The Wolfman: Just Wolf People Mauling Shit

Watching Anthony Hopkins and Benicio Del Toro transform into werewolves should be magnificent; both men seem half rabid as is. But instead of relying on its stellar cast of actors, The Wolfman (an update of the 1941 horror classic) attempts to set the mood using every trick but acting: flashes of gore and CGI shots of the moon every 15 minutes, Gypsies camped next to mini-Stonehenge, Victorian asylums, and Hopkins in paisley velveteen smoking jackets.

It’s 1891. Lawrence Talbot (Del Toro) is summoned home by his estranged brother’s fiancée, Gwen Conliffe (Emily Blunt), after his brother is discovered mutilated on the side of the road. Once home, he must reconcile with his father (Hopkins), who sent him to an asylum in London as a preteen (where he became an actor?). Talbot decides to take a break from his acting career to stick around, solve his brother’s murder, and halfheartedly fall in love with Conliffe. Meanwhile, the townsfolk begin crafting silver bullets and muttering about the moon.

Talbot’s sleuthing takes him to a Gypsy camp during a full moon, where he is bitten by a beast at Stonehenge while trying to protect a Gypsy child. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world,” someone says.

The plot plods along from there with clunky dialogue and a half-dozen more CGI moons. There is lots of gore, few surprises, few laughs, and no horror. What’s worse, the elements of tragedy that should underscore Wolfman—a man consumed by a beast whose instinct is to attack everything the human in him loves—is barely present. Instead, it’s more of an alpha-male fantasy-beast battle movie. Without tragedy there is no tension, just wolf people mauling shit under the light of a fake moon. Watching two genuinely rabid men gnaw on each other for 90 minutes would be at least twice as tragic and three times as entertaining.