Guilty Pleasure No. 115: The Beast Within (dir. Philippe Mora)

Posted on May 7, 2026 by Arleigh

The Beast Within (1982), directed by Philippe Mora, is one of those strange, sticky relics of early ’80s horror that feels like it crawled out of a drive-in double feature and just kept mutating long after the credits rolled. It’s not a good film—let’s just get that out of the way early—and it barely qualifies as a coherent one, but it lands squarely in that fascinating gray area where failure and ambition collide. This is the kind of messy, overstuffed genre hybrid that earns its reputation less through quality and more through sheer, stubborn weirdness. It’s got ambition in odd places, tonal swings that don’t quite land, and a sincerity that almost convinces you it knows what it’s doing. Almost.

What makes The Beast Within so compelling is how aggressively it borrows from exploitation cinema without ever fully committing to being exploitative in tone. All the raw ingredients are here: sexual violence, grotesque bodily transformation, cannibalistic undertones, grave robbing, demonic suggestion, and generational curses. It’s like Mora raided the entire playbook of grindhouse staples and tried to stitch them together into something resembling a prestige Southern Gothic drama. The result is a tonal contradiction that becomes the film’s defining trait. You’re watching material that, in another context, would lean hard into sleaze or pulp sensationalism, yet here it’s played with a stiff, almost theatrical seriousness.

The film opens with one of its most infamous sequences—a brutal assault in the woods by something that is distinctly not human. It’s uncomfortable, lurid, and feels like the start of a much nastier film than what ultimately unfolds. Seventeen years later, the child born from that attack begins to change, physically and psychologically unraveling as something monstrous pushes its way to the surface. From there, the narrative spirals into a hazy blend of small-town mystery, family melodrama, and creature feature chaos, with buried secrets clawing their way into the present.

There’s a clear attempt to elevate all of this with Southern Gothic sensibilities. The setting leans heavily into decay and repression—sweltering air, crumbling structures, and a community weighed down by unspoken sins. Characters behave as if they’ve wandered in from a Tennessee Williams play, all strained emotions and suppressed truths, but the film keeps undercutting that mood with bursts of grotesque horror. It’s an awkward balancing act that never quite works. If anything, the material might have been better served by leaning into something closer to a Joe R. Lansdale tone—meaner, pulpier, and more self-aware—rather than reaching for a kind of literary weight it can’t sustain.

Still, what keeps The Beast Within watchable—sometimes even oddly engaging—is how seriously everyone takes it. Ronny Cox and Bibi Besch play the parents with unwavering commitment, treating the story as a straight drama about a family unraveling under impossible circumstances. Their performances don’t wink at the audience or acknowledge the absurdity creeping in around the edges, and that refusal to break tone actually works in the film’s favor. It creates a strange tension where the more ridiculous the plot becomes, the more grounded the performances try to keep it.

Paul Clemens, as the afflicted son Michael, is tasked with carrying the film’s most extreme elements, and he does what he can within the limits of the material. His performance is less about subtlety and more about physical deterioration and panic as his body betrays him, but he sells the desperation well enough to keep things from completely falling apart. When the transformation finally takes center stage, the film dives headfirst into full-on creature horror, complete with practical effects that are equal parts impressive and absurd. They’re messy, tactile, and unmistakably of their era—exactly the kind of thing that feels right at home in a late-night grindhouse slot.

And then there’s L.Q. Jones as Sheriff Poole, who shows up like icing on top of this bizarre, overcooked cake. Jones brings that weathered, lived-in presence he honed across decades of Westerns and genre films, and he slips into this decaying Southern setting effortlessly. There’s a quiet authority to his performance that helps ground the film, even when everything else is threatening to spiral into nonsense. He doesn’t overplay the role or try to elevate it beyond what it is, but his presence adds a layer of credibility that the film desperately needs. It’s like he wandered in from a more confident, self-aware movie and decided to play it straight anyway, and somehow that makes the chaos around him feel just a little more intentional.

Visually, Mora leans into atmosphere when he can, giving the film a hazy, humid texture that reinforces its Southern Gothic aspirations. The town feels insular and vaguely cursed, like it’s been rotting from the inside out long before the events of the film begin. There are moments where the imagery and tone almost align into something genuinely evocative, but they’re fleeting, quickly swallowed up by the film’s inability to maintain a consistent identity.

