Tag Archives: lycanthrope

Silver Bullet (1985) – Full Moon, Half Thrills: A retrospective

10 Friday Oct 2025

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“It started in May. In a small town. And every month after that whenever the moon was full… it came back.”

Dig into the horror aisle at your local video store and you’ll find Silver Bullet, a werewolf yarn soaked in King mythology and slathered in small-town Americana. Directed by Daniel Attias, this 1985 adaptation of Stephen King’s novella Cycle of the Werewolf promises fur, fangs, and full moons—but only partially delivers the bite.

The sleepy town of Tarker’s Mills is rocked by a string of grisly murders. Whispers of a beast grow louder as the body count rises, and while most townsfolk hide indoors after dark, one brave boy in a souped-up motorised wheelchair dares to face the lurking horror head-on. The premise has all the makings of a great ‘80s creature feature, and with King himself penning the screenplay, the setup drips with lore and that unmistakable New England dread.

But here’s the rub: Silver Bullet is a film forever caught in the shadows. On one side, it wants to be a heartfelt coming-of-age tale, steeped in nostalgia. On the other, it reaches for werewolf horror glory. In the end, it struggles to rise above being a middle-of-the-road monster movie with more bark than bite. The creature effects—courtesy of Carlo Rambaldi—are clunky by modern eyes, and even back in ’85 they looked a little tame compared to the lycanthrope heavyweights of The Howling and An American Werewolf in London.

Still, there’s fun to be had. Corey Haim delivers a charming performance as Marty, the young hero on wheels, while Gary Busey goes full throttle as Uncle Red, equal parts lovable and unhinged. Their chemistry injects life into the otherwise plodding hunt for the beast. And that climax, when silver meets fur under the glow of the moon, has just enough punch to remind you why werewolf movies never go out of style.

Looking back four decades later, Silver Bullet is soaked in nostalgia, saturated in mythology, and baked in King. But it never quite breaks free to bask in the moonlight. It’s not the best werewolf movie of the ‘80s, not by a long shot—but for horror fans prowling the aisles in search of VHS-era chills, it’s still worth a late-night rental.

📼 Staff Pick!
“Stephen King writes it. Gary Busey chews it. A kid in a turbo wheelchair vs. a werewolf—how can you not at least take this home for the weekend?”

  • Saul Muerte

25 Years Later: Ginger Snaps Still Has Bite

31 Thursday Jul 2025

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John Fawcett’s Ginger Snaps didn’t just scratch the surface of werewolf mythology—it tore it open with claws bared and blood pumping. Released in 2000, this Canadian cult classic has only grown more potent with age, remaining one of the most subversive and emotionally intelligent horror films of its era. On its 25th anniversary, it stands as a feral, feminist reimagining of the werewolf tale—one that howls with rage, fear, and liberation.

Set in the eerily sterile suburb of Bailey Downs, the film follows death-obsessed sisters Ginger and Brigitte Fitzgerald (played ferociously by Katharine Isabelle and Emily Perkins), whose bond is as intense as it is co-dependent. Their world fractures when Ginger is attacked by a lycanthropic creature the very night she gets her first period. Suddenly, the dreaded “curse” of womanhood becomes something monstrous—literally.

The brilliance of Ginger Snaps lies in how it treats this transformation not just as a horror trope, but as an allegory for puberty, burgeoning sexuality, and the loss of control over one’s body. It’s body horror with a purpose. Rather than using menstruation as a throwaway symbol, the film makes it central to the werewolf metaphor, equating monthly cycles with cycles of aggression, lust, and emotional volatility. In doing so, Ginger Snaps flips the male-dominated script of traditional lycanthropy and centres it around the female experience—raw, honest, and terrifying.

Fawcett and screenwriter Karen Walton crafted something rare: a genre film that respects the complexity of girlhood. There’s no glossing over the grotesque. Ginger’s transformation isn’t romanticised—it’s sticky, hormonal, confusing, and violent. Yet the emotional core never slips away, thanks to the powerhouse pairing of Isabelle and Perkins. Isabelle gives Ginger a defiant sexual energy laced with danger, while Perkins plays Brigitte with quiet resolve, watching her sister spiral into predatory chaos. Their dynamic anchors the film even as it spirals into full-on carnage.

What also sets Ginger Snaps apart is its refusal to give easy answers. Brigitte’s desperate attempts to “cure” Ginger—through science, through loyalty, through love—reflect the painful reality of growing apart, of watching someone you care about become a version of themselves you no longer recognise. The climax isn’t just about killing the beast—it’s about letting go.

