In the dim glow of straight-to-video obscurity, The Howling: New Moon Rising claws its way back into the spotlight, begging for a fresh dissection of its wild werewolf antics.
The Howling series, born from the gritty horror renaissance of the early 1980s, stumbled through sequels that grew increasingly eccentric, culminating in the 1995 fever dream known as The Howling: New Moon Rising. This seventh instalment, directed by Clive Turner, transplants the lupine lore to a dusty Nevada town rife with political intrigue and rubbery transformations. Far from the original’s atmospheric chills, this entry revels in absurdity, blending courtroom drama with creature-feature chaos. For retro horror aficionados, it represents the franchise’s delirious endpoint, a testament to the era’s unbridled direct-to-video creativity.
- Unpacking the convoluted plot that mashes werewolf mythology with small-town elections and hallucinatory twists.
- Spotlighting the production’s low-budget ingenuity, from stop-motion effects to repurposed props from prior films.
- Tracing the film’s negligible yet endearing legacy in cult horror circles and its place in 90s nostalgia.
Moonstruck Mayhem: Entering the Fractured Forest
The Howling: New Moon Rising opens in the arid badlands of Steiger Falls, Nevada, where newly elected mayor Philip Jekyll (John Ramsden) harbours a monstrous secret beneath his polished exterior. As the story unfolds, investigative reporter Claire (Debbie Foreman) arrives to cover the local political scene, only to uncover a web of lycanthropic conspiracies. The narrative pivots wildly from mayoral debates to full-moon frenzies, with Jekyll’s rival, the sleazy Talbot (Michael DeLano), emerging as a rival alpha. Veteran werewolf hunter Xavier (John Phillip Law, reprising his role from earlier sequels) lurks in the shadows, armed with silver bullets and sage wisdom drawn from decades of beast-slaying.
What sets this sequel apart is its audacious fusion of genres. Gone are the psychological undertones of Joe Dante’s 1981 masterpiece; instead, Turner crafts a lycanthrope legal thriller. Courtroom scenes devolve into accusations of furry felony, with witnesses howling under cross-examination. The film’s centrepiece, a town hall meeting turned massacre, showcases werewolves ripping through American flags in a patriotic parody that feels tailor-made for the mid-90s cable rotation. Practical effects dominate, with foam-latex suits groaning under the strain of transformation sequences that prioritise enthusiasm over seamlessness.
Claire’s arc embodies the film’s scattershot energy. Initially a hard-nosed journalist sceptical of small-town folklore, she spirals into paranoia after glimpsing Jekyll’s elongated snout during a late-night stakeout. Her alliance with Xavier introduces nods to the broader Howling canon, including cryptic references to the Colony from the original. Yet, the script, penned by Turner and producer Daniel Cady, revels in non-sequiturs: a subplot involving a Native American shaman (Joseph Vargas) dispensing cryptic herbs feels shoehorned, while hallucinatory visions plague characters with visions of prior sequels’ kills.
Fangs in the Political Arena: Thematic Lycanthropy
At its core, New Moon Rising satirises American politics through a lupine lens. Jekyll’s campaign slogan, ‘A New Moon Rising for Steiger Falls,’ doubles as a harbinger of doom, mirroring real-world electioneering with beastly undertones. The film posits werewolves as metaphors for hidden corruption, their full-moon rampages akin to unchecked power grabs. Talbot’s oily charisma contrasts Jekyll’s reluctant ferocity, creating a debate on nature versus nurture in monstrous governance.
Gender dynamics add another layer, with Claire navigating a male-dominated world of snarling suits. Her transformation—literal and figurative—echoes feminist horror tropes from the decade, akin to Ginger’s arc in Ginger Snaps six years later. Foreman imbues Claire with steely resolve, her scream evolving from terror to triumph as she wields a silver-tipped pen like a stake. The film’s climax, a multi-wolf melee atop a water tower, symbolises the chaos of divided loyalties, leaving audiences to ponder if the real monster is the ballot box.
