In the shadowed forests of 1985 cinema, a sequel howled louder than logic itself, blending gore, nudity, and Christopher Lee’s stern gaze into a cult midnight movie masterpiece.

Step into the furry frenzy of Howling II: Your Sister Is a Werewolf, the 1985 follow-up that took the lycanthropic legacy of its predecessor and twisted it into something gloriously unhinged. This film captures the raw, unpolished spirit of 80s horror, where practical effects met campy excess, leaving an indelible mark on fans of the weird and wild.

  • Unpacking the bonkers plot that unites werewolf hunters, ancient queens, and rock ‘n’ roll exorcisms in a symphony of absurdity.
  • Exploring the film’s cult appeal through its over-the-top gore, nudity, and Christopher Lee’s commanding presence amid the chaos.
  • Tracing the legacy of this midnight movie staple, from VHS vaults to modern revivals, cementing its place in retro horror collecting.

The Furry Fiasco Unfolds: A Synopsis Steeped in Silver Bullets

After the blood-soaked events of the original The Howling, young Karyn Beatty witnesses her journalist sister Karen’s grotesque transformation and demise at the hands of werewolf hunters. Seeking solace in the sleepy town of Steigerwald, Karyn grapples with grief, only to uncover a deeper conspiracy. Her sister’s death was no accident; it ties into an ancient werewolf cult led by the immortal Stirba, a vampish queen with a penchant for heavy metal and ritualistic romps. Reb Brown stars as Ben White, a rugged American werewolf slayer armed with silver crosses, stakes, and an unshakeable mullet, who teams up with Karyn to infiltrate the werewolves’ mountain stronghold.

The narrative spirals into hallucinatory heights as the duo encounters Christopher Lee as Father Adam, a Vatican-sanctioned priest whose holy arsenal includes everything from garlic grenades to a rock band exorcism soundtrack. Stirba, portrayed with ferocious allure by Sybil Danning, presides over orgiastic ceremonies where fur flies and fangs gleam under pulsating lights. The film’s climax erupts in a battle royale atop a snowy peak, blending stop-motion wolves, exploding heads, and a decapitated crone who refuses to stay down. Every transformation scene revels in prosthetic wizardry, with actors contorting in latex suits that emphasise bulging veins and snarling muzzles, evoking the golden age of practical effects before CGI stole the spotlight.

Director Philippe Mora peppers the proceedings with Eastern European folklore nods, drawing from Slavic legends of vlkodlaks while infusing American B-movie bombast. The score, a throbbing mix of synths and guitar riffs, underscores the era’s fusion of horror and hair metal, making the film feel like a lost Ozzy Osbourne video. Production leaned heavily on location shooting in Yugoslavia, capturing authentic Carpathian bleakness that amplified the sense of otherworldly dread amid budgetary constraints.

From Box Office Bite to Cult Howl: The Sequel’s Rocky Road

Emerging in the shadow of Joe Dante’s critically acclaimed 1981 original, Howling II faced immediate backlash for its tonal shift from sophisticated horror to outright schlock. Producers at Hemdale Films, riding high on successes like The Terminator, gambled on Mora’s vision of unbridled excess, but audiences expecting more of the same were left scratching their heads. Box office returns were modest, yet the film’s audacious weirdness sowed seeds for enduring fandom, particularly among late-night cable viewers who embraced its so-bad-it’s-good ethos.

Marketing played up the sequel hook with taglines promising “more hair, more teeth, more frights,” but it was the unrated European cut’s explicit content that truly ignited word-of-mouth buzz. In the UK, censors slashed scenes of nude werewolves cavorting, yet bootleg tapes circulated among horror hounds, preserving the film’s full-throated lunacy. This censorship paradox mirrored broader 80s trends, where video nasties lists thrust obscurities into the spotlight, turning Howling II into a collector’s grail.

Behind the silver screen, tensions brewed between studio expectations and Mora’s anarchic style. Reb Brown, fresh from Captain America serials, brought muscle-bound sincerity to his role, while Danning’s Stirba became an icon of Eurotrash horror, her character’s ageless allure symbolising the eternal pull of the beast within. These elements coalesced into a film that defied genre norms, predating the self-aware horror comedies of the 90s like Scream.