In the decades since its release, Ginger Snaps has rightfully earned a reputation as a trailblazing entry in horror cinema. It paved the way for more female-led and body-conscious genre films like Teeth, Raw, and Jennifer’s Body. But few have matched its emotional intelligence, wicked sense of humour, or unflinching approach to the terrors of adolescence.

The Prognosis:

25 years on, Ginger Snaps is still snarling, still bleeding, and still refusing to conform. And thank God for that.

  • Saul Muerte

“Werewolves (2024) Howls Loud, But Barely Scratches the Surface”

16 Wednesday Apr 2025

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They will hunt you. Unfortunately, so will cliché.

Steven C. Miller’s Werewolves imagines a dystopia where a supermoon-triggered genetic mutation has turned swathes of the human population into feral beasts. It’s been a year since the initial outbreak wiped out nearly a billion people, but as another supermoon looms, the lycanthropic carnage returns—and so does Frank Grillo, flexing his jawline and gritted-teeth charisma in what amounts to The Purge: Lupine Edition.

Despite a premise with potential for social commentary or even fresh horror spectacle, Werewolves settles for the path of least resistance. What we get is a series of repetitive chase sequences, mid-tier digital werewolf effects, and characters who rarely rise above exposition delivery systems or action-fodder. The plot—two scientists failing to prevent another outbreak, then fleeing to a family home—never truly builds tension or stakes beyond the expected, and the dialogue might as well have been generated by an algorithm trained on testosterone and B-movie one-liners.

Grillo, as always, commits with gravelly intensity, but even he seems to be running on fumes. He does his best to anchor the chaos, but his character is paper-thin, and the emotional beats are forced. It’s the kind of role he’s played better—and with more bite—in other low-budget action-horror hybrids.

Thematically, there’s a whisper of something interesting: a post-apocalyptic world grappling with genetic fate, mob violence, and the loss of humanity. But these ideas are brushed aside in favour of blood-splattered shootouts and tough-guy posturing. The result is a film that never quite decides whether it wants to be a creature feature or a survival thriller—and ends up being neither effectively.

The Prognosis:

Werewolves isn’t without a pulse. There are moments—mostly during nighttime attacks or glimpses of cities overrun—that hint at a more engaging, visceral film. But they’re quickly buried beneath generic set pieces and uninspired direction. The werewolves themselves, while serviceable in design, are too often relegated to background threats, more like cannon fodder than apex predators.

In the end, Werewolves howls loud but rarely lands a bite.

  • Saul Muerte

“Legend of the Werewolf” (1975) – A Gothic Horror with Visual Flair but Uneven Bite

30 Sunday Mar 2025

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Freddie Francis’ Legend of the Werewolf (1975) is an atmospheric entry in the world of lycanthropic horror, offering a blend of Gothic visual style and the usual blood-soaked thrills of a werewolf tale. Set in 19th century France, it introduces us to a feral boy who, raised in a travelling circus, undergoes a chilling transformation as he grows into adulthood. His fate is sealed when a grisly murder sets off a chain of events, leading to a bloodthirsty rampage that culminates in a vicious pursuit across Paris.

The film opens with a certain rawness, beginning with a young, mute boy found in the woods by a circus troupe. This “wolf boy,” as they call him, is put on display, his feral nature captivating the audience while unsettling anyone who sees him. As he grows older, the boy, played by the imposing David Rintoul, slowly becomes a creature of terror, tormented by his animal instincts. This descent into savagery is fascinating to watch, especially under Francis’ directorial eye, known for his command over visual horror. The atmosphere is rich, and the sets create a lovely period feel, heightened by the interplay of shadow and light that Francis has become renowned for.

What elevates the film for me—despite its shortcomings—is the presence of Peter Cushing. Cushing, as always, brings gravitas to the role of the determined police surgeon, a man who becomes the obsessive pursuer of the wolfman. Even when the story meanders or becomes predictable, Cushing’s charisma and commitment to the role inject it with life, as only he can. His role isn’t expansive, but his screen time is always a treat, especially in a genre film like this one, where his presence provides a certain sense of respectability and class.

