrifors, the father of the girl who was the first victim, keeps repeating a French phrase that Sheriff Whitaker can’t quite understand, something that sounds like Lougaroug. Not even the old man’s son Lawrence (Geoffrey Lewis) knows what his father is trying to say, and Whitaker isn’t sure that the old man, who’s already near death, is lucid enough to know what he’s saying. Lawrence Burrifors, however, is convinced that his sister was killed by a man she was romantically involved with, a man whose name he does not know. He believes him to be from Pecan Hill, though, where the “quality folks” live.
Whitaker has his own thoughts on that matter, and is suspicious of Lawrence Burrifors in his sister’s murder. However, other than Lawrence’s own acknowledgment that he and his sister had argued over her affair with this mystery man, an argument that had resulted in him hitting the girl, and the fact that Lawrence is left-handed, there’s no evidence connecting him to the crime.
Whitaker then talks with Andrew Rodanthe and his sister Louise (Bradford Dillman and Barbara Rush), scions of the town’s founding family, and its leading citizens. Rodanthe claims to know nothing of the matter; he was incapacitated with a bout of malaria when Ellie Burrifors was murdered. Louise Rodanthe only returned to Marsh Island from her home in New York that morning; the only information that she has for the Sheriff is the admission that she had a crush on him in junior high. This pleases Whitaker, but embarrasses Andrew Rodanthe, who views the lawman as beneath their station.
Later, in town, he encounters Sara, old Hugh Burrifors’ nurse. The old man sent her to town to buy sulfur and asafoetida, though she doesn’t know why. She does, however, know something about the Burrifors girl that the Sheriff doesn’t, something that should’ve come out at the autopsy but didn’t: Ellie Burrifors was pregnant. Sara doesn’t know the father’s name, but is certain that, whoever he is, he’s responsible for her death.
For his part, Whitaker wants to know why Dr. Druten failed to mention the pregnancy. He’s well aware that that could’ve been the motive for her murder and for Druten to conceal it casts suspicion upon him, something that Whitaker doesn’t want to believe of his friend. When asked, Druten admits knowing the girl was pregnant. One, he’s too good a doctor to miss something as obvious as a pregnancy at autopsy, and two, he was the child’s father. He was the man from Pecan Hill that Ellie Burrifors was seeing. He withheld the information because he knew it had nothing to do with her murder. Whitaker has one more question before he leaves—for what does one use sulfur and asafoetida? Druten replies nothing any longer, but his grandmother believed it kept wolves away.
Lawrence Burrifors is told by Sara that his sister was pregnant, and if the Doctor didn’t say anything about it, then he’s either a bad doctor or he’s the one responsible. Lawrence draws his own conclusions on that, and attacks Druten in the street, leaving Whitaker with no option but to lock him up. That night, something breaks into the jail, kills the deputy on duty, and then tears the cell door off its hinges in order to reach Lawrence, who’s torn apart. The Sheriff is dumbfounded; he can’t imagine anything human being capable of such a feat.
The next day, as Whitaker is preparing to drive out to Hugh’s to tell the old man about his son’s death, Andrew Rodanthe arrives to offer his services as a deputy, since it does appear that Whitaker is short-handed after word of the attack at the jail has gotten around town. Whitaker views this as problematic—what happens when he has to give orders to a Rodanthe? He says as much to the man, and his reply is that the Sheriff will have to forget who Rodanthe is, and remember who he is. He then agrees to accompany Whitaker to the Burrifors’ home.
As they approach the house, Rodanthe complains about some type of odor, then collapses onto the front porch, next to a pot of burning sulfur and asafoetida. Later, as Rodanthe lies in the hospital unconscious, Whitaker asks Druten if this is the man’s malaria acting up. Druten says that he doesn’t know what this is, but it isn’t malaria. He asks Whitaker to take some medicine out to Hugh Burrifors. The Sheriff asks Louise Rodanthe, at the hospital with her brother, to ride along, in hopes that she can translate what old Hugh keeps trying to say. As she’s speaking to the old man, he becomes very agitated, pointing to her palm and repeating, “Lougaroug, Lougaroug.” She informs Whitaker that it’s his Cajun dialect that’s confusing people. He’s mispronouncing “loup garou.” He’s saying “werewolf,” and that she’s the next victim.
As Werewolf movies go, Moon of the Wolf is rather tame, especially in comparison to what was on Drive-In screens in 1972. Unable to compete in terms of gore and sex however, Made-for-TV movies had to depend upon good writing and direction, keeping the production values as high as possible, and solid acting from what star power could be mustered from the miniscule budgets they were given. Moon of the Wolf scores high in all three areas. The script, by Alvin Sapinsley, is good, and Daniel Petrie’s direction is sure-handed and even-paced, and makes the most of the Southern Louisiana locations. But it’s the acting that truly elevates this movie above the average, “Movie of the Week.”
David Janssen made a career (all too brief as it unfortunately was) playing strong, understated roles just as with Aaron Whitaker here. His performance is excellent, and helps make this movie as enjoyable as it is. Dr. Druten is played, somewhat melodramatically, by soap opera icon (and former Major League Baseball player) John Beradino. While his was not the best performance in the movie, he’s still entertaining. Barbara Rush, as Louise Rodanthe, is attractive and engaging, but has little to do apart from tagging along with Janssen’s character. But it was Bradford Dillman, as Andrew Rodanthe, that dominated the screen whenever he was on it. Dillman, who was one of the most recognizable faces on television in the 1970s, excelled at playing the mysterious, evil antagonist, just as he does here.
Moon of the Wolf is a prime example of the 1970s Made-for-TV movie, a form of entertainment that had reached the peak of its popularity in the early 1970s, and would slowly decline until the early 2000s, when competition from reality TV and the viewing public’s changing taste put an end to the era of the Made-for-TV movie. But just because that form of entertainment is largely forgotten now doesn’t mean that the movies themselves should be. Moon of the Wolf is one of these movies. Not because it’s a great movie; it’s not. But few of the movies we’ll discuss in the Unimonster’s Oubliette of Obscure Horrors will be great. They’ll only have one thing in common; they deserve to be remembered—just as does Moon of the Wolf.
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