Written by Alejandro Riera | 11 February 2010

“The Wolfman” promised to be the antidote to all those hunky, and sometimes abstemious, vampires and werewolves who have lately plagued the big and small screens. Here, at least based on the initial trailers, was a movie that would reclaim the werewolf’s nightmarish dignity and rightful place in horror’s pantheon in the same way that Guillermo del Toro’s and Chuck Hogan’s novel “The Strain” did for vampires last year. Alas, this remake of the 1941 Universal horror classic starring Lon Chaney (and titled “The Wolf Man”) lands in our theaters with a deadly thud.

Re-shot, re-edited and its release postponed several times, “The Wolfman” is as cursed as its protagonist. The mangled results are there on the screen for all to see. You can’t entirely blame co-executive producer Benicio Del Toro for this mess, although this is a step down for him after his extraordinary performance as Che Guevara in the four-hour plus “Che.”

Del Toro plays Lawrence Talbot, an acclaimed American Shakespearean actor touring Victorian London with his production of “Hamlet” when he receives a letter from his sister-in-law Gwen Conliffe (Emily Blunt). His brother Ben has mysteriously disappeared and she asks Lawrence for his help in finding him. Lawrence arrives at his father’s manor just outside of Blackmoor to learn that his brother’s remains have been found. Villagers attribute Ben’s death and a recent spate of attacks to a bear owned by a caravan of gypsies just outside the village. With torches and rifles in hand, the villagers and Lawrence arrive separately to the camp later that evening. It’s a full moon and before you can start singing “well, it’s a marvelous night for a moondance,” the titular creature turns the camp into ground meat and Lawrence into his future protégé.

Lawrence’s wounds heal rapidly and 28 days later he undergoes his first transformation (the film is full of time lapse photography, speeding things up, trying to get to the next point at light speed to no avail). Found bloodied and with his clothes torn the following morning by the villagers and Scotland Yard Inspector Aberline (Hugo Weaving, the only thing worth recommending about this mess), Lawrence is taken to the same madhouse he was taken to as a child by his father (Anthony Hopkins) after witnessing his mother’s violent death. Big mistake. Lawrence transforms, breaks out of the asylum and reenacts the climax of the far superior “An American Werewolf in London” from three decades ago.

Both films share Rick Baker as the creature maker but the combination of actual physical make-up with digital effects denies the creature any semblance of humanity. He moves and roars like a videogame creation. There is no sense of menace, of true horror and tragedy. The attacks come fast and quick, registering barely as a blur. Director Joe Johnston depends excessively on sound to deliver the chills and thrills. But the booming soundtrack and Danny Elfman’s overbearing score end up pummeling the audience into submission.

Del Toro’s and Hopkins’ tone-deaf acting do not help matters either. They look bored, weary, uninterested, as if the countless reshoots had taken their toll on them. There is no emotional investment in these characters which makes it rather difficult to care for them and for the entire film.

CAFE'S RATING SYSTEM:
FOUR SHOTS: The perfect brew
THREE SHOTS: A decent brew
TWO SHOTS: A weak brew
ONE SHOT: Tastes like tar

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