Fairy Tale Fangs: Where The Company of Wolves and The Howling Rewrite Werewolf Lore

In the silver glow of 1980s cinema, two films transform ancient werewolf myths into visceral visions—one rooted in gritty transformation, the other in dreamlike fairy tales.

The 1980s marked a renaissance for the werewolf in horror, blending folklore with fresh cinematic ingenuity. Neil Jordan’s The Company of Wolves (1984) and Joe Dante’s The Howling (1981) stand as twin pillars, each drawing from fairy tale traditions like ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ and ‘The Wolf and the Seven Young Kids’ to reimagine lycanthropy. This comparison unearths their shared lupine DNA, contrasting narrative styles, thematic depths, and lasting echoes in the genre.

• Both films anchor werewolf horror in fairy tale archetypes, yet The Howling grounds them in modern paranoia while The Company of Wolves weaves surreal bedtime stories.
• Visual transformations—practical gore in Dante’s work versus poetic metamorphosis in Jordan’s—highlight divergent approaches to body horror.
• Through female protagonists, they probe sexuality, repression, and the wild feminine, influencing decades of shape-shifting cinema.

Grimm Shadows: Fairy Tale Foundations Unearthed

At their core, both films excavate the Brothers Grimm’s lupine underbelly, where wolves embody deception and primal urges. The Howling, directed by Joe Dante, follows television reporter Karen White (Dee Wallace), lured to a coastal retreat called ‘The Colony’ after a traumatic encounter with a serial killer who proves to be a werewolf. Her journey spirals into revelations of a hidden community of lycanthropes, echoing tales of villages plagued by beasts. The film’s title nods to werewolf cries in folklore, but Dante infuses it with contemporary satire, portraying the colony as a therapy group gone feral—a sly jab at California’s self-help culture.

In contrast, The Company of Wolves unfolds within the dreams of young Rosaleen (Sarah Patterson), a girl navigating puberty through her grandmother’s (Angela Lansbury) cautionary tales. Jordan adapts Angela Carter’s short story from The Bloody Chamber, structuring the narrative as nested fables: huntsmen with wolfish grins, compact mirrors birthing beasts, and a village priest hunted by his transformed wife. Rosaleen’s storybook world blurs reality and reverie, with wolves materialising from misty woods, directly invoking ‘Red Riding Hood’s’ warnings against strangers.

These fairy tale scaffolds allow both films to explore inherited fears. Dante’s werewolves retain human cunning, forming societies that mimic human flaws, much like the anthropomorphic wolves in Perrault’s moralistic yarns. Jordan, however, leans into the surreal, where transformations symbolise emotional upheavals, transforming the genre’s brute monster into a metaphor for adolescent awakening. Production histories underscore this divergence: The Howling battled studio interference, emerging from a script by John Sayles and Terence H. Winkless, while Jordan’s feature benefited from a modest £1.7 million budget, allowing artistic liberty.

Key scenes amplify these roots. In The Howling, Karen’s first shift under a full moon recalls the uncontrollable curse of medieval legends, her body contorting in Rob Bottin’s groundbreaking effects. Jordan counters with Rosaleen’s encounter in the woods, where a suave young man (Stephen Rea) sheds his skin like a fairy tale illusion, his eyes glowing amber before the feast. Both nod to oral traditions, but Dante’s visceral snaps contrast Jordan’s whispered menace.

Feral Femininity: Gendered Howls of Desire

Female leads anchor the fairy tale werewolf psyche in both pictures, subverting passive victimhood. Dee Wallace’s Karen embodies repressed urban anxiety, her arc from sceptic to alpha she-wolf mirroring the empowerment in Carter’s feminist retellings. As she embraces her furred form, howling triumphantly, the film critiques male-dominated media—her boss Eddie (Dick Miller) peddles sensationalism, while werewolves represent liberated instinct.

Sarah Patterson’s Rosaleen, conversely, inhabits a pre-sexual innocence corrupted by knowledge. Her grandmother’s tales warn of men’s wolfish natures, yet Rosaleen chooses the beast, kissing her lover’s lupine maw in a union of girl and wild. Jordan’s script, co-written with Carter, layers Victorian anxieties over female sexuality, with menstrual blood staining sheets and hunts symbolising deflowering.

Class and repression interweave these portraits. The Howling‘s Colony satirises bourgeois denial—therapist Dr. Waggner (Patrick Macnee) preaches control until the moon rises—while Rosaleen’s rural idyll hides patriarchal violence, priests and innkeepers enforcing moral cages. Both films, released amid second-wave feminism, use lycanthropy to voice the ‘monstrous feminine’, as Barbara Creed later termed it, where women’s bodies rebel against societal binds.

Performances elevate these themes. Wallace’s raw terror evolves into ecstatic release, her screams blending fear and thrill. Lansbury’s grandmother, with gravelly voice and knowing eyes, delivers fables like incantations, her dual role as storyteller and wolf underscoring inherited legacies. Rea’s beguiling suitor in Company seduces with Irish lilt, paralleling the silver-tongued wolf in Wallace’s fateful alley.

Moonlit Metamorphoses: Effects and Aesthetics Clash

Special effects define the films’ visceral punch, each pioneering within budget constraints. The Howling boasts Rob Bottin’s tour de force: elongated snouts bursting from skulls, ribs cracking like thunder. The Colony’s orgiastic change sequence, shot in reverse for fluidity, set benchmarks for practical FX, influencing The Thing (1982). Dante’s widescreen compositions, with anamorphic lenses distorting flesh, ground fairy tale horror in tangible agony.