That lack of cohesion is ultimately what keeps The Beast Within from being anything close to a good film, but it’s also what makes it linger in your mind. It’s constantly shifting—family drama one minute, body horror the next, then veering into supernatural mystery without warning. That unpredictability gives it a kind of scrappy energy, like it’s trying to reinvent itself scene by scene. Most of those attempts don’t quite land, but they’re rarely dull.

What’s surprising is the film’s underlying sincerity. For all its exploitation trappings, this isn’t a cynical or lazy effort. There’s a genuine attempt here to grapple with themes of inherited trauma, guilt, and the inescapability of the past, even if those ideas get buried under layers of monster makeup and narrative clutter. That earnestness creates an odd charm, making it easier to forgive the film’s many missteps.

In the end, The Beast Within sits comfortably in guilty pleasure territory. It’s not something you’d point to as an overlooked gem, and it certainly doesn’t rise to the level of a true grindhouse classic, but it has all the markings of one. It’s messy, uncomfortable, tonally confused, and packed with more ideas than it knows what to do with—but it’s also strangely compelling because of that. Not great, not even good, but just effective enough in flashes to make the whole experience worthwhile. It’s the kind of film that sticks with you less for what it achieves and more for how bizarrely it tries.

Previous Guilty Pleasures

Film Review: Any Which Way You Can (dir by Buddy Van Horn)

Posted on May 31, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

In this 1980 sequel to Every Which Way But Loose, Philo and his orangutan Clyde are still living next door to Orville (Geoffrey Lewis) and his mother (Ruth Gordon). Philo is still working as a truck driver but he’s becoming far better known as a bare-knuckles brawler. In fact, when another famous fighter named Jack Wilson (William Smith), moves to the area, everyone assumes that Jack wants to challenge Philo. It turns out that Jack’s actually a pretty nice guy. He and Philo become jogging buddies.

Remember Lynn Halsey-Taylor (Sondra Locke), the extremely self-centered singer who broke Philo’s heart in the first film? Well, she’s back and she’s changed her ways. When she and Philo meet in a bar, Lynn apologizes to him for her past behavior and soon, she and Philo are a couple again. Booo! Seriously, Eastwood and Locke somehow have even less chemistry here than they did in the first film. (Again, Locke and Eastwood were in a relationship at the time, which makes their total lack of chemistry even more interesting to consider.) Everyone in the film is surprisingly forgiving of Lynn, considering that she was portrayed as being nearly sociopathic in the previous film. Even Clyde seems to be happy to have her back. Of course, Clyde gets to have a romance of his own, with another orangutan. Clyde has sex with his partner while Philo and Lynne fool around in the room next door. It’s …. kind of weird.

Anyway, the Mafia really wants Philo and Jack to fight so they decide to kidnap Lynn in order to force the fight to happen. Instead, Jack and Philo team up to rescue Lynn and to put those gangsters in their place. That might sound dramatic but this film is very much a redneck comedy so these are probably the least intimidating mafia soldier that I’ve ever seen. Just as the previous film’s outlaw bikers (and they also make a return appearance in this film) were too buffoonish to be truly menacing, the same is true of the Mafia in this film.

In the end, Philo and Jack do have a fight but it’s under their own terms and, afterwards, they accompany each other to the hospital. It’s kind of a nice moment, really. Even after beating the hell out of each other and causing more than a few broken bones, Philo and Jack are still friends. It’s a nice touch that Jack was played by William Smith, who was a bit of a low-budget version of Clint Eastwood.

Indeed, with Geoffrey Lewis relegated to a supporting role and Sondra Locke abducted by the mafia, the friendship between Philo and Jack becomes the heart of the film and if there is really anything that makes this film memorable, it’s the scenes that Eastwood shares with William Smith. These two tough guys actors seem to have a natural understanding of each other and their friendship and mutual respect feels real. They may fight but it’s only out respect for each other. It’s a shame that Eastwood and Smith didn’t team up for more films.

