The Wolfman
The Wolfman released just when I was in the right mood for a werewolf flick. My money didn’t go to complete waste; in fact, I would actually stamp the movie as enjoyable. I do not, however, like my films stuffed with moronic romance.
Universal Pictures’ The Wolfman, starring the likes of Anthony Hopkins and Hugo Weaving, reboots the 1941 horror flick. Joe Johnston directs a remake dripping with wolfishly good action. Too bad the movie stutters over beastly romance that perfectly complements your sugary Valentine’s Day memories.
I craned my neck to absorb the breadth of the movie screen—an inconvenience that opening day’s limited seating and lonely front row availability guaranteed—and as I watched the rushing colors and headache-inducing action that made my eyes cross, I couldn’t help but smile just as much as I cringed. Despite whether you’ve witnessed the original film, 2010’s The Wolfman splays like a guts-and-brains mess. Lawrence Talbot (Benicio Del Toro), whose brother Ben recently tangled with a fabled werewolf creature and wound up dead and gross, returns to his home estate where his aloof father, Sir John (Anthony Hopkins), resides. Ben’s widow and beast whisperer, Gwen Conliffe (Emily Blunt), returns from London and mournfully gathers her late husband’s effects, but when Lawrence announces his oath to avenge his brother’s demise by seeking whatever or whoever went Picasso with his innards, she sticks around, apparently.
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