The Lucky 13: Week Eight: Werewolves

Having already covered vampires as part of the The Lucky 13, this week here in the Vault--and over at Brutal as Hell--we turn our attentions to that other tried-and-true monster of horror cinema, the lycanthrope. Another creature of ancient folklore, the werewolf has existed in our shared consciousness long before movies ever existed, yet it's transitioned nicely onto the silver screen, becoming the source of many of the genre's finest efforts.

While it's true that werewolf films are fewer and farther between than vampire films, there are still quite a few gems to be found. In fact, given the lesser amount, one could argue that there are more high-quality werewolf flicks out there "per capita" than those of their bloodsucking brethren. And so, in our eighth installment of The Lucky 13, we select our all-time favorites...

B-Sol on Werewolf of London

The year is 1935, and Universal, the studio which has made a name for itself producing films about Dracula, Frankenstein, The Invisible Man and The Mummy, has turned its attentions at last to the legend of the werewolf. The movie is Werewolf of London, and for some connoisseurs of vintage horror (including this one,) it remains the high watermark of lycanthrope cinema.

Henry Hull stars as Dr. Glendon, and English botanist who falls under the curse of the werewolf after being bitten on an expedition in the Himalayas. The vast bulk of cinema's take on the werewolf legend is already established in this one film: the transmission through biting, the transformation under the full moon, the beast's desire to destroy that which its human half loves most. The makeup created by Jack Pierce is striking, and Hull's humanoid, intelligent portrayal of the creature is quite unique, giving us one of the only talking werewolves of the silver screen. The film also puts the transformation scene front and center, a tradition that would continue throughout the history of the sub-genre. Werewolf of London remains one of the most influential, and yet also one of the most underrated horror films of the Universal canon.

For whatever reason, in its own day, Werewolf of London did not resonate with audiences to the same degree that previous Universal efforts had. But for my money, it's superior to the much better-known Lon Chaney Jr. film The Wolfman, which came along six years later. This was Universal's first crack at lycanthropy. Excellent Pierce makeup and a fine performance from Hull certify this one as required viewing for anyone who thinks werewolf flicks begin and end with AWIL.



Fascinations with Fear's Christine Hadden on Dog Soldiers

Dog Soldiers is the kind of movie that surprises you. At first glance, you immediately know from the DVD cover that it's going to be a werewolf movie, but then about five minutes in, you have to wonder if you've stumbled upon some random war movie by mistake. A group of soldiers are on a training mission in the Scottish highlands, which in itself is rather creepy. The woods are steeped in thick atmosphere, and you can sense something bad is about to happen.

What you don't expect, however, is the level of tension that the film unloads after the men come across what is apparently the only survivor of some sort of ravaging attack on a special ops unit. They take the remaining fallen soldier with them and without warning are overwhelmed and pursued by unseen predators. A thrilling chase ensues and the squaddies are luckily picked up by a woman traveling alone on a sparsely populated road. She takes them to a nearby farmhouse, where they regroup and try to come to terms with the realization that the creatures hunting them are, in fact, huge carnivorous wolves. Werewolves. And they're hungry.

By and far, Dog Soldiers is a film that lives and dies by the atmosphere it has created. The dark, foreboding woods, being stranded with no recourse in a seemingly abandoned farmhouse, and of course there's this whole man-eating predator thing going on as well. It's a quick paced, well-acted, unexpected romp into the world of werewolves. The action doesn't stop once, the wolves are hulking, brutal examples of lycanthropes, and the gore.... there's a considerable amount, and combined with a moment or two of literal gut-ripping nastiness, it makes for a thoroughly enjoyable film. Tension abounds, and I was on the edge of my seat for most of the time. It's only fitting that director Neil Marshall's next film was also one of my favorites, The Descent. Face it, the man knows how to scare an audience.

I can count on one hand the really good werewolf movies I've seen, and Dog Soldiers has to sit very high on that list. From start to finish, it's a rock and roll kind of horror movie, amping up the action and shock content at every turn, and giving us a reason to believe the werewolf sub-genre didn't take a silver bullet after all.



From Beyond Depraved's Joe Monster on An American Werewolf in London

I have an unconditional love for werewolves. From the earliest bipedals slinking through towering castles to the computer-generated hell hounds that currently rip and rend flesh in modern cinema, shape-shifters hold the power to entrance me with their hoary adventures. So it goes without saying that this week of The Lucky 13 came as somewhat of a challenge for me. No matter what film I chose, I felt there was a legion of other lycanthropic pictures that I was betraying my love for. After much deliberation and plenty cloves of wolfsbane, I was able to narrow my decision down to An American Werewolf in London. Even as my lupine heart ached to include other countless classics, a re-viewing of John Landis’ film proved to me that this was the one to go with.

