The Wolfman
Bereft of a sense of humour, but there isn't a genuine shred of emotion to move the audience into caring about the wellbeing of the empty characters.
A faithful remake of George Waggner's 1941 horror The Wolf Man, with Hidalgo and Jurassic Park III director Joe Johnston unfortunately stumbling to find his way.
Benicio Del Toro stars as thespian Lawrence Talbot, who returns to his estranged father's estate at the request of his missing brother's fiancée Gwen (Emily Blunt). When the New York-based Lawrence finally arrives in the country, he discovers his brother was the victim of a savage attack. Sir John Talbot (Anthony Hopkins) remains indifferent to the death, and to the return of his remaining son, and tensions are raised. With the village believing the curse of a beast-like man on the loose, Lawrence finds himself attacked defending the accused gypsy camp. He survives, and we all know what happens next...
The trouble is, The Wolfman is a classic story badly serviced by a new script that is shockingly mundane; entire lines float into the ether, and not even a stellar cast can inject drive or passion into them. Poor editing means that there isn't a thrill to be had, bar a few hokey jumpy moments, and the action is dreadfully paced. Victorian England is dark and dingy, and not in an atmospheric way - the photography is as drab as the story.
Like Lawrence himself, the film is in limbo. It prides itself on replicating an old-fashioned horror, but there's blood and guts spilled galore. Bereft of a sense of humour, but there isn't a genuine shred of emotion to move the audience into caring about the wellbeing of the empty characters. The normally superb Del Toro struggles to find a connection with Lawrence, and blandness is confused with subtlety. Hopkins doesn't take the role seriously at all, aims to ham it up and ends up phoning the performance in. It is left to Blunt to bring some soul, with her nurturing and protecting of the emerging beast convincing. The prize for making the film appealing goes to Hugo Weaving's Ripper detective Abberline, who contains those crazy eyebrows just enough to drolly conduct his business amongst the worry wort locals.
So what of the werewolf itself? It's remarkably similar to the original, with the creature remaining bipedal in tattered clothing. The first full moon brings a disappointing transformation, but keep awake to see a terrific scene in Lambeth Asylum. Rick Baker, whose make-up work in American Werewolf in London will never be bettered, creates a teeth-jarring, jaw-breaking, bone-cracking moment of wonder, but is let down when his work takes flight over the rooftops. The final showdown is bitterly disappointing and borderline laughable, given the lack of thrills that precede it. A messy, frustrating and wasted opportunity to get an acclaimed cast to bring their gravitas to horror.
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