That said, Legend of the Werewolf does have its issues. The pacing feels uneven, and while the visual elements are appealing, the narrative stumbles in parts. The transformation scenes, while not without their intrigue, lack the oomph that might have made this a standout entry in the werewolf genre. The character development is relatively shallow, and the final act, while tense, feels like it lacks the emotional resonance of some other lycanthrope stories. The script offers little depth, focusing more on the physical horror rather than the psychological torment of its characters, something that could have given the film more weight.

The romance element between the werewolf and a prostitute, which forms a significant part of the film, feels underdeveloped, making the tension between love, obsession, and violence seem somewhat contrived. This weakens the central narrative, as the werewolf’s descent into madness could have been more nuanced.

That said, there is still enjoyment to be found in Legend of the Werewolf, particularly for those who appreciate period horror and are fond of Francis’ visual flair. It’s a decent 70s horror outing that ultimately serves as a solid but not spectacular entry into the genre.

A Brief About Tyburn Films Productions Ltd.

Tyburn Films Productions Ltd. was a British film production company that specialised in low-budget horror films during the 1970s, often dealing with themes of the supernatural, the macabre, and the grotesque. While the company didn’t boast a vast library of films, the few it did produce left a significant impact on the genre, particularly in the UK.

Tyburn was founded by Michael Klinger, who had a vision of reviving classic horror with a more contemporary twist. The films produced by Tyburn were often heavily reliant on atmosphere and shock value, something that perfectly fit into the popular tastes of the 1970s, which was a golden era for horror cinema. Legend of the Werewolf is an example of Tyburn’s signature style—more mood-driven than plot-driven, with its focus on visuals and atmosphere. Tyburn’s other notable films include The Ghoul (1975) and The House That Vanished (1973), which, like Legend of the Werewolf, combined old-fashioned Gothic horror tropes with modern sensibilities. Tyburn Films was not in the business of subtlety, often leaning into lurid exploitation and grotesque imagery to make their mark.

While the company didn’t last long, and its filmography remains niche in the broader world of horror, Tyburn’s contributions to the genre continue to be appreciated by fans of vintage, atmospheric horror films.

  • Saul Muerte

A Howl of Sophistication: Revisiting Wolf (1994)

16 Monday Dec 2024

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Mike Nichols’ Wolf offers a refreshingly mature and layered take on the werewolf mythos, eschewing the usual gore-laden spectacle for a story steeped in psychological tension, power dynamics, and human frailty. Released in 1994, this film remains a unique entry in the genre, owing much to its stellar cast and Nichols’ seasoned direction.

Jack Nicholson commands the screen as Will Randall, a middle-aged book editor whose life takes a supernatural turn after a wolf bite. Nicholson’s performance brims with subtle menace, capturing Will’s transformation with restraint and depth. It’s a testament to his range that he can imbue the character with both primal ferocity and wry charm, making this a werewolf we root for as much as we fear.

Michelle Pfeiffer is magnetic as Laura Alden, bringing a sharp wit and vulnerability to her role as the love interest caught in the storm of Will’s transformation. Her chemistry with Nicholson elevates the film, adding a touch of sensuality to the story. James Spader delivers a delightfully slimy performance as Stewart Swinton, Will’s duplicitous protégé whose ambition sets him on a collision course with his boss. Christopher Plummer’s turn as the calculating Raymond Alden rounds out the cast, his gravitas lending weight to the corporate intrigue that simmers beneath the surface.

Nichols approaches the age-old tale of lycanthropy with a refined touch, framing the werewolf curse as an allegory for midlife crises and primal urges buried beneath layers of societal decorum. The film’s central themes of power, betrayal, and rediscovery are enhanced by its corporate setting, where the hunt for dominance plays out not in forests but in boardrooms.

The cinematography by Giuseppe Rotunno is striking, particularly the way he uses shadow and light to emphasise Will’s growing connection to the animal within. Ennio Morricone’s score complements the mood perfectly, adding an eerie elegance to the proceedings.

However, Wolf is not without its shortcomings. The pacing falters at times, and the climactic showdown, while entertaining, leans into genre tropes that feel at odds with the film’s otherwise restrained tone. Additionally, the film’s blend of horror and drama doesn’t always coalesce seamlessly, leaving some moments feeling disjointed.

Despite these flaws, Wolf remains a compelling and underappreciated gem. It’s a film that dares to take a sophisticated approach to a well-trodden myth, exploring the beast within with intelligence and style. For fans of Nicholson, Pfeiffer, or anyone seeking a thoughtful twist on werewolf lore, Wolf still has plenty of bite.

