Written by Vickie
February 12, 2010
Benicio Del Toro doesn’t really belong in a period film. Especially not this surprisingly dull and needlessly gory retelling of the classic horror tale that’s screaming out for a much more engaging lead.
As Lawrence Talbot, a Shakespearean actor who returns to his family’s Gothic country estate in the English countryside to investigate the mysterious murder-by-disemboweling of his brother, Del Toro is wooden and flat and woefully uninteresting. His American accent is laughably explained with a throwaway line about being sent overseas to live with his aunt (pronounced “ont”) as a child.
Things don’t improve much once he’s bitten by a rampaging werewolf amid a gypsy slaughter, and his performance careens towards over-the-top camp when the full moon emerges, transforming him into the titular eviscerator.
As Lawrence struggles with the bloody reality of his involuntary alter ego (namely waking up the morning after a full moon, covered in blood), his father – mildly deranged Talbot patriarch Sir John (Anthony Hopkins) – seems curiously delighted by this transformational development; comely Gwen (Emily Blunt), Lawrence’s late brother’s fiancée, finds herself drawn into the family drama; and steely inspector Abberline (Hugo Weaving), circles the proceedings, waiting to pounce because he believes Lawrence isn’t so much a monster as a homicidal maniac pretending to have a lycanthropic affliction.
But, for the most part, not much happens. The film is one scene after another of someone skulking in dark hallways, then Lawrence turning into a werewolf, then some sort of horrific killing involving the strewing of innards, then back to square one. The story itself isn’t terribly engaging, and there aren’t any real surprises hidden within it.
From what I could tell, director Joe Johnston (Jumanji) tried to make The Wolfman in the image of its classic predecessor, what with all the almost-black-and-white cinematography and moody lighting and overwhelming Gothic-ness of the set design. But by simultaneously sinking his teeth into the graphic violence and gore of more modern-day horror films, his homage kind of falls apart. It’s an unfortunate mixing of genres – the see-nothing films of the 1930s, and the see-every-last-ounce-of-dismemberment of more recent offerings.
FX wizard Rick Baker handles all the werewolf-ing and, though today’s digital effects add a little something new to the werewolfiness, it kind of felt like a retread of his work in An American Werewolf in London. There was nothing revolutionary about Lawrence when he’s in full werewolf mode and, in fact, the special effects don’t really gel – there’s the high-tech metamorphosis, followed by the decidedly low-tech glued-on hair and latex.
Much in the same way that Lawrence grapples with his identity, so did this film struggle with what it wanted to be. And by trying to be all things to all people, it winds up falling short for everyone.
