On paper, this flick leaps off the page with it’s fierce title and promise of a pack of motorcyclists like the infamous Hell’s Angels who are consumed with lycanthropy.
It feels like the kind of movie that would be jam packed with ferocity and lascivious behaviour. Unfortunately this proclamation couldn’t be further from the truth as the viewer is presented with experimental filmmaking as was typical of the early seventies, and a meandering of hope in pursuit of the boundaries of humanity.
In many ways, this could be depicted as a variant of those who challenge authority and question the American Dream through the eyes of outlaws who take up more than they bargained for when they encounter a curious cult.
These hooded priests lead them into a deep, drug infused state, where they lose all senses, and have a curse placed upon them. Once infected, members of the gang start to turn into werewolves at nightfall, rampaging through the vast landscape.
The film escalates as the lead players try to find an end to the curse, only to be thrust into a time loop, throwing everything into question.
I’m usually a big fan of experimental filmmaking but this one left me trailing in the wind like a tumbleweed being tossed around in no man’s land. I really wanted to connect with this film, and there were elements that could easily have drawn me in. Instead though, there wasn’t enough substance for it to pay off, and appeared to focus on resting on its premise, with an Easy Rider’s vibe. A missed opportunity that could warrant another rewrite, with an amped up narrative that lives up to that cracking title.
- Saul Muerte