Let's Look Back at The Walton's The Thanksgiving Story and The Love Story

It’s gettin' to be 'bout Thanksgiving-time uppin here on Walton’s Mountain...so pass the turkey gizzards and hold off'en that back-sass, mister!

By Paul Mavis

 

I don’t think anything takes me back faster to the recollections of childhood TV viewing than those first tentative strains of composer Jerry Goldsmith’s lovely theme for CBS's highly-rated period drama, The Waltons. It was a show I never missed as a kid, following its story arc of a tight-knit Virginia mountain family surviving the Depression and WWII through 9 long seasons (1972-1981).

Structured around John Walton’s reminiscences of his childhood on Walton’s Mountain (narration from series creator Earl Hamner, Jr. bookended each episode), The Waltons was for me an early, powerful melding of personal and professional yearnings that then became locked into my own childhood memories. Wanting to be a writer since I was a boy (which obviously didn't happen, as anyone reading this blog can clearly see), as well as wishing that my family back then was as close and loving as the one depicted on the small screen (um...hahahahaha), The Waltons became required viewing for me right from the start of its run.

 

Viewed so many years later, admittedly through my veil of nostalgia, The Waltons still plays extremely well today. A show that many snooty critics back then dismissed as either a kids’ show or a hopelessly backward-looking fantasy, The Waltons’ beautifully modulated tone often uncannily expressed the gentle hopes and sometimes heavy disappointments of everyday life, a grounded vision immediately responded to by viewers weary of all the cop shows, detective series, and medical dramas that back then flooded 1970s network television (and equally weary of the tumultuous times they lived in).

I’ve read a lot of criticism of The Waltons that found fault with its deliberately cleaned-up picture of rural Virginia life in the economically ravaged 1930s, as if creator Earl Hamner, Jr. was somehow being artistically dishonest in taking out much of the grit from those harsh memories. Of course, that view doesn’t take into account the realities of network TV censorship in the early 1970s. 

Nobody from CBS was going to let viewers see what it was really like out in the hills during the Depression. Nor does that critical carping allow for writer Hamner’s deliberate use of nostalgia as a vehicle for dramatic intent.

Hamner’s marvelous 1971 telemovie, The Homecoming, which was not originally intended as a series pilot, was perhaps closer to reality in depicting the economic hardships of the Depression, as well as the rather earthy, pious people that inhabited those hills at the time. And yet still, that telemovie, according to the network brass, had to be “toned down” for mainstream audiences.

Except for the kids watching The Waltons at the time, most of the adult viewers had first-hand accounts of the Depression from their own parents (if they hadn’t actually lived through it themselves). My parents were born during the Depression, so their childhood memories were certainly shaped by it, and they knew The Waltons wasn’t a “true” depiction of those times—at least in terms of showing the actual hardships that people went through (the poor of Walton’s Mountain are not the poor of Walker Evans’ photos by a long shot).

In fact, growing up myself during the hard recession of the early 1970s, I distinctly remember thinking the Waltons had it pretty good compared to us: they had their own mountain, plenty of game to hunt, plenty of land to plant crops, their own business (a saw mill), and a huge house with a dining room table, groaning with food (I don’t remember the Waltons ever going without a meal, which happened to me more than once). 

Hamner knew what he was doing: no one would have tuned in to The Waltons to see people starve (that’s why today’s network television—obsessed with showing only the seaminess, despair, and gritty “truth” of life…as their liberal writers see it—is losing more and more viewers every year).

What my parents did see as very true were the more modest, restrained moments in The Waltons, ones that resonated with their own experiences. The feeling that life must have its quiet moments, moments to just live and experience life as it comes. The feeling that families had to stick together to survive the harsh, outside world. The feeling that one could be in accord with one’s natural surroundings—all feelings that were increasingly under assault in 1970s American society.