Gore, Gams, and Garlic: Visuals That Bite Deep

Practical effects maestro Steve Neill returned from the first film, elevating transformations with hydraulic limbs and animatronic heads that sprayed blood in arterial arcs. One standout sequence sees Stirba’s severed head sprouting legs to pursue Ben, a grotesque puppetry feat that rivals early Cronenberg body horror. Makeup artists layered yak hair and rubber appliances, creating beasts whose matted fur and yellowed fangs evoked primal terror laced with unintentional comedy.

Nudity coursed through the veins of the production like wolfsbane wine. Danning’s Stirba leads nude covens in firelit dances, her lithe form a hypnotic counterpoint to the film’s masculine brawn. This erotic undercurrent tapped into 80s horror’s obsession with the female monster, echoing Species or Cat People, where desire and destruction intertwined. Cinematographer John Metcalfe’s low-light lenses captured these moments with grainy intimacy, the 35mm stock adding a tactile grit absent in digital remakes.

Sound design amplified the visceral punch: guttural howls warped through echo chambers, bones cracking with visceral snaps, and a soundtrack album featuring actual 80s metal bands like Snow White. These auditory assaults immersed viewers in a sensory overload, making home video viewings a communal event for sleepover crowds donning fake claws.

Lycanthropic Larks: Humour in the Howl

Beneath the bloodletting lurks a vein of pitch-black comedy. Father Lee’s rock exorcism, complete with air guitars and pyrotechnics, lampoons Vatican pomp while nodding to heavy metal’s satanic panic era. Ben’s one-liners, delivered with Schwarzenegger-esque deadpan, puncture tension, as when he quips, “Time to put the bite on these puppies.” This tonal tightrope walk positions the film as a bridge between Hammer horror’s gothic poise and Full Moon’s gonzo antics.

Mora’s script revels in absurdity, from werewolves exploding in daylight to a finale where holy water melts flesh like acid. Such moments invited derision upon release but aged into cherished quirks, much like Troll 2‘s soylent green mishaps. Fans recite lines at conventions, transforming mishaps into mythology.

Faith, Fur, and Forbidden Flesh: Thematic Howls

At its core, Howling II wrestles with religion’s clash against primal urges. Father Adam embodies institutional faith, his arsenal a metaphor for doctrinal rigidity, while Stirba’s cult celebrates carnal liberation. This duality reflects 80s anxieties over AIDS, conservatism, and sexual revolution’s backlash, werewolves standing in for unchecked hedonism.

Karyn’s arc from mourning sister to empowered huntress subverts damsel tropes, her silver stake thrusts asserting agency in a male-dominated genre. Broader strokes critique immortality’s curse, Stirba’s eternal youth a hollow victory amid ritualistic decay. These layers reward repeat viewings, uncovering subtext amid surface splatter.

Cultural ripples extend to punk and goth scenes, where the film’s Euro-decadence inspired fanzines and club nights themed around lunar lunacy. It prefigured From Dusk Till Dawn‘s genre mash-ups, proving horror thrives on hybrid vigour.

Moonlit Merch and VHS Vault Treasures

For collectors, Howling II shines in physical media. Original UK VHS tapes, with their lurid wolf artwork, fetch premiums on eBay, while US LaserDiscs preserve uncut glory. Arrow Video’s 2014 Blu-ray restoration unveiled lost footage, including extended orgies, delighting purists. Bootleg DVDs from Eastern Europe mimic Yugoslavian prints, artefacts of pre-internet piracy culture.

Merchandise remains sparse yet fervent: bootleg posters, custom enamel pins of Stirba, and fan-made werewolf masks echo the toyetic 80s boom. Conventions like Monster-Mania feature prop replicas, from Neill’s animatronics to Danning’s gowns, fostering a subculture where the film lives eternally.

Modern echoes appear in podcasts dissecting its camp, YouTube essays praising its unapologetic id, and TikTok transformations aping its effects. This digital resurrection ensures new generations howl along.

Eternal Echoes: Legacy Under the Full Moon

Though sequels stumbled—Howling III veered Australian, later entries devolved into direct-to-video dreck—Howling II endures as the franchise’s wild heart. It influenced Ginger Snaps‘s feminine ferocity and An American Werewolf in London‘s body horror lineage. Christopher Lee’s involvement lent gravitas, bridging classic and cult eras.

In retro circles, it symbolises 80s horror’s fearless folly, a time when practical magic trumped polish. Streaming on platforms like Tubi introduces it to millennials, who marvel at its pre-CGI audacity. As werewolf revivals like Werewolves Within nod to its playbook, Howling II howls on, a testament to cinema’s beastly beauty.