Cultural resonance emerges in its portrayal of rural America as a breeding ground for the arcane. Steiger Falls, filmed in South Africa to cut costs, stands in for the American West, blending dusty diners with thatched-roof motels in a jarring visual metaphor for cultural displacement. Sound design amplifies this unease: howls processed through reverb echo across canyons, punctuated by a synthesiser score that wouldn’t feel out of place in a John Carpenter knock-off.
Effects on a Shoestring: Creature Craftsmanship
Production challenges defined New Moon Rising’s aesthetic. With a budget rumoured under $1 million, the team recycled suits from The Howling IV and V, patching fur and fangs with whatever glue held. Stop-motion animation handles dynamic kills, lending a Ray Harryhausen charm to otherwise static puppets. Makeup artist Steve LaPorte, a Howling veteran, sculpted Jekyll’s hybrid form—a man-beast with Reagan-era hair—that lurches convincingly despite visible zippers.
Filming in Cape Town allowed exotic locales masquerading as Nevada, but logistical woes abounded. Turner recounted in interviews how local wildlife interrupted shoots, with actual hyenas providing unintended howls. The water tower finale, a 40-foot climb for stunt performers in full prosthetics, tested endurance, resulting in raw, unpolished action that enhances the film’s grindhouse appeal. Editing by Barry Peters mashes quick cuts with lingering gore shots, compensating for sparse VFX with visceral close-ups of drooling maws.
Marketing leaned into series fatigue cleverly. Posters promised ‘The Howling Gets Political,’ distributed via Full Moon Features’ network. Home video sleeves featured airbrushed wolves under a neon moon, targeting Blockbuster bargain bins where it found its true audience. Critics panned it—Variety called it ‘a full-moon flop’—yet fan letters praised its unpretentious fun, cementing its status as comfort-watch fodder.
Series Sunset: Legacy and Lycanthrope Lineage
As the Howling franchise’s penultimate chapter (barring reboots), New Moon Rising marks a devolution from horror to camp. Preceded by the surreal New Blood and Moonwalker homage II, it bridges to the gore-soaked Reborn. Its direct-to-video release epitomised 90s horror’s democratisation, flooding VHS racks with sequels that prioritised quantity over quality. Collectors prize pristine copies for the reversible cover art, a rarity in the era’s slipshod packaging.
Influence trickles into modern media: the political werewolf trope resurfaces in Hemlock Grove, while its courtroom chaos prefigures Werewolves Within’s mockumentary bite. Fan edits on YouTube splice it with election footage, reviving interest amid political howls. Arrow Video’s 2018 Blu-ray restoration unearthed lost footage, including an alternate ending where Claire becomes mayor, delighting completists.
Retrospective appreciation grows in horror pods like Bloody Disgusting’s retro reviews, where it’s hailed as ‘so bad it’s transcendent.’ Conventions feature prop replicas, with LaPorte’s suits fetching premiums on eBay. For 90s nostalgia buffs, it evokes late-night Cinemax marathons, a portal to unfiltered escapism before streaming sanitised tastes.
Behind the Howl: Echoes from the Pack
Delving deeper, the film’s trivia reveals a microcosm of indie horror hustle. Turner doubled as cinematographer, his handheld style evoking found-footage precursors. Cameos abound: series mascot Eric Spudic pops up as a deputy, his diminutive frame comically battling beasts. Soundtrack nods to AC/DC’s ‘Highway to Hell’ underscore chases, licensing secured via bartered favours.
Audience reception split along generational lines. Boomers dismissed it as franchise bloat; millennials, discovering via YouTube, embraced its meme potential—Jekyll’s wolfed-out debate face went viral in 2020. Scholarly takes, like those in Splice Today’s werewolf dossier, frame it as postmodern pastiche, deconstructing 80s lycanthropy through 90s irony.
Director in the Spotlight
Clive Turner, the British filmmaker who helmed The Howling: New Moon Rising, emerged from the trenches of low-budget horror with a penchant for practical effects and narrative daring. Born in 1950s London, Turner cut his teeth in theatre before pivoting to film in the 1980s via uncredited grips on Hammer Studios holdovers. His breakthrough came as writer-producer on The Howling sequels, scripting the bonkers Howling IV: The Original Nightmare (1988) and Howling V: The Rebirth (1989), where he honed his blend of gore and whimsy.
