There’s something about underappreciated works of art that makes me appreciate them more. Maybe it’s some sort of hipster instinct that allows me to derive satisfaction from that which not many other people have derived satisfaction from, or perhaps it’s a sort of voyeurism, peering into the innards of a bloated artistic medium to extract something of value, something that a studio hardly wanted to reveal to the public. Either way, there are certain films that nobody has seen that everybody has to see, certain films that say something profound that nobody wants to hear. White Dog has some terribly important, terribly horrifying things to say about race relations, things that were relevant when the film was released in 1982 but are somehow even more relevant today.
I’m about to spoil it, so go see it. It’s only ninety minutes. Some of the acting is questionable and there are some truly awful B-movie, Hard Ticket To Hawaii style zoom-into-a-character’s-face-as-something-important-happens moments, but watch it anyway. It’s about a German Shepherd, a “white dog” trained to attack black people on sight. A woman finds him, takes him in, and then begs an animal trainer to get rid of his ingrained racist instincts. The trainer himself is black. After many people are wounded and at least one is killed by the dog, the trainer actually manages to get the dog to stop attacking black people. The dog, however, is not fully cured, as he attacks a white man during his final test, nearly killing him. The object of his hate was merely switched. The dog is shot and killed during the attack.
It’s harrowing. It ends abruptly. The dog dies and the credits roll. We aren’t given time for grieving his irreparability, for lamenting the fact that he came close to being saved. He’s just killed, suddenly, and our hopes for his rehabilitation are dashed in an instant. A few characters articulate that it isn’t the dog’s fault; of course it isn’t, he’s a dog, and dogs can’t be racist by nature. It was the fault of the original owner, but that doesn’t change the fact that the animal’s hateful nature is permanently imbued. The dog may have switched targets at the film’s conclusion, but the aggression isn’t going anywhere.
There are plenty of interesting messages about prejudice seeded throughout the film. The white woman who brings the dog into her home, who tries to change his nature: perhaps a claim that even those who are well-intentioned and have no prejudices themselves can inadvertently offer a safe haven to those who do. The black trainer who tirelessly works to retrain the dog: a man who desperately wishes for the hateful to change, who wants to remove some hate from the world without resorting to violence. All of these interim messages, however, are overshadowed by the final sequence. As the final gunshot rings and a heavy silence lingers above the characters, the film’s statement is clear; try as we might, hate cannot be conditioned out. Prejudices ingrained in youth become a part of one’s consciousness, they become the consciousness itself.
Is this true? I certainly hope not. But it’s a bold stance on one of the most important social questions that we face today, and it’s a viewpoint that everyone ought to understand in order to be in tune with the modern world’s ever-increasing tensions.