Film review: The Wolfman

The Wolfman. 102 minutes. Rated MA15+. Directed by Joe Johnston; Written by Andrew Kevin Walker and David Self.

In the vast and celebrated horror genre, there are essentially two kinds of films: those that play craftily (and confidently) on our worst fears in the very worst of circumstances, and those that default to cheap shocks, blood and guts.

This blustering adaptation of the 1941 Claude Raines and Bela Lugosi horror classic trips over itself and into the second category — which is a shame, because it could have been an absolute stunner. Instead, it is a tawdry mish-mash of wonderfully atmospheric production values, a thunderingly good score by Danny Elfman (who wrote The Simpsons’ theme song), pedestrian dialogue, distracting and disconnected performances, and an abundance of gore. Ultimately, it all ends up being slightly less thrilling than receiving a postcard, and infinitely less horrifying than opening your bank statement. Or your phone bill.

Following the disappearance of his brother Ben, Lawrence Talbot (Benicio Del Toro, pictured) is summoned home to the family estate by his brother’s grieving girlfriend Gwen (a breathy Emily Blunt) in the hope that he will help her solve the mystery of Ben’s disappearance. Upon his return, the untold horrors of his childhood and the unresolved conflict with his father Sir John (Anthony Hopkins), combine to reveal the true extent of the family’s ghoulish secrets.

The usually incomparable Mr Hopkins wanders aimlessly through every scene — reciting the awful dialogue as though he can’t actually believe he’s saying it, while Mr Del Toro’s angst-ridden performance contributes nothing more than a myriad of soulful stares, snarls and grimaces. Only Ms Blunt, and Hugo Weaving (as Inspector Frederick Abberline), admirably manage to extract every possible sense of foreboding dramatic potential from the material with their thoroughly competent performances.

Mr Johnston (who replaced the troubled project’s original director Mark Romanek) unleashes a fast-paced, blood-soaked, silly splatter fest in place of what might have been an artful, considered and relevant contemporary re-telling of the Werewolf fable.

The Wolfman is certainly not helped, either, by its clunky, snigger-inducing computer-generated 'Wolfman running' or 'Wolfman transforming' sequences or its complete failure to generate genuine tension, suspense, meaning or interest.

What is a relief, however, is that it all ends quickly and effortlessly — even if that is at the expense of the masterpiece it might have been.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspapers Group and was published in the print edition of the Midwest Times.