Any Which Way You Can is an amiable comedy. It’s not as much fun as Every Which Way But Loose. Beverly D’Angelo’s Echo is missed but she was presumably busy filming Coal Miner’s Daughter at the time. The film works best as a buddy movie. Clint Eastwood, William Smith, Geoffrey Lewis, and an orangutan. What a team!

Late Night Retro Television Review: Highway to Heaven 3.1 and 3.2 “A Special Love”

Posted on November 14, 2024 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Welcome to Late Night Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Thursdays, I will be reviewing Highway to Heaven, which aired on NBC from 1984 to 1989. The entire show is currently streaming on Freevee and several other services!

This week, we start season 3 of Highway to Heaven!

Episodes 3.1 and 3.2 “A Special Love”

(Dir by Michael Landon, originally aired on September 24th and October 1st, 1986)

The third season of Highway to Heaven opens with a two-parter.

A Special Love is centered around Jonathan and Mark working at the Special Olympics and meeting a developmentally disabled child named Todd Bryant (played by a 15 year-old Paul Walker …. yes, that Paul Walker). Given up by his parents (who only did so when told by their doctors that they would never be able to give Todd the care that he needed), Todd lives in a group home and desperately wants to be a part of a family. Can Mark and Jonathan help Todd find the confidence to compete in the Special Olympics? Can they reunite Todd with his older brother (played by none other than Josh Brolin), who just happens to be a coach with the Special Olympics? And can they make his dream of being adopted come true? You already know the answers. This is Highway to Heaven, after all.

This is also a Scotty episode. Scotty (played by James Troesh) is a paraplegic attorney who is married to Mark’s cousin, Diane (Margie Impert). Scotty and Diane appeared in several episodes during the first three seasons of Highway to Heaven. Every Scotty episode follows the same basic pattern. Mark and Jonathan drop in on Scotty and Diane. Scotty is feeling happy and optimistic about his future. Then, something happens that derails whatever Scotty’s latest plan is. Scotty gets upset and tells everyone to leave him alone. Diane says that she can’t deal with him anymore. While Mark comforts Diane, Jonathan tells Scotty to stop feeling for himself. Scotty eventually apologizes. Everything works out in the end.

Though the Scotty episodes were always predictable, I do think that Highway to Heaven deserved some credit for never turning Scotty into a saint. Too many films and television shows tend to use disabled characters as idealized props who exists only to impress everyone with their upbeat attitude and homespun wisdom. They show up. They say a few words of wisdom that serve to inspire the lead character. And then they’re never seen again. They often exist only to help the star and their lives are never explored beyond how the lead character relates to them. Scotty, on the other hand, was frequently angry about being a paraplegic. Even when his life was going well, Scotty would get understandably frustrated. Scotty was not always perfect. He made mistakes, just like anyone else would have. What’s important is that, in the end, he always tried to do the right thing. James Troesch, a real-life paraplegic, was not the best actor in the world but, as was so often the case with Highway to Heaven, he played the role with such sincerity that it didn’t matter that he often sounded stiff while delivering his lines. He brought a lot of humanity to the role.

In this episode, Scotty is upset because he has just learned that he and Diane will never be able to have children. When both Jonathan and Diane suggest adopting Todd, Scotty bitterly refuses. Scotty claims that, due to his disability, he wouldn’t be able to properly take care of Todd. However, when Todd announces that he’s going to win a race at the Special Olympics to prove that he’s worthy of being adopted, Scotty realizes that he’s just using his disability as an excuse to not face up to his own fears. Scotty and Diane decide to adopt Todd. Unfortunately, Todd’s parents suddenly decide that they don’t want another family to adopt Todd. They want Todd to say in the group home where he is currently living. It leads to a teary-eyed courtroom showdown. It also leads to a happy ending. Again, was there ever any doubt?

The story may have been melodramatic but this was still a touching episode and a good example of how Highway to Heaven‘s earnest sincerity helped the show overcome plot twists that could have been mawkish in the wrong hangs. The first hour is especially touching, as it’s largely a tribute to the Special Olympics and the athletes involved. There’s a lot of negative things that can be said about the Kennedy family and their impact on American political culture but Eunice Kennedy Shriver deserves all of the credit and praise in the world for founding the Special Olympics. This episode did make me cry and it earned every tear.