The Walton family may have looked too well-scrubbed and fed, and their teeth too white and perfect, and they may have always had the money to pay the electric bill…but when they gathered around the radio, enjoying a program together as a family, that fictional moment had a decidedly real impact for my parents—they had experienced the exact same thing as children. 

Which of course leads to the rather reflexive experience for me as an adult, remembering watching The Waltons as a child with my parents, gathered around the TV set. It’s a fairly layered experience, then, for a former viewer to watch The Waltons today (especially if you add in your own kids watching it on DVD…which just adds another mirror, reflecting another mirror, back on itself).

When I sat down to watch the second season’s 10th episode, the special two-hour The Thanksgiving Story (originally airing on November 15th, 1973), I had forgotten that it was, in part at least, a sequel. One of the main subplots involved John-Boy (Richard Thomas) welcoming back his first serious love, Jenny Pendleton (Sian Barbara Allen), who memorably appeared on Walton’s Mountain in season one’s 17th episode, The Love Story (January 18th, 1973). 

That episode was one of my all-time series’ favorites, but I hadn’t watched it in years, so…it was back down to my vast subterranean DVD vault to retrieve it for some article background padding.

In The Love Story, written by Hamner himself and directed by Lee Phillips, John-Boy experiences the intoxicating—and rather terrifying—pangs of serious first love. Passing the “haunted” Pendleton house one night, aspiring writer John-Boy Walton sees a candlelight moving around the abandoned place before the light is extinguished. 

Telling his father, John Walton (Ralph Waite), John and his son go to check out what’s happening (9 years before, John had promised the owner, Dave Pendleton, that he would watch over the boarded-up house). Inside they discover Dave’s daughter, Jenny, who has run away from her father’s house in the city because widower Dave has remarried. Invited back to the Walton home, Jenny soon becomes entranced with the loving family…and with an equally smitten John-Boy.

Opening with an appropriately old-fashioned romantic device (a doomed love walking alone among a darkened, “tragic” house) The Love Story is a perfect distillation of one of The Waltons’ central dramatic structures: a stranger with an emotional problem comes to Walton’s Mountain, and through the healing love and understanding of the generous, kind Walton clan, he or she finds…fill in the blank: love, redemption, honor, courage, etc. 

Throughout Jenny’s stay, everyone is constantly reassuring her that she’s welcomed and liked, and that she can stay as long as she wishes—was that kind of positive reinforcement happening over on Mannix or The Mod Squad or even Marcus Welby, M.D. (no, not even there—they needed the beds)?

That welcoming feeling The Waltons always strived to achieve no doubt helped it ride out 221 hour-long episodes over nine years with its loyal fan base. It’s a cliche, but TV back then was still about asking the viewer permission to come into their homes. 

As a kid, I felt that even a little wise-ass jerk like me would be made to feel like part of the Walton family (and that’s saying something), and The Love Story is a particularly good example of the series’ ability to create that genuinely warm, convivial atmosphere.

Quietly potent, too, are the gentle, tender love scenes between John-Boy and Jenny, no doubt aided significantly by the added chemistry of then real-life lovers Richard Thomas and Sian Barbara Allen. Having met during the filming of that year’s Patty Duke thriller, You’ll Like My Mother, Thomas and Allen were indeed already skilled performers (we lost Allen this year; sadly, she didn't have the career she should have)…but there’s no mistaking an added intensity, a reality to their scenes together here that telegraphs their true feelings for each other (Thomas reportedly insisted on girlfriend Allen getting the part).

Nicely built by writer Hamner, and sensitively staged by director Phillips, their courtship believably begins as tentative, awkward attraction (the scene where John-Boy plays the dulcimer for her, nervously looking over at Jenny to see if she’s feeling what he’s feeling, is expertly played by both), before it segues into their own Heathcliff and Cathy moment up on the top of Walton’s Mountain, playing children’s make-believe games to hide the fear of stating what they feel is coming…before their emotions overtake them (another delicate, subtle moment for the actors).

