For a movie about a man who transforms into a ravenous beast each full moon, it’s somewhat fitting that The Wolfman suffers from severe split personality disorder. Despite remaining faithful to the story of the 1941 classic, this remake has absolutely no idea what kind of movie it wants to be; a solemn and suspenseful horror, or a B-grade slasher?

Either would have been fine, but it’s clear that with the grim screenplay and A-list cast, the former was the intention. Unfortunately, given the dry direction and silly action set pieces, the film would have been better off if just embraced being the latter.

The reason behind The Wolfman’s conflicted nature is obvious when you look at the turbulent production history. Originally, the film was to be directed by One Hour Photo’s Mark Romanek, but after he left production in early 2008 due to creative differences, Jurassic Park III director Joe Johnston stepped in. In other words, it went from the realms of brooding horror to prehistoric monster mash. And boy, does it show.

In true slasher spirit, things kick off with a gory ‘first-kill’ scene, only to swiftly transform into a sombre period drama for the next half hour.  Academy Award winner Benicio Del Toro (Traffic, Che) stars as stage actor Lawrence Talbot, who returns to his childhood home Blackmoor Manor after being notified of his brother’s savage death. Before he can find out who (or what) mangled his brother, Lawrence must first come to terms with the memories of his disturbed childhood and be reacquainted with his estranged father, Sir John Talbot. He’s played with such straight-faced snide by Silence of the Lambs star Anthony Hopkins, you can almost hear him say “Hello Clarice”.

As the bodies start to pile up in the woods, Scotland Yard inspector Francis Aberline (Hugo Weaving, who also comes close to saying “Hello Mr Anderson”) arrives to investigate the murders, suspecting out-of-towner Lawrence to be the culprit after he is bitten by the beast. Infected by the bite, Lawrence is torn between two urges; the primal savagery of the wolf within and the burning love for his brother’s widowed fiancé, Gwen (Emily Blunt).

The first act shows promise of a slow burning horror, but the moment things start getting bloody, Johnston’s direction sidesteps suspense and delivers a surplus of tactless, out-of-nowhere jump scares that are more irritating than frightening. It has the same effect as letting a kid run loose with a pin at a balloon-filled birthday party: loud, obnoxious and a real mood killer.

At least there is a mood here to be killed; production designer Rick Heinrichs appears right in his element, having worked on Tim Burton’s similar-but-more-accomplished horror Sleepy Hollow, and gets suitably down and dirty with the Victorian setting.  Cinematographer Shelly Johnson and his cold blue hues frames the drama far more capably than he does the action, where million dollar effects tend to look cheap and sloppy. Thankfully, Danny Elfman’s atmospheric score reminds us that this is a big budget Hollywood production after all, although he could have added more of that Sherlock Holmes gusto given the film almost grinds to a halt by half-time.

The crux of why The Wolfman disappoints is because it is such a waste of great talent. Del Toro’s rugged looks certainly suits the role, but the usually brilliant actor doesn’t convey Lawrence’s inner-confliction enough to build any zesty tension between him and co-star Emily Blunt. Their romance is hampered by the fact that Blunt is kept mostly in the sidelines until the final act, where she is thrust into the limelight and can no longer feign her interest in the film.
I stopped pretending long ago.

Follow the author Anders Wotzke on Twitter.

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