By my standards, there are three types of “bad movies.” Sure, there are some shades of gray between the categories, but they usually break down, for me, as follows:

1) The “Good” Bad Movies: these are the movies that, despite being poorly written, acted, and/or directed, turn out to be quite entertaining. Be it intentional badness like Attack of the Killer Tomatoes, or campy brilliance like Re-Animator, these movies either manage to rise above their base nature, or fully embrace it to excellent effect.

2) The “So Bad It's Good” Movies: these are complete and utter shit in every way, and they're the celluloid equivalent of a car wreck. You can't help but watch even though you're bitching to yourself or with friends. These are best watched with a six-pack, a handle of your hard liquor of choice, or illegal substance. Hell, sometimes you wind up taking one from all three columns! See any Ray Dennis Steckler movie for prime examples.

The third category is, in my opinion, the absolute worst of the three. Simply put, this is the kind of movie that has no effect on you whatsoever. If you're flipping through your digital cable, the Guide+ might rope you in with an intriguing title or synopsis. You'll stop for a moment, watch a few minutes, then keep flipping. These are the movies that try, yet fail, not so miserably as to be in Category 2 (I notice now that I'm classifying these things like hurricanes) where you're amused by their ineptitude, but to the point where you simply don't care at all.

Devil Dog is, unfortunately, a Category 3, and the worst kind at that: a TV movie. During the Seventies and Eighties, TV movies weren't all about “star power” or being emotionally gripping Hallmark Hall of Famers. These were the times that produced gems The Night Stalker and The Night Strangler (which, if you don't own them yet, you need to buy them), and on the opposite end of the spectrum, The Devil's Toy, which is completely horrid slop.

However, I would rather watch any of the aforementioned movies in a heartbeat before trudging through Devil Dog again. Hell, I'd rather watch Mister Boogedy, and that's saying a lot.

The movie opens with a trio of black-suited nogoodniks visiting a dog breeder looking for a bitch in heat to breed. They settle upon a German Shepard, which immediately takes a severe disliking to our ebon-clad bunch, and with good reason. The group turns out to be Satanists, and in one of the silliest rituals committed to film, the summon Old Scratch himself to impregnate the German Shepard! Insert your own filthy “doggystyle” quip here.

Next, we're introduced to the Barry family, who find their dog struck dead in the middle of the road. Needless to say, this puts a damper on the festivities for daughter Bonnie's tenth birthday. Which leads to my first problem with the movie. Bonnie is played by the rather talented Kim Richards, known best for the Witch Mountain movies, who at the time of Devil Dog's production was fourteen. Simply put, she is the most awkwardly cast ten-year-old they could have found. Seeing her talking in a very post-pubescent voice while wearing plaited pigtails is less believable than a million seasons of Saved By The Bell and 90210 combined. She's simply too physically mature to pull it off, despite her considerable acting chops for her age. Moving forward...

Pouting her way outside with her brother Charlie close behind, they meet a mysterious man driving a truck full of produce (?), who offers them apples from his truck. Being oblivious to the obvious biblical metaphor, as well as being well before the razor blade paranoia of the Eighties, they accept the fruit. When the man grabs them the apples, they spy a German Shepard (yup, it's Satan's ex-girlfriend) and her litter of pups. Bonnie quickly sets her sights upon one of the pups, which the family accepts unconditionally, despite the ominous warnings of their Latino stereotype housemaid Maria, who crosses herself every time she sees the little rascal. Of course, the dog is indeed the spawn of Satan, and it quickly dispatches Maria by setting her humongous Catholic shrine, and her, ablaze.

Which leads to my second problem with the movie. The effect to show that the dog is influencing people or working evil magic is a shimmering optical overlay superimposed over the dog's eyes. During this supposedly sinister scene, the puppy is doing that “cock its head in curiosity” pose that makes even the toughest hombre turn into a cooing idiot. Second, when the Barrys return home to find the house full of smoke, they open Maria's door, which presumably held her smoldering corpse and...the next scene rolls. There is no mention of what happened to Maria, even in passing. Don't you think that if you had a maid living in your house, who is obviously a trusted member of your household, you'd at least mention here? Not in this movie. While one could presume Maria dead, the family never brings it up! Not a “Wow, I miss Maria,” or “It's been a year since the accident.” Nothing. Nada. Zip. Nil. Goose egg. Guess they care about as much about her as I do about this movie.

As time goes on, father Mike Barry (Richard Crenna) suspects something is up when his family starts acting strange. His children go from being straight-A students to hooligans who cut class, go out at all hours of the night, and even rig a school election (the gall!) so son Charlie (Ike Eisenmann, who played Kim Richards' brother in the aforementioned Witch Mountain movies) becomes class president. Even his wife goes from being a sweet, demure woman into a ravenous sex-queen. Dude, Mike, what's the problem? Of course, there is only one solution to this canine conundrum: fly to Ecuador to find a shaman who can tell him how to eliminate the Devil Dog. I'm not kidding.

I've already leveled my specific complaints against the movie, so here's my one, all-encompassing issue with Devil Dog: I simply didn't care. Despite being decently-acted and a moderately intriguing concept, it was one of the least compelling films I've seen. When characters were in peril, I shrugged my shoulders. When the children began conducting rituals in the attic, I checked the DVD timer. Director Curtis Harrington and screenwriters Elinor and Stephen Karpf do a boffo job of making the audience not give a shit. It seems like an episode of Night Gallery stretched well beyond its welcome and dumbed down for the simplest of viewers.

Then there's the dog itself. The very end of the movie has Mike luring it into a trap so he can show it the runes drawn on his skin to send it back to Hell. The dog (I can't remember its name, nor do I care to), finally knowing that the jig is up, becomes a hulking monster-mutt, which the effects team (the same guys who made you quiver at the sparkly puppy) create through the magic of black paint, rubber horns, and a feather boa afro-mane. Wow. Just wow.

Inexplicably, Shriek Show has pulled out all the stops for this snoozer. Picture quality was decent, with even colors and minimal damage. Grain was everywhere in night scenes (hooray for crappy film stock), and a few scenes were downright atrocious (the final reveal) but it looked a little better than expected. Audio is the original mono, and sounds quite nice, although the dialogue was a little mushy in parts. They even decided to smear this piece across two discs, for lots of extras, including interviews with Richards and Eisenmann, filmographies, articles, and lots more. Seems like an awful lot of effort to wax nostalgic about such a bloody bore.

Me? I'm just going to go back to watching Kolchak, thank you very much. The moderate peril of a wisecracking reporter is so much more engaging than a thousand deaths visited upon the Barry clan. Hell, I think I'm more worried about that damn Boogedy breaking out of the Hoover.