There are other telling little moments in The Love Story that fill out the episode, such as John and “Livie” (Michael Learned) remembering how they grew up together (no syrup for them: he remembers her as “prissy,” and she states he was “the wickedest boy in town,” before they both look at each other with knowing attraction). It’s a smartly written scene (later, “wicked” John of course allows John-Boy to escort pretty Jenny up to the mountain, while “prissy” Olivia subtly suggests John-Boy invite the younger children to come along…).

But then, The Waltons was almost always smartly written (even the potential for an “evil stepmother” is squashed: kind, loving Eula is searching for a way to reach Jenny, too). And the sad, final goodbye of Jenny and John-Boy is no different: their parting words are direct and to the point, and no less effective for their simplicity (for the dreamers out there who always wish for a cinematic happy ending, even if its only hinted at as a possibility, Hamner the narrator gently puts the kibosh on those yearnings: “Jenny was to come into our lives again, but the promises we made to each other we were not to keep,”).

Okay. So…where is all of that continued in The Thanksgiving Story? I mean…shouldn’t the return of Jenny be a momentous event for John-Boy that dwarfs everything else? Apparently not….

In this extremely busy episode, John-Boy’s excitement at seeing Jenny again is overshadowed by his all-consuming desire to gain a scholarship to Boatwright College. Without it, John-Boy can’t attend college, and without college, he knows that his raw skills as a writer won’t be honed into a usable or meaningful artistic commodity. 

Unfortunately, while helping his daddy and Grandpa (Will Geer) cut some lumber, the belt on the saw breaks, whacking John-Boy a good one in the head. Soon, he’s suffering dizzy spells and shaking hands, both of which spell doom for his taking the scholarship test.

As well, John-Boy’s resumed courtship of Jenny is initially rocky…particularly since he’s been dating other girls in her year-long absence. Brother Jason (John Walmsley) has a sticky problem: the wealthy Baldwin Sisters, Miss Mamie (Helen Kleeb) and Miss Emily (Mary Jackson), want to send a jar of moonshine “the Recipe” to FDR (as thanks for extending handling the Depression), and they need Jason to help run the still. 

They also want to adopt him. Middle brother Ben (Eric Scott) wants to bag the family turkey by himself…with Grandpa’s help. And perpetually crazed sister Mary Ellen (Judy Norton-Taylor) is hoping to land the lead as Pocahontas in the high school Thanksgiving play.

Granted, The Thanksgiving Story was a longer 2-hour special, allowing more characters to have their own subplots, but it’s curious how the scripter, Joanna Lee, short-changed the reunion of Jenny and John-Boy in favor of a storyline that smacks of Medical Center, not Love Story.

Of the side plots, Mary Ellen’s, unfortunately, is the weakest. I always loved Judy Norton-Taylor’s fractious, anxious, growin’-pains portrayal of Mary Ellen. Whether growling, “Grandma!” at the episode’s opening, or self-importantly proclaiming, “I am never going to be a wife. I am going to pursue a career in the theater,” Mary-Ellen was a wholly believable evocation of a smart, emotional, frequently hilarious teen girl at war with everyone who irritated her…which was everyone. 

Too bad, then, that the Pocahontas play angle was treated as merely filler (every time you think the character is going to rev up…they cut away to dizzy John-Boy falling down somewhere).

Ben’s desire to grow up too soon, and Grandpa’s willingness to let him fail, was better developed, and nicely played by Geer and Scott. How many parents out there today are delivering up the much-needed lesson Grandpa gives Ben? Damn few. 

Ben, spending all that time making a wooden turkey call, blows his one and only chance to bag his prize when he too-excitedly blasts his shotgun before sighting it…something Grandpa knew he’d do. When a dejected Ben asks him why he let him fail, Grandpa simply states, “How are you going to learn if I don’t let you try?” 

Even better, when Ben realizes people may laugh at his story, Grandpa wisely states, “When you take on a man’s challenges before you’re ready, you gotta learn to take on the risks.” He offers Ben an out—Ben has to barter his own hard labor to get a turkey farm bird—but Grandpa says they’ll tell the truth of what happened: Ben did get the turkey.

