The Wolfman

Hmm, I have restarted writing this review three times as although I think I know how I feel about this version of an old classic; I’m just in two minds about the best way to describe it to an audience anticipating the mother of all scare-a-thons.

Story-wise, The Wolfman doesn’t really need much of an introduction, having appeared in one form or another every decade or so in our movie theatres, and the story is one of legend as much as Dracula or Frankenstein, so telling you a man that gets bitten, but not killed, by a werewolf will turn into one himself every full moon will not be news to anyone, but still, so the story goes here, again.

Given that the basic story is already known by everybody that is likely to want to either see the film or read the review of it, it falls to the likes of yours truly to merely focus on everything else.

Anticipation from a personal perspective was high. If you wrack your brains for a minute or two and try to think about who you would choose to play the part of a half man half beast, rip your throat out and roar at you character, could you really come up with better casting than Benicio Del Toro?

Well, you’d guess not. So why wasn’t The Wolfman therefore more of a classic than it turned out to be? It’s not as simple as putting your finger on one element of the film and no-one is solely to blame for its lacklustre finishes. Pretty to look at? Sure. There is no doubt about the setting. The film’s looks, if anything, outweigh everything else. The first thing that nagged at me was the level of paranoia. The darkness of the film’s appearance is not backed up by any ominous oppression from the script or the cast of players. I was expecting a tragedy, a lesson in wrung-out soul-wrenching. In short, I expected to be moved, and I wasn’t. Not really.

Del Toro doesn’t appear to be as moved by this as the audience would like. This is not a comment on his ability, but more his commitment to a role that needs to be dragged out of him. He just doesn’t come across as one who has firstly suffered from events beyond his control and secondly, become tortured by his own actions.

Anthony Hopkins does his best with his role of Sir John Talbot, but his script is embarrassing and predictable at times. The final main player is Emily Blunt who, as beautiful and talented as she undoubtedly is, also fails to move the audience, given her own set of tragic circumstances. The three main characters, as a whole fail to engage and convince us of their dreadful and legacy. You simply don’t feel it coming through the screen at you.

Of all the acting on show, the one bright star is Hugo Weaving as Abberline, who is not afforded the screen time his performance deserves.

In all, a bit of a disappointment that never reaches its lofty expectations. The opportunity to re-tell this grand story appears to fall short in all departments, aside from the cinematography, which was the high point in a sea of unfortunate averageness.