  • Saul Muerte

A Company of Wolves (1984) – A Gothic Dreamscape of Mysticism and Repressed Desires

15 Sunday Sep 2024

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Neil Jordan’s A Company of Wolves, released in 1984, stands as one of the most hauntingly atmospheric and uniquely crafted films of the 1980s. A dark and layered reimagining of classic fairy tales, the film uses the framework of Little Red Riding Hood as its narrative core, but with a heavy infusion of gothic mysticism, repressed sexuality, and lycanthropy. On its 40th anniversary, the film remains a surreal and potent exploration of the dangers lurking beneath the surface of our childhood fantasies—where innocent fairy tales are transformed into symbols of desire, fear, and transformation.

Based on Angela Carter’s short story collection The Bloody Chamber, A Company of Wolves is much more than a simple retelling of familiar folklore. The film serves as an allegorical dreamscape where the lines between reality and fantasy are constantly blurred. Its story unfolds within the dream of a young girl, Rosaleen (Sarah Patterson), whose journey into womanhood is marked by her encounters with predatory wolves and seductive strangers. The film uses its dream logic to create a fragmented yet intensely symbolic narrative, one that intertwines fairy tale elements with horror, sexuality, and coming-of-age anxieties.

At the heart of A Company of Wolves is its hypnotic and lush mystical imagery. Jordan’s direction, paired with Anton Furst’s stunning production design, creates a world that feels untethered from time and space. The forests are dark and ominous, filled with twisted trees and fog, while the wolves themselves are both terrifying and strangely alluring. The cinematography casts a dreamlike haze over the film, with colors bleeding into one another and light shifting between warm and cold hues, as though the entire world is in flux, teetering between waking and dreaming. Each frame is imbued with a deep sense of mystery and danger, a visual representation of the latent desires and fears that simmer beneath the surface.

One of the film’s most intriguing aspects is its exploration of repressed sexuality. The wolves in the film are not merely monsters but representations of carnal desire and the dangerous allure of the unknown. Throughout the film, Rosaleen’s encounters with these wolves serve as metaphors for her sexual awakening. From the early warning from her grandmother (played by the ever-formidable Angela Lansbury) to “never stray from the path” to her later seduction by a mysterious huntsman, the narrative suggests that the wolves are not to be feared solely for their physical danger but also for the way they symbolize forbidden temptation. The film’s most iconic transformation scenes, where men morph into wolves, often in grotesque and visceral ways, can be seen as representations of the animalistic instincts that lurk beneath the human facade—instincts tied directly to the body and its desires.

The casting of Sarah Patterson as Rosaleen was a masterstroke. Patterson embodies the wide-eyed innocence of a young girl on the cusp of womanhood, but as the film progresses, her performance reveals a deeper understanding of the conflicting emotions Rosaleen experiences. Her transformation from naive child to a woman who willingly faces the wolf, unafraid of the consequences, is subtle but profound. Angela Lansbury, in her role as the grandmother, offers a voice of caution and tradition, representing the old-world view of sexuality as something dangerous and to be avoided. Yet even her warnings carry a sense of intrigue and danger, as though she herself understands the power of what she fears.

The Company of Wolves is also notable for how it subverts the traditional fairy tale. Jordan and Carter’s screenplay takes the familiar story of Little Red Riding Hood and turns it on its head, using it to explore the psychological underpinnings of fear, desire, and power. In this version, the wolf is not merely a symbol of male predation but also of liberation from societal constraints. By the film’s end, Rosaleen no longer fears the wolf but embraces her connection to it, suggesting a merging of the human and animalistic, the conscious and unconscious. This twist transforms the film into something far more complex than a simple tale of good versus evil—it becomes an exploration of the dualities within us all, particularly in the realm of sexuality and identity.

The fusion of lycanthropy with the fairy tale genre is one of the film’s most original and striking features. While werewolves had been a staple of horror cinema for decades by 1984, A Company of Wolves does not treat lycanthropy as merely a monstrous affliction. Instead, it is a deeply symbolic and transformative process, one tied to the anxieties of growing up and the inherent fear of losing control over one’s body and desires. In the film, becoming a wolf is not only a curse but also a means of shedding societal expectations and embracing the primal aspects of one’s nature. This inversion of the traditional werewolf mythos adds to the film’s richness and depth, making it a standout in both the horror and fantasy genres.