And Jason’s subplot with the adorable Baldwin Sisters is a particular highlight of The Thanksgiving Story. The delightfully daffy Baldwins were my favorite Waltons characters bar none: Helen Kleeb and Mary Jackson could effortlessly switch from hilariously clueless to touchingly sweet in seconds, as they do here. 

Watch their expert interplay as they sit on Livie’s couch, trying to sell their outrageous desire to adopt Jason; it’s a master class in comedic timing (Walmsley’s kind stillness is used to good effect against the actresses). There’s an additionally fine follow-up to this scene for Waite and Learned, where John apologizes and then charms Livie into forgiving him for allowing Jason to bootleg whiskey (it’s only the second season, but pros Waite and Learned act like they’ve been doing this together for 20).

What a shame, then, that the nominal main plot line—John-Boy’s head injury and renewed romance—is so…blah. The injury angle is as old as the hills (and plays as such), while his romance with Jenny seems as truncated as the Thanksgiving dinner that the director doesn’t show (a big cheat for this kind of episode—I want to see those kids digging in). 

I get that the John-Boy character has initially moved on to other interests—new girls, college—but if they prime our expectations by making it look like things are right back on track with Jenny (as they do, with a lovely scene back up on the top of Walton’s Mountain, where John-Boy lays out his view of humanity, and Jenny makes it clear she wants to get physically involved)…why do they just drop the whole thing at the end? 

The episode’s fade-out is John-Boy whooping about college—not Jenny. Did she stay? Did she go? Did she get the wish bone? Who knows…because Jenny and Sian Barbara Allen were never seen again on Walton’s Mountain (that tends to happen when you’re not dating the series’ lead anymore...).

Luckily, there are more than enough worthy scenes in the other subplots—with a Thanksgiving theme threading through each—to make up for the fact that what drove me to The Thanksgiving Story in the first place—to see more of John-Boy and Jenny from the beautifully crafted The Love Story—is mysteriously ignored.

PAUL MAVIS IS AN INTERNATIONALLY PUBLISHED MOVIE AND TELEVISION HISTORIAN, A MEMBER OF THE ONLINE FILM CRITICS SOCIETY, AND THE AUTHOR OF THE ESPIONAGE FILMOGRAPHY. Click to order.

Read more of Paul’s TV reviews here. Read Paul’s film reviews at our sister website, Movies & Drinks.

Higgins the Dog, Better Known as "Benji," Passed 50 Years Ago Today...And Yet Meryl Streep Still Lives.

Today, November 11th, 2025, marks the 50th anniversary of the passing of one of the screen's greatest actors:  Higgins the Dog, better known as "Benji."

Let that sink in.  Not just the frankly ridiculous passage of time (if only they had taken better care of him, he'd still be with us at 67-years-old...), but my assertion that shelter mongrel-turned-superstar Higgins truly belongs up there in the pantheon of cinema's best actors (except for possibly opening a Hunt's pudding cup tin with his teeth, let's see if Brando could have done any of Higgin's stunts in Benji...and do them with such scrappy, adorable elan).  Let's look at his magnum opus, Benji, as well as two of the "Benji" character's ABC TV specials:  1978's The Phenomenon of Benji, and 1980's Benji at Work. 

By Paul Mavis

A few years back, Mill Creek Entertainment, in association with Mulberry Square Productions, released (in a super-sharp, extras-loaded Blu-ray+DVD+Digital special edition) Benji, the 1974 family classic from producer, writer, and director Joe Camp. Starring Higgins the Dog (trained by Frank Inn), alongside Patsy Garrett, Peter Breck, Christopher Connelly, Tom Lester, Mark Slade, Deborah Walley, Herb Vigran, Frances Bavier, Terry Carter, Cynthia Smith, Allen Fiuzat, and Edgar Buchanan, Benji was the record-smashing zero-budget indie hit of both the summer of 1974 and 1975. 