What brings me to this conclusion, you ask? I think it’s the fact that AWIL remains in my mind as probably one of the most well-constructed horror films I’ve ever seen. It is a smooth viewing experience from start to finish, the quietest and most intimate of moments capturing your attention as much as the werewolf mayhem takes hold of your imagination. Landis’ hand at writing and direction creates a film that is pure cinematic magic. The suspense never deadens; he throws us right into the mix with the foreboding visit to The Slaughtered Lamb, and the anxiety never lets up as it leads to the bloody confrontation on the moors. And after that, we don’t see so much as wolf saliva till the hour mark. The entire time we’re wringing our hands, wondering what’s going to happen to David Naughton on the night of the full moon. Even when the tension is released momentarily with the reveal of the monster, we’re in a constant state of anticipation as to when the beast will strike next all the way up to the thrilling climax.

One of the most important factors in any werewolf story is having a palpable sense of sympathy for the tragic hero. With David Naughton as the leading man, the audience is guaranteed to fall in love with his likable personality. Even as David senses the impending danger of his curse, he cracks jokes and mugs his way through his troubles in a completely endearing manner. He plays a down-to-earth, easy-going fella who’s just trying to deal with this tremendous weight on his shoulders. He never loses his grip on humor and his constant jabs at the rotting remains of his friend Jack seem like what any one of us would do in his situation. The end of his painful journey can’t help but sadden us and touch us, bringing the characterization of his afflicted hero full circle.

This film is what kick started the werewolf renaissance in the '80s, no doubt due to Rick Baker’s innovative and game-changing makeup design. The man worked with the touch of a twisted artisan and created one of the most iconic and memorable transformations/monsters Hollywood has ever seen. For the first time we were explicitly shown just how damn painful it was to morph into a full-grown wolf. The twisting and snapping of David’s ligaments as his body stretches and hair pierces his flesh created a stark, clear picture of the agony of lycanthropy. Baker’s full wolf monster is impressive as well, the bloodsoaked jaws and hellfire eyes imbued with genuine rage and hunger as it rampages through Piccadilly Circus. Baker’s effects are elevated above and beyond the standard gruesome fare and almost become high art in their genius.

An American Werewolf in London really is one of the genre’s highlights for a reason. Its brilliant blend of terror and comedy, dynamite acting, spectacular makeup and powerful story brew into an intoxicating mix that’ll keep your claws glued to the screen. Seek this film out, appreciate it, and just be thankful that the horror community has been given such a gift as this. It’s enough to make you want to let out a hearty howl and run through the moon-streaked wood.




* * * * * * * * * *

Head over to Brutal as Hell to see what Marc Patterson and his crew have come up with. And if you're interested in taking part in the future, just give Marc or myself a holler.

Week 1: Grindhouse & Exploitation
Week 2: Creature Features & Monster Movies
Week 3: Demons, Witches & The Devil
Week 4: Gore!
Week 5: Horror Comedies
Week 6: Vampires
Week 7: Psychological Horror

Join us next week, when it's all about those wacky serial killers!

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"...And the Moon Is Full and Bright": A History of Werewolf Movies, Part 1

With the highly anticipated Benicio del Toro remake of Universal's The Wolf Man on the way this fall, the time is ripe to take a long, considered look at the history of one of the horror genre's most venerable and beloved sub-categories. Although not quite as popular as its cousin the vampire, and perhaps not as thoroughly explored cinematically, the lycanthrope has nevertheless provided us with some of the most terrifying films ever made.

A beast whose origins go back nearly to the beginnings of Western civilization, the mythological being who can transform from man to wolf under the influence of the full moon has gone through its fair share of Hollywood-ization, much like its blood-drinking brethren. And in general, the history of werewolf films can be divided into three major eras. Today we will take a look at the first.

The earliest known werewolf movie would be the 1913 short film, The Werewolf, unfortunately now lost. Following that was the 1923 French effort, Le loup-garou. But unlike the vampire subgenre, which can be found alive and well even in the earliest silent era of film, in order to find the earliest major werewolf film, one must jump ahead to the 1930s, and a time when talkies were already in full bloom. The year is 1935, and Universal, the studio which has made a name for itself producing films about Dracula, Frankenstein, The Invisible Man and The Mummy, has turned its attentions at last to the legend of the werewolf.

The movie is Werewolf of London, and for some connoissuers of vintage horror, it remains the high watermark of lycanthrope cinema. Henry Hull stars as Dr. Glendon, and English botanist who falls under the curse of the werewolf after being bitten on an expedition in the Himalayas. The vast bulk of cinema's take on the werewolf legend is already established in this one film: the transmission through biting, the transformation under the full moon, the beast's desire to destroy that which its human half loves most.

The makeup created by Jack Pierce is striking, and Hull's humanoid, intelligent portrayal of the creature is quite unique, giving us one of the only talking werewolves of the silver screen. The film also puts the transformation scene front and center, a tradition that would continue throughout the history of the subgenre. Werewolf of London remains one of the most influential, and yet also one of the most underrated horror films of the Universal canon.