Forty years on, A Company of Wolves remains an enchanting, thought-provoking, and visually stunning film that delves deep into the psyche, exploring themes that are as relevant today as they were in 1984. It may not have the universal appeal of mainstream fairy tale adaptations, but its power lies in its ability to challenge and unsettle, asking the audience to confront the darkness within themselves. Its mystical imagery, potent symbolism, and daring take on repressed sexuality make it a film that still resonates, even after all these years.

For those looking for a fairy tale that isn’t afraid to reveal its teeth, A Company of Wolves is an unforgettable cinematic experience—a journey into the dark heart of human desire wrapped in a chilling yet beautiful package.

  • Saul Muerte

La Loba (1965): A Howling Tale of Female Power in Mexican Horror’s Golden Era

07 Saturday Sep 2024

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Mexican cinema has a long and rich tradition of genre films, especially within the realm of horror. From the early days of celluloid, Mexican filmmakers have embraced the macabre, drawing on a rich cultural tapestry of folklore and superstition to create uniquely haunting tales. La Loba (1965) is a film that continues this tradition, though it does so with a particular focus on a female antagonist—a rarity in the male-dominated world of horror cinema at the time. While not a masterpiece, La Loba offers an intriguing glimpse into the evolving landscape of Mexican genre films, and the power of a female lead who embodies both terror and tragedy.

Directed by Rafael Baledón, La Loba is a werewolf tale with a twist. It tells the story of Clarisa (Kitty de Hoyos), a woman cursed with the ability to transform into a wolf. Her struggle with this dark gift is the driving force of the film, as she battles both the monstrous nature within her and the societal forces that seek to control her. Clarisa’s duality—her simultaneous victimhood and villainy—makes her a compelling character, and one that audiences can connect with on an emotional level.

Kitty de Hoyos’ performance as Clarisa is the film’s standout element. She imbues the character with a sense of vulnerability that is rare in horror antagonists, particularly those of the era. Clarisa’s curse is portrayed not just as a physical transformation, but as a deeply psychological burden that isolates her from the world. De Hoyos captures this inner turmoil with nuance, making Clarisa a character who is both feared and pitied.

The film’s focus on a female antagonist is notable within the context of Mexican horror, where women were often relegated to the roles of victims or secondary characters. La Loba breaks this mold by placing a woman at the center of the horror, not as a damsel in distress, but as the source of the terror itself. This inversion of traditional gender roles adds a layer of complexity to the narrative, making La Loba a film that resonates with contemporary audiences as well as those of its time.

However, despite its intriguing premise and strong central performance, La Loba falls short in several areas. The film’s pacing is uneven, with long stretches of exposition that slow down the narrative. The special effects, while ambitious, are dated even by 1960s standards, and the werewolf transformation scenes lack the impact that the story demands. Additionally, the film’s exploration of Clarisa’s inner conflict, while commendable, feels underdeveloped, leaving the audience wanting more depth and resolution.

That said, La Loba is still a significant entry in the canon of Mexican horror. It stands as a testament to the creativity and resourcefulness of Mexican filmmakers, who, despite limited budgets and resources, were able to craft films that left a lasting impact on the genre. La Loba may not be the most polished or frightening werewolf film, but it is a film that dares to tell a different kind of story—one that places a woman’s experience at the forefront of the horror.

The film also fits into a broader movement within Mexican genre cinema during the 1960s, a time when filmmakers were pushing the boundaries of what horror could be. Films like El Espejo de la Bruja (1962) and El Vampiro (1957) laid the groundwork for this exploration of psychological and supernatural horror, and La Loba continues in this vein, albeit with a more intimate, character-driven focus.

The Prognosis:

La Loba earns its place in the pantheon of Mexican horror not for its scares, but for its willingness to explore the complexities of its female lead. It’s a film that reflects the evolving role of women in horror, both on and off the screen, and it remains a fascinating piece of cinematic history. For fans of Mexican horror and those interested in the genre’s treatment of female characters, La Loba is a film worth revisiting.

  • Saul Muerte

Movie Review: Hellhounds (2024)

25 Thursday Jan 2024

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Hell hath no fury like a woman and a biker scorned.

On paper Hellhounds is the stuff of a second rate horror novelists dream, building on a tried formula of werewolves and bikers. Throw in the mix a group of bounty hunters and some questionable members of the constituency and you’ve got a potboiler of a film.