This remarkable box office achievement catapulted the “Benji” character into the upper stratosphere of mid-70s pop culture, right alongside other fictional “bedroom poster” icons like Rocky Balboa, Jaws the shark, Charlie’s Angels…and Donny and Marie.

Click to order Benji on Blu-ray/DVD:

If you’ve seen Benji in previous washed-out, cropped video and DVD incarnations, you’ll be blown away by Mill Creek’s bright, colorful, sparklingly clean widescreen presentation. As well, there are some very cool bonuses here, including a commentary track with Joe Camp, not one but two of Benji’s 1970s network TV specials (The Phenomenon of Benji and Benji at Work, both…essential viewing), an original trailer, and a photo gallery. 

Despite what some clueless new reviewers out there claim, Benji works just as well today as it did 44 years ago, for kids and their parents. After all: who wouldn’t love that face?

Benji (Higgins the Dog) is the town stray. He lives alone in an abandoned, spooky “haunted house” out beyond the city limits. He has lots of friends, though, all of whom look forward to seeing Benji each morning. 

There’s the “Lady with the Cat” (Frances Bavier), who screams curses on Benji when he chases her cat, Petey, up a tree…before smiling benevolently after him as he trots off. Friendly Officer Tuttle (Terry Carter) likes to feed Benji if he has any snacks left. Cafe owner Bill (Edgar Buchanan) calls Benji “Sam,” and depends on Benji to wake him from his mid-morning snooze out on the front entrance. 

And little Cindy and Paul Chapman (Cynthia Smith, Allen Fiuzat) are the two children who love Benji and want to keep him. So they have their housekeeper/governess Mary (Patsy Garrett), feed him on the sly…against the strict wishes of their widowed father, Dr. Chapman (Peter Breck), who almost lost a brother to a rabid dog.

Benji finds love one day during his usual garbage scrounging, flirting and romping with girl dog Tiffany. However, their honeymoon home is invaded by three criminals—Henry (Christopher Connelly), Riley (Tom Lester), and Linda (Deborah Walley). These hapless goofs are waiting for the arrival of their ringleader, nasty Mitch (Mark Slade). When a phony kidnapping con turns into the real thing, it’s up to Benji to rescue the kids.

Benji’s backstory is one of the more interesting indie movie tales from the 1970s (has that ass-clown Tarantino ripped off Benji in any of his "hommages" yet?). In the late 1960s, Texas advertising man Joe Camp, who had experience shooting commercials and instructional films, had the idea of producing a low-budget live-action feature starring a dog, shown mostly from the canine’s point of view (in the vein of Lady and the Tramp), but one that avoided the then-prevalent Disney “True-Life Adventure” semi-documentary style that mixed staged nature footage with human voice-over narration. 

All the major Hollywood studios passed on Camp’s treatment, telling him that Disney had already done this kind of thing to death, and that he couldn’t pull it off, anyway—not with a real dog acting in a naturalistic way in a dramatic storyline.

Camp didn’t give up. He went ahead and wrote a full screenplay, and then looked for backers. Apparently, his presentation must have been a wow (he states he even got down on the floor like Benji, acting out all the scenes for the money men), because he secured his $500,000 budget within a mere six weeks. 

Casting the dog was crucial, particularly since Camp had been told it would be next to impossible to get a dog that could do all the things his script required. Camp found the legendary Frank Inn, who had helped train various “Lassies,” “Arnold the pig” from Green Acres, and the remarkably expressive, tricks-filled  “Dog” from Petticoat Junction. 

Inn thought that particular dog, Higgins, a Miniature Poodle, Cocker Spaniel, and Schnauzer mix he had found at the Burbank Animal Shelter, would be perfect for Benji. He was getting on in years—15 and officially retired—but Inn stated Benji was the smartest, best-trained animal he had ever worked with, and he could get the job done. Camp was sold.