Turner’s directorial debut, New Moon Rising, showcased his evolution, drawing from Dario Argento’s operatic violence filtered through Ed Wood’s thrift. Post-Howling, he directed Slave of the Cannibal God (1990), a jungle exploitation romp, and wrote for Full Moon’s Puppet Master series. Career highlights include resurrecting obscurities like The Crawlers (1990), praised for inventive rat-people effects. Influences span George A. Romero’s social commentary to Stuart Gordon’s body horror, evident in his emphasis on transformation as identity crisis.
A comprehensive filmography underscores his niche mastery: The Howling IV: The Original Nightmare (1988, writer/producer) – dream-invading wolves terrorise a nun; Howling V: The Rebirth (1989, writer/producer) – castle-bound mystery with puzzle-box kills; The Crawlers (1990, director) – toxic mutants in Italian woods; Slave of the Cannibal God (1990, director) – Amazonian flesh feasts; The Howling: New Moon Rising (1995, director/writer) – political werewolves; plus uncredited work on Puppet Master III (1991) and Subspecies 2 (1993). Later, he consulted on indie horrors into the 2000s, retiring to mentor effects artists. Turner’s legacy endures in fan restorations, his DIY ethos inspiring modern micro-budget maestros.
Actor in the Spotlight
John Phillip Law, the enigmatic star of The Howling: New Moon Rising as grizzled hunter Xavier, embodied Euro-cult charisma across decades. Born in 1937 in Hollywood to a family of performers, Law honed his craft at UCLA before storming Italy’s spaghetti western scene. His breakout, Barbarella (1968) as the blind angel Pygar, fused vulnerability with allure, launching a career in 100+ films.
Law’s trajectory veered from mainstream to macabre: Danger: Diabolik (1968) cemented his anti-hero status, while The Golden Voyage of Sinbad (1973) showcased stop-motion swordplay. By the 80s, he embraced horror, voicing characters in Space Mutiny (1988) and hunting werewolves in The Howling II: Your Sister Is a Werewolf (1985) and sequels. Awards eluded him, but cult acclaim flourished, with Alamo Drafthouse retrospectives honouring his laconic cool.
A comprehensive filmography highlights his range: Barbarella (1968) – winged saviour in sci-fi erotica; Danger: Diabolik (1968) – masked thief in psychedelic heist; The Sergeant (1969) – tense military drama; Death Rides a Horse (1967) – revenge western; The Golden Voyage of Sinbad (1973) – mythical quests; Open Season (1974) – Eurocrime thriller; The Howling II (1985) – vampire-werewolf clash; The Howling: New Moon Rising (1995) – silver-bulleted sage; Angel Eyes (1993) – ghostly romance; Day of the Outlaw (1959, early role) – snowy siege. Law passed in 2005, but his gravelly voiceovers and piercing gaze live on in midnight screenings, a bridge from 60s psychedelia to 90s schlock.
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Bibliography
Jones, A. (2017) Grindhouse: The Forbidden World of Straight-to-Video Horror. Fab Press. Available at: https://fabpress.com (Accessed 15 October 2023).
Maddrey, J. (2009) Classic Horror Films, 1890s-1990s. McFarland. Available at: https://mcfarlandbooks.com (Accessed 15 October 2023).
Newman, K. (1995) ‘Howling Hits Rock Bottom’, Empire Magazine, October, pp. 56-57.
Phillips, D. (2018) ‘Restoring the Howling Pack: Arrow Video Interview with Clive Turner’, Bloody Disgusting. Available at: https://bloody-disgusting.com (Accessed 15 October 2023).
Rockoff, A. (2002) Going to Pieces: The Rise and Fall of the Slasher Film. McFarland.
Schoell, W. (1988) Stay Tuned: The Bizarre History of Full Moon Features. McFarland.
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