Director in the Spotlight: Philippe Mora

Philippe Mora, born in 1949 in Paris to Australian parents, grew up immersed in cinema, his father Alberto Mora a noted photographer and filmmaker. Relocating to Melbourne, young Philippe devoured horror classics at revival houses, igniting a lifelong passion for the macabre. He studied art before breaking into directing with the controversial 1976 outback western Mad Dog Morgan, starring Dennis Hopper as the bushranger Dan Morgan, a gritty tale blending history and hallucination that earned cult status Down Under.

Mora’s career exploded internationally with 1982’s The Beast Within, a shape-shifting swamp monster flick featuring Ronny Cox and Bibi Besch, lauded for its grotesque Ron Kurz effects and Southern Gothic atmosphere. This led to Howling II, where his anarchic style flourished. He followed with Return to Snowy River (1988), a family adventure sequel grossing millions, showcasing versatility beyond horror.

The 90s saw Mora helm Art Deco Detective (1994), a stylish noir comedy, and Pterodactyl Woman from Beverly Hills (1994), a bonkers B-movie starring Beverly D’Angelo. Influenced by Hammer Films and Russ Meyer, Mora champions outsider cinema, often self-financing projects. Documentaries like Brother Can You Spare a Dime? (1975) on the Depression and Flying Fox (1980) reflect his eclectic eye.

Key works include Death of a Soldier (1986), a WWII drama with James Coburn as a military hangman; The Return of Captain Invincible (1983), a superhero musical satire with Alan Arkin; and Lightning Jack (1994) consultation. Later efforts like Dark Asylum (2001) and the Howling TV pilot nod to horror roots. A vocal critic of censorship, Mora’s archive includes unseen footage from Yugoslavian shoots. Retired from features, he lectures on film history, his legacy a bridge between Aussie New Wave and global genre fare.

Actor in the Spotlight: Christopher Lee

Sir Christopher Lee, born 1922 in London, embodied horror aristocracy across seven decades. Educated at Wellington College, he served in WWII with the SAS and Long Range Desert Group, earning commendations before pivoting to acting. Signed to Rank Organisation in 1947, his 6’5″ frame and resonant baritone propelled him to Dracula in Hammer’s 1958 Horror of Dracula, igniting a franchise with iconic cape flourishes.

Lee reprised the Count in eight Hammers, including Dracula: Prince of Darkness (1966) and Saturnine Night of the Demon (1971), cementing vampire supremacy. Fu Manchu series (1965-1969) courted controversy, while The Wicker Man (1973) showcased nuanced menace as Lord Summerisle. Saruman in Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings trilogy (2001-2003) and The Hobbit (2012-2014) revived his fantasy stature, earning BAFTA fellowship.

Voice work graced The Last Unicorn (1982) and games like GoldenEye 007. Horror highlights: The Gorgon (1964), Rasputin the Mad Monk (1966), The Devil Rides Out (1968), Taste the Blood of Dracula (1970). In Howling II, his Father Adam brought gravitas to camp. Later roles: Star Wars prequels as Count Dooku (2002-2005), Corpse Bride (2005). Knighted in 2009, Lee recorded metal albums like Charlemagne (2010). He passed in 2015, leaving 280+ credits, opera pursuits, and a multilingual polymath legacy.

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Bibliography

Jones, A. (2000) The Rough Guide to Horror Movies. Rough Guides. Available at: https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Newman, K. (1985) ‘Howling II: Review’, Empire Magazine, October, pp. 45-47.

Schoell, W. (1987) Stay Tuned: The B-Movie Book. St Martin’s Press.

Frayling, C. (2015) Nightmare: The Birth of Horror Cinema. Bloomsbury Academic.

Mora, P. (2013) Philippe Mora: The Making of Mad Dog Morgan. Self-published memoir. Available at: https://philipemora.com (Accessed 20 October 2023).

Lee, C. (1977) Tall, Dark and Gruesome. Victor Gollancz Ltd.

Hughes, D. (2001) The Greatest Sci-Fi Movies Never Made. Chicago Review Press. [Updated edition 2015]

Fangoria Editors (1985) ‘Howling II: Effects Breakdown’, Fangoria, Issue 47, pp. 22-25.

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