Using a micro-crew of less than 25 people, Camp assembled an inexpensive cast of familiar TV and movie faces down around McKinney and Denton, Texas and shot for 8 weeks in 1973. Editing took another 6 months and then…no one in Hollywood wanted to distribute the movie. 

Taking a page from other notable “four wall” releasing successes like Billy Jack and the Schick-Sunn Classic movies (where’s that boxed set?), wherein a producer actually rents out a movie theater, thus collecting 100% of the ticket sales, Campell decided to form his own releasing company, but with a twist. 

Instead of renting out the second-run houses in less-desirable markets (as was the norm for a lot of four-walling back then), Camp laboriously released Benji section by section throughout America in the spring of 1974, aiming for only the best, most prestigious theaters in each town.

This unusual method worked; by the end of the summer of 1974, Benji had returned its budget ten times—a phenomenal result for a zero-budget indie. Then, Camp did something else that was quite unique: he pulled Benji from U.S. theaters, and waited until the summer of 1975 to start all over again (his thinking: if he stayed in theaters in the fall and winter, when grosses dropped off, he wouldn’t be featured in the trade papers anymore, which noted his weekly record-breaking b.o. grosses). 

The gambit worked beyond anyone’s expectations. By the time Benji ended its 1975 theatrical re-release, it had grossed $46 million worldwide—an unheard-of 1-to-92 return on investment (and that’s not even counting all the hundreds of millions in merchandising).

Camp went on to make a few more Benji movies over the years (to diminishing returns), along with family outings Hawmps! and The Double McGuffin, as well as several Benji TV specials (usually brought out to promote an upcoming movie). I saw Benji with my girl cousins when I was 9 (I was out-squealed 3 to 1). I thought it looked dumb (I made my preference known: Death Wish, which horrified my aunt and uncle—no Jujyfruits for me in the lobby as they kept glaring at me…),

But I distinctly remember laughing and sniffling throughout it, against my (death) wishes, seeking it out again on my own the next summer. It was one of those small, quiet titles a movie fan remembers from their childhood, the kind that can stand out against noisier, more flamboyant picture memories.

Once I found out, though, that the original “Benji," Higgins, had kicked it shortly after his triumphant 1975 summer, and was replaced with Benjean, his daughter, I wasn’t interested in seeing the sequels (I was getting too old, anyway). If they could replace Benji like he was Roger Moore stepping in for George Lazenby, well…the specialness, the uniqueness of that sad-eyed, adorable little pooch was eliminated—at least for me. 

The character "Benji" was a Hollywood commodity now, not a rejected rescue scamp named Higgins who came off remarkably “real” (strange as that reads) in the context of that first anonymous little indie (the final degradation and proof of that transformation came with the spectacular miscalculation of Camp’s 1980’s Oh! Heavenly Dog, where Benji was voiced by Chevy Chase, the poster depicting Benji’s PG-rated hijinks that included eyeballing naked Jane Seymour with a magnifying glass).

Reading some past and present reviews of Benji, I see a lot of bitching about the quality of the movie itself, which seems not only beside the point (this wasn’t intended to be Citizen Kane), but also wrong. Compared to similar zero-budget family indies from that time period, Benji is actually pretty clean in terms of technique. For a first time director, Camp made a lot of smart choices.

Considering the budget, Camp managed to get quite a few talented TV faces that people in the audience would recognize: radio star and actress Patsy Garrett (Nanny and the Professor, Room 222, and that classic Purina Cat Chow “chow chow chow” commercial); Peter Breck (The Big Valley); Christopher Connelly (Peyton Place); Tom Lester (Green Acres); Mark Slade (The High Chaparral); Deborah Walley (the AIP starlet, even playing Gidget); Terry Carter (The Phil Silvers Show, McCloud); Frances Bavier (The Andy Griffith Show, Mayberry, R.F.D.); Edgar Buchanan (Petticoat Junction); and character actor Herb Vigran (too many movie and TV credits to list). 