Jordan favours illusion over gore, employing matte paintings and stop-motion for ethereal shifts—men dissolve into wolves amid swirling leaves, lit by Carlo Rambaldi’s subtle prosthetics. The film’s Gainsborough-style visuals, with fog-shrouded forests and candlelit cottages, evoke Hammer Horror elegance, prioritising atmosphere over splatter. Sound design amplifies this: howls warp into human moans in Company, while Howling‘s George Stone’s score punctuates snaps with orchestral stings.

These choices reflect subgenre tensions. Dante’s film kickstarted the practical effects boom post-An American Werewolf in London (1981), blending comedy with carnage—werewolves watch Dracula on TV, mocking silver bullets. Jordan’s poetic restraint aligns with art-house horror, its transformations as psychological as physical, critiquing realism in favour of myth.

Cinematography further diverges: John Hora’s steadicam prowls Howling‘s colonies, building claustrophobia; Jordan’s Bryan Loftus crafts dream logic, tracking shots gliding through frame narratives. Both innovate, yet Howling‘s gore endures for shock value, Company‘s beauty for introspection.

Societal Snarls: Cultural Contexts and Critiques

Releasing amid AIDS scares and Reagan-era conservatism, both films howl at sexual liberation. The Howling equates lycanthropy with venereal curses, the Colony’s bites spreading uncontrollably—a metaphor for unchecked desire. Dante peppers satire: werewolves regenerate like horror franchises, nodding to genre excess.

Company probes puritanism through religious hypocrisy—the priest’s deformed wife births wolf pups, punished for lust. Jordan, drawing from Carter’s Marxist feminism, critiques class via the huntsman’s gypsy tales, where poverty breeds monstrosity. Irish folklore infuses authenticity, wolves as Celtic omens.

Influence ripples outward. Howling spawned seven sequels, cementing werewolf comedy-horror; Dante’s style echoed in Gremlins. Jordan’s debut paved gothic paths, seen in Interview with the Vampire. Together, they elevated werewolves beyond Hammer schlock, blending fairy tales with postmodern bite.

Legacy endures: remakes falter against originals’ alchemy. Fans revisit for thematic richness—repression’s howl louder than any FX.

Director in the Spotlight

Neil Jordan, born Neil Patrick Jordan in 1950 in Sligo, Ireland, emerged from literary roots as a novelist and short story writer before cinema. Educated at University College Dublin, his early screenplays like The Courier (1987) showcased taut thrillers. The Company of Wolves marked his directorial breakthrough, adapting Angela Carter with fidelity to her baroque prose, earning BAFTA nominations and cult status.

Jordan’s career spans literary adaptations and genre hybrids. He directed Mona Lisa (1986), a noir starring Bob Hoskins that won him the Palme d’Or at Cannes. The Crying Game (1992) exploded internationally, netting four Oscars including Best Original Screenplay for its IRA-transgender twist. Interview with the Vampire (1994) adapted Anne Rice, blending gothic romance with star power (Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt). Michael Collins (1996) biopic earned Liam Neeson an Oscar nod, while The Butcher Boy (1997) darkly comic take on Irish dysfunction featured Stephen Rea recurrently.

His filmography reflects preoccupations with identity and violence: In Dreams (1999) psychological horror with Annette Bening; The End of the Affair (1999) Graham Greene adaptation; Not I (2000) experimental Beckett. The Brave One (2007) vigilante thriller revitalised Jodie Foster. Recent works include Byzantium (2012) vampire tale echoing Company‘s fairy tale vibe, and The Lobster screenplay (2015) dystopian satire. Television ventures like The Borgias (2011-2013) displayed his historical sweep. Influenced by Powell and Pressburger, Jordan champions Irish storytelling, with over 20 features blending poetry and pulp.

Actor in the Spotlight

Dee Wallace, born Deanna Bowers in 1948 in Kansas City, Missouri, rose from theatre and commercials to horror icon. After studying at the University of Kansas, she honed craft in soaps like The Secret Storm. Her 1979 breakthrough came as the mother in Steven Spielberg’s E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982), voicing maternal warmth amid alien wonder, earning Saturn Award nods.

In The Howling, Wallace’s Karen White fused vulnerability with ferocity, her transformation scene cementing scream queen status. She reprised wolf roles in The Howling sequels indirectly via legacy. Career trajectory mixed blockbusters and indies: Critters (1986) creature feature; Shadows and Fog (1991) Woody Allen ensemble; The Hills Have Eyes (2006) remake as maternal survivor.

Notable roles span genres: Cujo (1983) rabid dog terror opposite Donna Trenton; Meatballs Part II (1984) comedy; TV arcs in Baywatch, Lost World. Later, The House of the Devil (2009) cult throwback; 311 Day of the Beast (2012) zombie matriarch. Awards include Fangoria Chainsaw nods; she authored memoirs Surviving Sexual Assault (2012), advocating healing.

Filmography highlights: 10 (1979) with Bo Derek; Grand Theft Auto (1977) directorial debut stuntwoman; My Body, My Child (1982) TV abortion drama; Runaway Daughters (1994); Wizard of Darkness (2001); Ghost Town (2023). With 150+ credits, Wallace embodies resilient femininity, from extraterrestrial nurturer to lupine liberator.

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