Synopsis: A family at a remote farmhouse is attacked by an unseen animal, but as the night progresses, the father transforms into something unrecognizable.
Stars: Christopher Abbott, Julia Garner, Sam Jaeger, Matilda Firth, Benedict Hardie, Ben Prendergast, Zac Chandler, Beatriz Romilly, Milo Cawthorn
Director: Leigh Whannell
Rated: R
Running Length: 103 minutes
Review:
Werewolves have howled across silver screens since the earliest days of film, from Lon Chaney Jr.’s tragic Larry Talbot in the original 1941 Universal classic through Paul Naschy’s cult favorite Spanish-language series, John Landis’s groundbreaking An American Werewolf in London to more recent modern twists like Dog Soldiers and Ginger Snaps. Though they attempted a lavish and old-fashioned, if lukewarm, remake in 2010 with Benicio del Toro starring as the hairy creature, Universal went back to the drawing board, partnering with Blumhouse after their ill-fated Dark Universe was sent into a Black Hole, never to return.
Now, emerging from a decade of development hell is the latest reimagining of The Wolf Man. This fresh interpretation strips away the definite article in the title and the gothic trappings of its predecessors. Trading Victorian England for the misty and mysterious forests of Oregon, the Univeral/Blumhouse Wolf Man claws at the boundaries of horror and domestic drama, attempting to reconcile its snarling creature-feature heritage with a more nuanced story about family estrangement, and identity, finding that modern anxieties lurk beneath familiar supernatural terror. Directed by Leigh Whannell, with a screenplay co-written by Whannell and Corbett Tuck, Whannell’s version seeks to modernize this werewolf tale but doesn’t quite settle on its identity—wavering between atmospheric homage and introspective character study without fully satisfying the demands of either.
In a role Ryan Gosling had initially signed on for, Christopher Abbott (Possessor) plays Blake, a beleaguered father who relocates his family from San Francisco, returning to his childhood home in Oregon with his career-driven wife Charlotte (Julia Garner, The Assistant) and their daughter Ginger (Matilda Firth, Subservience). Inheriting the property following his father’s mysterious disappearance and eventual declaration of death, Blake is unsure what memories of being brought up by a single father, an alpha male, will rise to the surface.
However, en route to the remote compound, the family is involved in a road incident with a werewolf that leaves Blake wounded. Chased through the woods by the creature back to Blake’s family home, they’ve barely gotten the lights working when Charlotte notices the bite mark on Blake’s arm. Then one of his teeth falls out. What follows is a grim unraveling as Blake transforms—not just physically but in ways that compromise the already fragile bonds that surround his family.
As a man who had been wrestling with unspoken demons before supernatural forces enter the equation, Abbott creates Blake as a wounded soul. The subtlety the actor brings to his role—all of his roles, actually —lends more depth to a script that often refuses to clarify where it’s going and why. It’s frustratingly sparse on details and sidesteps exploring ambitious themes in favor of fleeting thrills, so it’s up to Abbott to show us the mounting horror of someone losing control and the grief of that transformation.
Unfortunately, Garner’s Charlotte feels disconnected from the proceedings, as if she exists in her own Dark Universe apart from her fellow actors. Treated as an accessory rather than an integral force, her scenes with Abbott lack the emotional foundation needed to sell their strained relationship. The script teases intriguing layers—a marriage strained by ambition, a mother disconnected from her child—but never commits to exploring them. This detachment undermines any emotional stakes, leaving young Firth to emerge as the film’s emotional centerpoint, delivering a remarkably convincing portrayal of a child confronting unimaginable horror.
Whannell’s journey from Saw screenwriter to director has shown increasing command of tension and visual storytelling through Upgrade and, what got him the Wolf Man job, the impressive remake of The Invisible Man in 2020. The isolated farmhouse setting provides ample opportunity for shadowy scares, but the tension dissipates as the story falters. The decision to set the film in a single location is perfect for the wolf-and-mouse sequences and demonstrates technical skill, but ultimately limits the movie’s scope and impact. Also, while Stefan Duscio’s cinematography offered some terrifying glimpses of furry fright, dim projection in some theaters (like at my unfortunate screening) may leave audiences squinting for details.
Arjen Tuiten’s practical effects deserve admiration, but the full extent of his werewolf design is often shrouded in frustrating obscurity (that again could be the projection at our theater) or shown so quickly that we never get time to absorb the craftsmanship in the pieces. Sarah Voon’s costume choices are peculiar—particularly Charlotte’s forced “Oregon local” wardrobe that reads more like a sitcom fish-out-of-water joke than organic character development. Benjamin Wallfisch’s (Blade Runner 2049) score, typically a standout in genre films, feels recycled and uninspired, an afterthought rather than a driving force.
What makes Wolf Man most intriguing is also what makes it ultimately falter: its attempt to juggle two competing narratives. On one hand, it’s a deeply personal story about a man’s struggle with inherited demons and familial estrangement. On the other, it reaches for the visceral thrills of a traditional creature feature, complete with snarling attacks and desperate barricades that eventually have to be moved to escape. Unfortunately, these threads never find a comfortable place to overlap, rarely exploring psychological horror while delivering monster movie thrills in the same breath.
There’s enough here for horror fans and Universal Monsters devotees to warrant a viewing, though perhaps not a rush to theaters (especially on a weekend when The Brutalist is expanding to more theaters). Whannell and Tuck deserve credit for attempting to bring a fresh perspective to a familiar legend, though. The small cast and intimate setting could have lent the film emotional weight, but the lack of commitment to its ideas renders the effort frustratingly hollow. Though the film offers moments of genuine tension and some well-crafted scares, it ultimately feels like a missed opportunity to truly reinvent this classic movie monster for modern audiences.
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