With their easy air of experience, veteran pros like those did more than half the work for first-time writer/director Camp, giving Benji a polish it wouldn’t have otherwise had (check out the amateurish non-actors in so many indies from that time period to see the difference).

Camp’s main story, in terms of narrative, may be slight, and right out of some Victorian penny dreadful—cute kids are kidnapped and threatened, dog rescues them—but that simplicity allows the movie to focus on Benji and his activities, not on the humans, and not on their plight—a rather daring move on Camp’s part. 

That’s a nice twist for anyone expecting a standard family outing (when the kids are first introduced, with the sweet mother-figure governess and the widowed father, you expect this classic “broken Disney family” to take over the story). By keeping the narrative coming from the diminutive dog’s POV, the suspense can’t help but flow along nicely, too. 

Camp intros the first three gang members as vaguely comical (the bickering over the pudding tins; one is scared of the “haunted house”), setting up the kid viewers for when the truly menacing villain—ringleader Slade—steps in (kicking Tiffany into the wall is Benji’s strongest visual, then Camp lets Higgins’ expressive, soulful eyes do all the work).

Camp’s tone is quite deft, too. He often shoots for sentiment here, but it doesn’t come off as sloppy or syrupy—a neat trick. There’s just the right amount of loneliness in that famous opening, as Benji shambles out of his “haunted house” on the outskirts of town to visit with his human friends (the choice of growly, folksy Charlie Rich to sing the theme, I Feel Love, was an inspired match to the visuals of Higgins). 

Camp is able to tease that almost all of them have something sad in their life—Garrett talks wistfully of her passed husband, Buchanan remembers his dead wife, the children without a mother want a dog but can’t have one because of their loving-but-strict father (only Carter’s cop is truly upbeat)—but these small details are only hinted at; nothing mawkish is heightened for effect. 

We can’t tell if Benji likes being alone or not, and that lets the viewer take over, depending on their age and how they’re experiencing the story (as a kid I remember thinking he had to be scared and lonely during his nights in that pitch-black house…but now seeing him with adult eyes, his independence looks pretty good: lots of friends, free grub, obliging girlfriend, no job…). 

Camp walks a fine line with this low-key, happy/sad atmosphere, and he pulls it off. For a first time writer/director producing a feature-length movie with almost no money, Joe Camp’s work on Benji doesn’t need to be qualified or excused in relation to his canine star’s talents.

And that’s high praise when that star is Higgins the Dog. With all apologies to trainer Frank Inn, as the famous saying goes: stars aren’t made, they’re born, and regardless of the remarkably naturalistic tricks Higgins acquired, he has that “X factor” you can’t coax out with a command and a treat (Flipper had the same deal going on, too). 

He’s such a scrappy, all-American mutt, with his funny little face and growly, yelpy yap. Physically small but fleet of foot when running and dodging and climbing, he’s the classic underdog we all love to root for. He’s not the steely, flinty Rinty, or the brawny, muscular mongrel Old Yeller, or cool, classy, patrician Lassie. 

He’s right down on the ground, and we’re with him, at eye level, maximizing our identification with him (another master stroke by Camp, insisting that the camera stay down on the ground). Camp’s script has him climbing arbors, opening pudding tins (remember slicing your thumbs on those?), dodging grasping humans, flirting with pretty Tiffany (the funniest scene in the movie—if you don’t want a dog just like Higgins at that point, you’re not human), and then romancing her in a field full of butterflies, all in dreamy, gauzy slo-motion, and all of it effortlessly accomplished by the wonderfully game, communicative Higgins. It’s a star-making performance…that couldn’t be made.

There are some terrific bonuses included on this Mill Creek Entertainment Blu-ray+DVD+Digital special edition. In addition to an original trailer (love those real folk testimonials) and a photo gallery, featured on both the Blu-ray and the DVD discs is a full commentary track with Joe Camp, moderated by his son, Brandon (who does an excellent job guiding the discussion—that rarely happens on these DVD commentaries, as you well know if you read my reviews). Joe Camp offers up a wealth of behind-the-scenes production information, while coming off as that most rare of moviemaking creatures: a genuinely nice guy. A must-listen to for Benji fans.

