The Wolfman, a review. Or, why Amoir continues to hate humanity.

16 Feb

There is a special place in the eternal yawning chasm of sorrow (also referred to by doctors as my heart) for Monster films. Men in cheap rubber suits, the cgi-equivalents of stick figures and even H.R. Gigers alienated view of ladyparts: all of them delight me. I suspect that when I’m an old, deranged hag sumo wrestling for smokes and lattes, these monster films will sustain me in ways that cat food cannot.

Naturally, the minute I heard there was a remake/re-imagining of the Wolfman I was all over it like Oprah on a lady with a face ripped off by a monkey. As I considered it an important film, I chose my favourite city cinema, a place so decrepit, so mired in the drab slack of the 80s that crossing its threshold will transform your iPod into a Sony Walkman. When you sink into the chairs (which have no cup holders or padded armrests), the air expells from the foam and vinyl cushion underneath like a fart. In short, it’s fucking awesome.

I have certain expectations of monster films: I want them to be crappy, have bad dialogue, crappy special effects, paper-thin plots and acting so bad it leaves bite marks on the scenery. Art schmart, I want shrieking women and men standing stoic in the face of insanity dropping a hot load in the laws of nature’s face.

But the Wolfman is bad. Really bad. So bad not even Lady Gaga can solemnly declare its pomposity as art.

There is little point in even dissecting, considering or summarising the story. I imagine this choice reflects the writing process used by the script team, which was most likely comprised of a bunch of 100 spectacularly retarded monkeys in their 25th year. Dialogue sinks without a trace, characters remain woefully underwritten and tension limps along like a three-legged dog. Called Lucky.

Crucial to a monster film is the monster-suit. I’m not asking for brilliantly complex – Cloverfield is an oozing example of a derivative, boring monster designed by committee – in fact, I’d revel in hokey. But the wolf beast is comprised of some $12 black shag-pile bath mats from Ikea.

Part bath mat, part sham wow: all beast.

And then there’s the acting. Benicio del Toro looks like he’s in the middle of digesting a particularly bad meal, Art Malik used his hair as a secondary character and no one appears to have told poor Emily Blunt they were actually shooting.  “Oh, yes, the read through: blah, blah, my beloved has died and I’m now falling for his brother. Le sigh. I wonder what’s for elevenses?”

"Oh, so you flour then dip in eggs and crumbs......what? Filming what?"

You know your film is in dire fucking straits when the film’s baddie is Papa Smurf.

Oh Gargamel....

And when he transforms? He looks like a pissed off Ewok. Sure I could have prefaced that with a spoiler but it’s the Wolfman. You’re only going in to watch it if your hairshirt is at the cleaners and you need a new way to inflict unremitting misery unto yourself.

But hey, why so glum, pilgrim? All’s not lost. Why, here’s a photo of Benicio frotting a roof ornament.

A-wooooooooooooooooooo!

5 Responses to “The Wolfman, a review. Or, why Amoir continues to hate humanity.”

  1. faithh February 16, 2010 at 10:48 pm #

    Well if we can’t enjoy the film at least we get to enjoy the review! Beeeeeeautifully written, almost glad the film was so bad or we might have missed out! 😉

  2. hackpacker February 16, 2010 at 10:55 pm #

    Oh that’s a shame. Emily Blunt’s name writes it’s own review doesn’t it? Haven’t seen anything vaguely sharp from her. Benicio probably has to pay the rent but he seems miscast (perhaps he should have been the monster and William H Macy could have been the untransformed man).
    Is it all just a cynical atttempt at swinging the vampire fans into the cinema between Twilights?

  3. overstimulated February 16, 2010 at 11:10 pm #

    I want to believe the film was made with love, Georgie-boy, just by the fact they didn’t try to modernise it or bring in steampunk influences.

    We totally need William H Macy as a monster of some description. Actually, I need to do a post on Monster Movies that could do with being remade and recast.

  4. Adam Ford February 19, 2010 at 3:31 am #

    oh i don’t know… steampunk werewolf sounds kind of cool.

    macy as an emaciated frankenstein.

  5. Dom Romeo April 6, 2010 at 12:36 pm #

    You very much need to hear the song ‘Cheepnis’ by Frank Zappa and the Mothers, from the 1973 album ‘Roxy & Elsewhere’.

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