Film Review: Some Call It Loving (dir by James B. Harris)

Posted on April 27, 2020 by Lisa Marie Bowman

1973’s Some Call It Loving tells the story of Robert Troy (Zalman King). He’s rich. He has a girlfriend (or maybe she’s his wife, we’re never quite sure) named Scarlett (Carol White). He lives in a big, beautiful mansion with Scarlett and Scarlett’s girlfriend, Angelica (Veronica Anderson), and several different women who Robert and Scarlett bring home so that they can all pretend to be someone other than who they are. (When the film begins, Scarlett is pretending to be the strict head mistress of a finishing school. Later, she’ll pretend to be a nun.)

Robert seems like he should be happy but, from the minute we see him, it’s obvious that he’s not. He’s mired in deep ennui and even playing in a jazz band at a nightclub doesn’t seem to bring him any real joy. Robert plays saxophone. His best friend in the band is Jeff (Richard Pryor), a barely coherent junkie who is probably only alive because of the pills that Robert keeps him supplied with.

One night, Robert goes to a carnival. He stops at a tent that apparently houses “Sleeping Beauty.” Inside the tent, a young woman named Jennifer (Tisa Farrow, later to star in Lucio Fulci’s classic Zombi 2). Jennifer is in a comatose state. People pay a dollar so that they can enter the tent and kiss her. Her “owner” says that Robert can do more with her if he’s willing to pay $50. Robert instead buys her for $20,000.

It turns out that Jennifer has been in a coma for eight years. She’s been kept in that state by a “sleeping potion,” a cocktail of drugs that has to be administered on a daily basis. Robert takes her back to his mansion and doesn’t give her the potion. Eventually, Jennifer wakes up.

Now, speaking for myself, if I woke up in a strange place after being in a forced coma for eight years, I’d probably be pretty pissed off. Jennifer, however, cheerfully accepts that the fact that she’s been asleep for eight years and now she’s living with a somewhat creepy man and his two girlfriends. She’s just happy to have her mansion and her Prince Charming!

While Scarlett and Angelica view Jennifer as being someone new to play games with, Robert starts to develop real feelings for her. He wants to have a real life with Jennifer but, unfortunately, the only life that Jennifer knows is the fake one that he’s created with Scarlett and Angelica. Robert finds himself torn between deciding whether or not to commit to Jennifer or to the fake world that he and Scarlett have created at the mansion….

Some Call It Loving is a strange film. It’s incredibly pretentious in the way that only an art film from 1973 could be. Reportedly, the film was a box office disaster in America but the European critics loved it. That’s not surprising because the film’s sensibility is far more European than American. Not only does the film refuse to judge its characters but it also ends on the type of ambiguous note that seems specifically designed to alienate mainstream audiences. Though the film’s plot has all the making for a kinky melodrama, it’s actually far more of an erotic fairy tale. Jennifer really is Sleeping Beauty but, unfortunately, Robert may not be quite prepared to be a true life Prince Charming. In the end, both Jennifer and Robert are trapped by their own fantasies.

As I said, it’s pretentious but it’s also strangely watchable. From the opening of the film, director James B. Harris achieves a properly dream-like feel and Zalman King manages to be both compelling and creepy at the same time. Tisa Farrow is perfectly cast as Jennifer and the mansion where the majority of the film takes place is simply to die for. Even if Robert is a creep, he at least has good taste when it comes to interior design. Some Call It Loving is obviously not a film for everyone. What some will find dream-like, others will find to be muddled and annoying. But it’s an intriguing artifact of early 70s arthouse cinema.

Cleaning Out The DVR: The Hoodlum Priest (dir by Irvin Kershner)

Posted on May 3, 2018 by Lisa Marie Bowman

(I recorded The Hoodlum Priest off of TCM on January 6th of this year.)

“I’m not trying to change the world. I’m just trying to keep the world from changing me.”

— Anti-Death Penalty Activist in The Hoodlum Priest (1961)

The Hoodlum Priest tells the story of two men who have far more in common than may first seem apparent.