Next up is The Phenomenon of Benji, the 1978 ABC special directed by Joe Camp, and starring Benjean, Higgins’ daughter, as Benji (the video for this looks pristine). “Benji’s special guest star” is none other than Charlie Rich, who sings a medley with the pooch perched on his piano (when Rich—not Benjean—slipped into The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face, I was instantly transported back to the gloriously wacky days of network TV specials).  

Petticoat Junction pals Edgar Buchanan and Meredith MacRae show up as we get down to brass tacks: Benjean doing some tricks for the paying yobs (holy christ how many people are in that theater??). Clips of Benjean traveling, getting the Golden Globe (for Charlie’s singing—bet he loved that), and Benjean executing a remarkable bit of slave labor: pulling up a giant bone on a ladder, using his paw each time to hold the chain. 

To their credit, they admit this ain’t the real “Benji” (they're not stupid, though:  they say he “retired,” not “expired”), before we get clips of For the Love of Benji (they really want us to accept the new dog…). The special ends with Benjean forced to endure the sweaty, grasping hands of hundreds of kids in the audience as she nervously trots by them, the frenzied tykes barely containing their (innocent) desires to tear her to pieces. Jesus do I miss TV specials from this era….

Next up is 1980’s Benji at Work network special is up, hosted by ABC’s Eight is Enough’s Adam Rich (who promptly blows his first joke—thanks, Adam!). I’m pretty easy when it comes to how these animals are trained for their movie and TV roles (I guarantee they eat better than me), but I have to say: if you’re one of those PETA freaks, you might not want to watch Benji at Work. 

Even I was a little taken aback by a couple of things I saw…mostly that smug asshole Chevy Chase trying to upstage Benjean at a real press conference for Oh! Heavenly Dog…and failing (Jane Seymour, however, can do no wrong). I guess I can see them putting Benjean on two tightropes, or putting Visine in her eyes to make them “sparkle” (“Sparkle, Benjean, sparkle!”). 

But that dog does not like getting close to that crazy f*cking dolphin at Marineland, and they keep shoving her forward at it. If that isn’t cruel enough, Frank Inn puts a fish in Benjean’s mouth, grasping her tightly so she won’t bolt, and then lets that dolphin try and snatch it out of Benjean’s mouth! 

 In a panic, Benjean snatches her head back before it’s neatly sliced off (just in time, kids!). Now…get on that surfboard, Benji! Don’t worry, Frank offers, not entirely convincingly, “She can swim pretty good…” (she better!).

Later, on location in London, they show Benjean trying to navigate a closed road set while cars drive by (the constant yelling at that dog is something to hear, but even better is the subtle shutdown Camp the director puts on mere trainer Inn: when Camp calls, “Stay,” to Benjean he means it. Okay, Frank?). 

Worse, wait until you see the completed shot: tell me I’m wrong that they’re not throwing that poor animal down some stone steps and onto his ass. Watch him scrabble and almost break his leg. You watch it and tell me I’m wrong to think that’s not only cruel, but dumb (what were you going to do with your movie if you broke its neck? Unless you had a couple of spare “Benjis” on hand…). 

Adam Rich closes out the show with an unintentionally hilarious mournful coda, existentially wondering where all this acting life ends for kid stars like him and dogs like Benji…before wising up but quick and brightly offering that they’re not complaining, no sir! (they better not!). A rare, bizarre treat.

PAUL MAVIS IS AN INTERNATIONALLY PUBLISHED MOVIE AND TELEVISION HISTORIAN, A MEMBER OF THE ONLINE FILM CRITICS SOCIETY, AND THE AUTHOR OF THE ESPIONAGE FILMOGRAPHY. Click to order.

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