Where one pack of werewolves bearing the films’ titular name, they are pitted against a fanatical order of werewolf hunters known as… wait for it… Silver Bullets. It’s comic genius.

That there though ends the line of fantasy and the reality when it sets in sadly lacks in meeting up to the premises potential. Not that you can squarely judge this on the dreams and aspirations writer, director Robert Conway places on his vision, but the budget and the effects are left wanting and the acting is too complacent to attach oneself to the films’ plot.

There are some moments of brutal exposition that can put the hairs on the end and the encounters albeit few and far between take some of the scenes and push them to the boundaries of what was possible given the restrictions. Ultimately though, this is a middle of the road affair without any real known destination.

The Prognosis:

This could have been so much more with a bit more thought and action placed behind it and admittedly some more bucks and better talent in front of the screen.

There are little to no scares and one can’t help but hope and wish that some practical fx were placed to rally up the lycanthrope factor.

  • Saul Muerte

Hellhounds is currently available on PRIME from to rent or buy.

Movie review: Wolfkin (2023)

09 Wednesday Aug 2023

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I’ve always been lured in to lycanthrope movies, perhaps because they generally arc back to a tormented soul, cursed by a torturous, shape-shifting, life-altering event that threatens to rip apart the physical self in order to destroy the last ebbs of humanity.

So, upon hearing that Luxembourger film director, Jacques Molitar was offering up a fresh slice of the werewolf folk story, I was gripped with eager anticipation.

Elaine (Louise Manteau) is a single mother, following the disappearance of the father after a naked romp during the films prologue (typical guy, right?)

Cut to 8 years or so later, and Elaine’s son, Martin, is starting to present some unusual physical and psychological traits that lead him to biting a schoolfriend. Shocked and ashamed, Elaine intends to find out the root cause of this odd behaviour and heads back to the paternal grandparents in search for answers, who I might add are significantly well off, casting an automatic divide that juxtaposes the rough suburban lifestyle that Elaine and Martin have been living.

When she gets there though, there are some curious happenings which raise further questions and family secrets that she may have wished remained buried. Elaine must then decide which path her son should take in order for him to survive in the real world.

The Prognosis:

Whilst Wolfkin does boast some decent practical effects, this is a slowburn story that does little when it tries to finally ignite.

Where Let The Right One In and The Hatching (both movie which it has been likened to in promotions) have depth and tension to fill the void, Wolfkin simmers along with plenty to say but little impact in the way that it’s presented.

Hats off to Molitar for attempting to take an age-old tale into a new direction but it ultimately lacked enough bit to sink your teeth into.

– Saul Muerte

Wolfkin is currently available on DVD and Digital platforms.

Movie review – Wolf Manor (2023)

10 Friday Feb 2023

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There is enough talent in front of the screen in what is essentially a labour of love mixed with pangs of nostalgia over Britain’s celluloid history of lycanthrope horror. There is a healthy mix of nods to Hammer Films and the Gothic films produced under their banner and the Peter Cushing style veteran performing yet another battle against evil to satiate the hounds of the genre past. The most notable homage comes in arguably the greatest werewolf feature, An American Werewolf In London, with numerous quotes and references throughout the movie. 

Set in a quirky village town where a film crew has set up in an abandoned house to shoot a vampire flick, Wolf Manor takes a turn when they decide to hang back one more night to do some extensive reshoots. It just so happens that the night in question should fall on a full moon and with it the awakening of a lycanthrope appears to disembowel them one by one.

While the creative team of Director, Dominic Brunt, and writers Joel Ferrari and Pete Wild have a deep passion for the field in which they paint their narrative, it is evident that it lacks the killer punch that made these pioneer movies so great. There are moments where they try to ignite that instinctive attraction through the British wit upon which the nation has produced some comedy gold, but no matter how hard the talented James Fleet taps into that humour, it is often served cold and the tumbleweeds drift by with ease.

Despite the obvious tweaky script and gaps in depth of character, Wolf Manor does boast some nice special effects; a combination of prosthetics, make up and visual effects weaving together and grounding the supernatural elements. 

The Prognosis:

I had high hopes before watching this, such is my love of the doomed lusus naturae, but it falls foul of trying to live up to and replicating werewolf features of yester-year rather than creating an identity of its own. Sometimes, you have to break free of rigidity for creativity to be unleashed. Unfortunately it took its inspiration literally, staying on the road and keeping clear of the moors. Just imagine what could have happened if it dared to stray into the wilderness.

  • Saul Muerte