Billy Lee Jackson (Keir Dullea) has spent the last few months in prison and seems to be destined to return as soon as possible. Though he was convicted of armed robbery, the truth was that Billy was little more than a mugger and a petty thief. It only takes one look at him to see that his tough exterior is largely an act. Billy is angry, bitter, and often scared but tough he definitely isn’t. As soon as Billy’s released back onto the streets of St. Louis, he teams up with his friend, Pico (Don Joslyn), and the two of them plot to crack a safe.

Father Charles Dismas Clark (Don Murray) is a Jesuit who has dedicated his life to trying to rehabilitate ex-cons like Billy. As Father Clark explains it, he is the son of coal miners, a descendant of the original Molly Maguires. He knows what it means to be on the fringes of society. As opposed to his colleagues, Father Clark speaks the language of the streets. (Of course, we’re talking about the streets of 1961 here, which means that Father Clark spends a lot of time saying stuff, “Hey, I ain’t no square!”) Father Clark’s dream is to open up a halfway house, a place where those released from prison can stay as they try to reintegrate into society. Helping Father Clark is a famed attorney named Louis Rosen (Larry Gates). Opposing him and suggesting that Clark is as much a hoodlum as those he claims to be helping is a supercilious journalist named George Hale (Logan Ramsey).

At first, it appears that Billy could be one of Father Clark’s greatest success stories. After convincing Billy and Pico to abandon their criminal plans, Father Clark arranges for Billy to get a job. Billy even begins a rather unlikely romance with a wealthy socialite named Ellen (Cindi Wood). However, no matter how hard Billy tries to resist, the temptation to return to his old ways remains. While Father Clark struggles to convince people to support his halfway house, Billy finds himself drawn back into a life of crime…

The Hoodlum Priest was based on a true story. The real Father Clark personally approached Don Murray and told him the story behind the founding of Dismas House. Murray felt so strongly about Clark’s story that he not only starred in and produced The Hoodlum Priest but also wrote the screenplay. (The script was credited to Don Deer, which was Murray’s nickname when he was a high school track star.)

That this film was a passion project for Murray is obvious in the intensity of his performance. As played by Murray, Father Clark is hardly an intellectual. Instead, he’s frequently as emotional and, at times, as angry as the people that he’s trying to help. When Billy fails to show proper gratitude after Father Clark rescues him from being sent back to jail, Clark refuses to excuse the snub. Clark may be sincere but he’s not going to let anyone push him around. Director Irvin Kershner and cinematography Haskell Wexler bring a gritty realism to the film’s visuals, which keeps the film from getting overwhelmed by its own sincerity.

The Hoodlum Priest is a well-done piece of social commentary, one that features a still relevant message about the struggle of ex-cons to reintegrate into society. Don Murray brings the same righteous authority to this film that he would later bring to Twin Peaks: The Return. This is a good one to keep an eye out for on TCM.

Embracing the Melodrama Part II #56: Walking Tall: Final Chapter (dir by Jack Starrett)

Posted on May 3, 2015 by Lisa Marie Bowman

For one last time, Buford Pusser is back! The 1977 film Walking Tall: Final Chapter ends the story that was begun in Walking Tall and continued in Walking Tall Part II. And it turns out that the final chapter is pretty much just like the previous two chapters. In fact, I’m tempted to just tell you go reread my review of Walking Tall Part II because that review works just as well for most of the Final Chapter.

Final Chapter starts with footage from the first Walking Tall, with Bo Svenson awkwardly inserted in place of Joe Don Baker. Once again, we watch as Elizabeth Hartman is shot in the back of the head and Svenson — in the role of Buford Pusser — is shot in the face. Oh my God, we think, how many times can the exact same thing happen to the exact same character!?

Oh wait — it turns out that Buford is just remembering the death of his wife. Buford is still haunted by that day and he’s still out for vengeance. For the next hour or so, we follow Buford as he and his deputies blow up moonshiners across Tennessee. After each arrest, an attorney shows up and yells at Buford for violating everyone’s civil rights. In response, Buford smirks until the attorney gets so mad that he decides to run for sheriff himself.

Buford doesn’t give his opponent much of a chance. As one of his deputies puts it, this guy is just a “bleeding heart liberal.” (But if he’s so liberal, what’s he doing in Tennessee? Off with you, sir — return to Vermont!) Instead of campaigning, Buford spends his time hunting down more moonshiners. When he discovers that one moonshiner is also an abusive father, he personally drives the man’s son down to the local orphanage. Oddly enough, Buford does not offer to adopt the kid himself.

