By I. F. EASTMAN

(Once again, it is our pleasure to welcome a new writer to the HORROR-WOOD fold.   I. F. Eastman is a pastor and public relations director in Jamestown, New York. He relives his childhood every Friday night by watching Hammer and Edgar Allan Poe flicks. You can follow his daily adventures in the blog section of his personal Website.)

Remember when TV movies didn’t suck?

It was back in a mythical time called the early 1970s. Why, I remember having to walk twenty miles in a blizzard just to pay the cable bill. Barefoot, even!

But it was worth it. And I’d do it all again in a heartbeat just to get another glimpse of Marcia Brady. TV was wonderful then. Conflicts always came down to a simple matter of black and white and were easily solvable in a thirty to sixty minute time slot. Just like in real life.

Television was the "plug-in drug." And Americans were darn happy about it! It allowed us to ignore things like the Vietnam War, the changing roles of women, civil unrest, and Ringo Starrs’ solo career.

Teachers would often scold that TV was making us into a nation of idiots. We ignored them and continued doing multiplication with our fingers. Ralph Nader warned us that TV was molding us into an unthinking nation of consumers. We scoffed at him and went right back to making out our Christmas lists. In September. Psychologists counseled us that TV was going to give us short attention spans.

Sorry. Where was I?

Oh yeah. TV movies. Unlike the 1980’s, when every single made–for–television film was about some mean disease disrupting some nice woman’s perfect life, the networks of the 1970’s made movies that entertained. You know, stuff that would make a viewer proud as a peacock!

Doesn’t the following list of films just send you into a groovier, happier place: The Feminist And The Fuzz... Satan's School For Girls... The Ghost Of Flight 401... Where Have All The People Gone? Well, I could go on...

How about Nightmare In Badham County...Shark Kill...Cotton Candy...Sweet Hostage... Killdozer...

Want more? The Sex Symbol... Bad Ronald... Terror on the Beach... and the subject of today’s review, Scream of the Wolf.

A made-for-TV werewolf movie? How can you go wrong? You can’t -- especially when you have the winning team of Peter "Mission Impossible" Graves, Dan "Dark Shadows" Curtis, and Richard Twilight Zone Matheson on your side!

The film opens on a lonely, mist-shrouded country lane. Not in Transylvania, but somewhere almost as scary--Northern California. In a really freaky point–of–view scene, a werewolf chases down its first victim--a hapless salesman looking for a phone.

The next day. Cue 70s funk music with horns and that guitar that makes a sound like which–a–choo, which–a–choo, which–a–choo. Cut to an aerial shot of five police cars speeding down the road to the body of the victim and his demolished convertible.

I have a few observations to make about the (never named) town’s ineffectual police force. The murder occurred late the previous evening. In this shot, the bright sunshine and direction of the shadows leads me to believe that it is obviously midday. Was it really necessary to risk life and limb racing down a serpentine mountain road with sirens blaring 12 hours after the murder occurred?

I can only surmise that speeding around and running the sirens makes this collection of Barney Fife’s feel like real G–men or something. Because there isn’t a single shot, no matter how mundane, of police cars in the entire film when the sirens aren’t yelping! My favorite example of this is when six cars and 1 highway patrolman shut down the entire street, pull into city hall, and walk inside to give a press conference. I pity the poor souls that work third shift in this town.

Another thing I noticed is that this tiny little town has a huge police force. One time I counted eight cars, a dozen uniformed officers, and numerous bloodhounds at the scene of a murder. Don’t get me wrong--I’m a big proponent of more police protection -- but property taxes must be awful.

But having a police force the size of Hannibal’s army doesn’t do the slow-witted sheriff any good. So he does what any good law enforcement official would do in his situation: he consults an expert, in this case "Mr. Weatherby", a writer of wildlife books... Not to be confused with that other Mr. Weatherby, the rotund principal of "Archie comics" fame.

Sometimes the lead casting of a film is pure magic. Can you imagine anyone other than Clark Gable bringing Rhett Butler to life in Gone With The Wind? Or some hack actor like Ronald Reagan replacing Humphrey Bogart as Rick Blaine in Casablanca? I now proudly submit to this list Mr. Peter Graves for his groundbreaking role of Mr. Weatherby in Scream Of The Wolf.

Alas, no one else could have brought such life and sparkle to lines such as:

"Have a little coffee."

and

"Sure, come on!"

Plus, he’s so cool in this movie frost started to form on my television. He gets to drive a showy red sports car. He lives in a palatial bachelor’s pad on a cliff by the Pacific Ocean. He even can ignore his girlfriend for weeks at a time and get back in her good graces just by flashing that winning smile of his. Did I mention that he gets to drive a showy red sports car?

Man, I wish I were Peter Graves.

Since bit players in horror movies stubbornly continue to put themselves at risk with the full knowledge that a killer is on the loose, more people die. My vote for best victim is the guy who goes walking down the same exact road as the first murder the very next evening. (I actually had to play that part of the DVD over to make sure that it wasn’t intended to be a flashback.)

Honorable mention goes to the couple making out in the trailer. Their approach to, uh, petting, seems to be wrestling around like bear cubs on an old blanket. And because this is a made-for-TV movie, the only item of clothing that is removed is their socks. You just can’t make stuff like this up, folks.

Peter Graves points out to the police that the murderer’s tracks always change from four footprints to two in a just few steps. Even though this information will have the average four-year old screaming at the screen, "It’s a werewolf, people," neither Peter Graves nor the police make that connection.

But one person does make the connection: Peter’s girlfriend played by Jo Ann "how–do-you-pronounce- my-last-name" Pflug. She pieces the whole mystery together and even spills the beans on the twist ending not only once, but twice in the first half of the movie. Look for those scenes and marvel.

Is Scream Of The Wolf worth the four or five bucks the DVD will run you at a department store? I’d say yes. It isn’t Citizen Kane, but it is a pleasant way to zone out for 78 minutes and delivers some fun shocks along the way. Even a dozen unresolved plot threads and a silly trick ending can’t ruin it.

Anyway, have you looked at TV Guide lately? The best thing on tonight is What’s Happening to My Knee? (One Woman’s Battle with Osgood-Schlacter's Syndrome of the Tibia Tubera)!