Anyway, to the shock of everyone, Buford is not reelected. No longer sheriff, he struggles to find a full-time job and makes plans to run in the next election. One of the moonshiners shows up and taunts Buford until Buford is forced to beat him up in the middle of the street. The new sheriff show up and demands to know what happened. None of the townspeople are willing to snitch on Buford. Good for them!

After about an hour and a half of this, something interesting actually happens. A film producer drives up to the Pusser Farm and tells Buford that he wants to make a movie out of his life. “We’re going to tell the story exactly how it happened!” the producer assures him. In the next scene, Buford is advising the director of Walking Tall on how to properly film a car chase.

And you know what? These scenes of Buford watching his life story be filmed are actually rather charming. For the only time in the series, Bo Svenson actually appears to be having fun in these scenes. And, when Buford runs from a theater while watching the recreation of his wife’s murder, it’s actually a very effective moment.

Anyway, there’s not much running time left after all of that. We see Buford sign a contract to play himself in the sequel and, by this point, we all know what happened afterward. Buford was killed in a mysterious car accident. But fear not! The film opens with a heavenly choir and Svenson’s voice booming from the heavens so we all know that Buford Pusser is arresting moonshiners in Heaven.

And good for him!

Peace be with you, Buford Pusser.

Embracing the Melodrama Part II #51: Walking Tall Part 2 (dir by Earl Bellamy)

Posted on May 2, 2015 by Lisa Marie Bowman

The 1975 southern melodrama Walking Tall Part 2 opens with a voice over telling us that we’re about to see more of the true of story Sheriff Buford Pusser, the Tennessee lawman who carried a big stick, battled the Dixie Mafia, and whose wife was killed in an ambush. Pusser, we learn, died under suspicious circumstances shortly after the release of the film Walking Tall.

Mere hours before he died, Pusser had signed a contract to play himself in Walking Tall Part 2. As a result of Pusser’s car “accident,” the film’s producers were forced to cast an actor as the lawman. Now, it would have made sense to, once again, give the role to Joe Don Baker. After all, he played the role in Walking Tall and I imagine that to most audiences at that time, he was Buford Pusser. However, for whatever reason, Baker was not given the role for a second time. Instead, the role was given to Bo Svenson and, while Svenson does not necessarily do a bad job in the role, he’s still no Joe Don Baker. The difference between Baker and Svenson is the difference between someone being a redneck and someone just pretending.

The film opens almost immediately where Walking Tall ended. Terribly wounded in the ambush that took his wife’s life, Buford is in the hospital and his face is covered in bandages. Townspeople gather outside both his room and his farm and they wonder whether he’ll run for reelection as sheriff. Someone else mentions that Buford has had massive facial reconstructive surgery.

Finally, the bandages are removed and we discover that Buford has turned into Bo Svenson. Now, Svenson and Baker do have enough facial similarities that you can force yourself to believe that surgery could lead to Baker having Svenson’s features. I mean, this isn’t like Mark Ruffalo taking over the role of Bruce Banner from Edward Norton. At the same time, it’s hard not to wonder how reconstructive surgery could have led to Buford Pusser becoming a blonde or, for that matter, apparently growing by 5 inches between Walking Tall and Walking Tall Part 2.

Anyway, Buford’s out of the hospital and, of course, he’s reelected as sheriff. One thing that quickly becomes apparent is that everyone in the world totally loves Buford Pusser. I lost track of how many characters specifically walked up to Buford to tell him that he was a great man and a great sheriff. Nobody complains about Buford’s habit of ignoring civil liberties while enforcing the law. Instead, everyone cheers for him.

(And, just in case the viewer is uncomfortable with the sight of the very white Buford taunting the mostly black moonshiners that he spends the film arresting, Buford’s black deputy constantly says stuff like, “Buford, you’re my kind of sheriff!”)

The only people who don’t like Buford are the local crime lords. They still want Buford dead so they hire a race car driver (Richard Jaeckel) to kill him. The race car driver’s girlfriend (Angel Tompkins) attempts to hit on Buford but Buford has no interest in her. Buford’s about enforcing the law and avenging his wife…

Walking Tall Part 2 is a pretty standard film. Whereas the original Walking Tall had a raw and unpredictable vibe to it, the sequel is predictable and boring. On the plus side, the film was made on location in rural Tennesee and some of the countryside is nice to look at.

As for Buford Pusser, he died before Part Two was released but the character would return in Walking Tall — The Final Chapter.

Embracing the Melodrama Part II #46: Walking Tall (dir by Phil Karlson)

Posted on April 28, 2015 by Lisa Marie Bowman

About 50 minutes into the 1973 film Walking Tall (not to be confused with the 2005 version that starred Dwayne Johnson), there’s a scene in which newly elected sheriff Buford Pusser (Joe Don Baker) gives a speech to his deputies. As the deputies stand at attention and as Pusser announces that he’s not going to tolerate any of his men taking bribes from the Dixie Mafia, the observant viewer will notice something out-of-place about the scene.

Hovering directly above Baker’s head is a big, black, almost phallic boom mic. It stays up there throughout the entire scene, a sudden and unexpected reminder that — though the film opens with a message that we’re about to see the true story of “an American hero” and though it was filmed on location in rural Tennessee — Walking Tall is ultimately a movie.

And yet, somehow, that phallic boom mic feels oddly appropriate. First off, Walking Tall is an almost deliberately messy film. That boom mic tells us that Walking Tall was not a slick studio production. Instead, much like Phil Karlson’s previous The Phenix City Story, it was a low-budget and violent film that was filmed on location in the south, miles away from the corrupting influence of mainstream, yankee-dominated Hollywood. Secondly, the phallic implications of the boom mic erases any doubt that Walking Tall is a film about men doing manly things, like shooting each other and beating people up. Buford does have a wife (Elizabeth Hartman) who begs him to avoid violence and set a good example of his children. However, she eventually gets shot in the back of the head, which frees Buford up to kill.

As I said earlier, Walking Tall opens with a message telling us that we’re about to watch a true story. Buford Pusser is a former football player and professional wrestler who, after retiring, returns to his hometown in Tennessee. He quickly discovers that his town is controlled by criminals and moonshiners. When he goes to a local bar called The Lucky Spot, he is unlucky enough to discover that the bar’s patrons cheat at cards. Buford is nearly beaten to death and dumped on the side of the road. As Buford begs for help, several motorists slow down to stare at him before then driving on.

Obviously, if anyone’s going to change this town, it’s going to have to be Buford Pusser.

Once he recovers from his beating, Buford makes himself a wooden club and then goes back to the Lucky Spot. After beating everyone up with his club, Buford takes back the money that he lost while playing cards and $50.00 to cover his medical bills. When Buford is put on trial for armed robbery, he takes the stand, rips off his shirt, and shows the jury his scars. Buford is acquitted.

Over his wife’s objections, Buford decides to run for sheriff. The old sheriff, not appreciating the competition, attempts to assassinate Buford but, instead, ends up dying himself. Buford is charged with murder. Buford is acquitted. Buford is elected sheriff. Buford sets out to clean up his little section of Tennessee. Violence follows…

On the one hand, it’s easy to be snarky about a film like Walking Tall. This is one of those films that operates on a strictly black-and-white world view. Anyone who supports Buford is good. Anyone who opposes Buford is totally evil. Buford is a redneck saint. It’s a film fueled by testosterone and it’s not at all subtle…

But dangit, I liked Walking Tall. It’s a bit like a right-wing version of Billy Jack, in that it’s so sincere that you can forgive the film’s technical faults and frequent lapses in logic. Walking Tall was filmed on location in Tennessee and director Phil Karlson makes good use of the rural locations. And, most importantly, Joe Don Baker was the perfect actor to play Buford Pusser. As played by Baker, Pusser is something of renaissance redneck. He’s a smart family man who knows how to kick ass and how to make his own weapons. What more could you ask for out of a small town sheriff?

In real life, Buford Pusser died in a mysterious car accident shortly after the release of Walking Tall. Cinematically, the character of Buford Pusser went on to star in two more films.