And yet, for whatever reason, in its own day, Werewolf of London did not resonate with audiences to the same degree that previous Universal efforts had. A sequel was never produced. Rather, six years later, when Universal finally returned to the subgenre, it would be with an entirely unrelated film, starting from scratch with an entirely new continuity and character. The result would be the single most famous werewolf film ever produced--a work that would afford the creature a permanent place in the horror movie lexicon.

Lon Chaney Jr., son of the world-famous silent horror movie megastar, was hired to play the ill-fated Lawrence Talbot, the son of a Welsh nobleman who is bitten on the moors of his native land, and suffers the subsequent curse of the werewolf. In the role of his father, Universal alum Claude Rains returned to the horror genre. And completing the trifecta was the one and only Bela Lugosi, who portrays the wolf that turns Talbot in the first place.

The reasons for the film's endurance are many. A taut and layered script by the great Curt Siodmak, and one of Jack Pierce's most iconic makeup creations are among them. But it is Chaney's tragic and sympathetic portrayal of the doomed soul Talbot that anchors the picture and lends it the pathos that most likely helped the film become the success that Werewolf of London was not. We feel for Talbot as he struggles hopelessly with the monster within him, yearning for nothing more than death.

The Wolf Man was Universal's first major success of the 1940s, a decade which saw the studio lose a step or two in its horror output from its golden era in the 1930s. Chaney's monster was such a popular one that it took its place in what would come to be known as classic horror's "holy trinity" of sorts, alongside Lugosi's Dracula and Boris Karloff's Frankenstein Monster.

Chaney's portrayal was so appreciated, in fact, that the actor would be brought back on four more occasions to play the Wolf Man, making the creature the only one in the Universal pantheon to be played by the same actor in every one of its appearances. The first return of the character came in 1943's Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man, which was also the first of the "monster team-up" movies to come out of the movie studio, marking a distinct evolution of the category from genuine fright films into more fun, juvenile, comic book-style fare.

After doing battle with Bela Lugosi's Frankenstein Monster, Chaney reprised his role in Universal's two mega-monster blowouts of the mid-1940s, House of Frankenstein (1944) and House of Dracula (1945). Alongside John Carradine as the Count and Glenn Strange as the Monster, Chaney's Talbot continued his seemingly never-ending search to either cure or kill himself. In the meantime, much innocent monster fun was had. Interestingly, it is Chaney's Wolf Man storyline which holds these two late entries together, providing the backbone of the narrative.

So closely associated with the character was Chaney, that he was brought back one last time for what wiould be the ultimate stage in the evolution of Universal's stable of classic monsters: the 1948 horror-comedy classic, Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein. Once again, Chaney provides the heart of the narrative, playing sobbing straight man to the bumbling genius of Bud and Lou. Particularly memorable is the famous scene in which Lou Costello comes within a hair of being mauled by the beast while sneaking into Talbot's hotel room to steal a fruit.

Although cherished today, at the time A&CMF was looked down on by "horror purists", and even Chaney himself later deplored the film for bringing an end the Universal monster cycle. One thing was for certain, and it was that the Wolf Man had finally run out of steam. Chaney's hand-wringing routine had, at last, worn thin.

Only one other film was produced during this time by Universal, or any other studio, that made any attempt to keep the werewolf alive. It was the somewhat obscure She-Wolf of London, starring a young June Lockhart as the screen's first female lycanthrope. Made a year after the final "serious" Wolf Man picture, She-Wolf of London can be seen as something of a last-ditch attempt to capitalize on the name value of the previous decade's Werewolf of London, although the two films are narratively unrelated.

Horror films in general went into something of a tailspin following World War II, and werewolf films were no different. A new approach was certainly required, and it took Hollywood nearly a decade to finally recover and come up with some fresh ideas.

Finally, in 1956, B-movie impresario Sam Katzman reopened the book on the subgenre with the rather straightforwardly titled, The Werewolf. Although heavily influenced by The Wolf Man, as can be seen in Steven Ritch's portrayal of the ill-fated Duncan Marsh, the movie is very much a product of the atom-age terrors that dominated the new style of horror then emerging. Much like the giant monsters of the era, Marsh's lycanthropy is brought on by scientific experimentation gone terribly wrong--specifically atomic experimentation.

Gone are the trappings of the supernatural that had always been a part of the werewolf legend--this film's creature was a creature rooted in science, exploiting the fears which then gripped much of the American public. It was an interesting take on an old gimmick, and proved that the subgenre did indeed have legs. The film is also notable for its breathtaking location shots at California's Big Bear Lake.

The following year brought audiences one of the most well-remembered cult movies of the era, I Was a Teenage Werewolf, starring a very young Michael Landon and produced by another giant in the realm of B-movies, American Internation Pictures' Samuel J. Arkoff. Continuing the theme of science gone wrong, and also capitalizing on the rising youth movement that had overtaken popular culture, the flick proved a major drive-in success, and led to such follow-ups as I Was a Teenage of Frankenstein, and I Was a Teenage Mummy.

It was right around this time that Hammer Films, a studio from across the pond in Great Britain, was beginning to make waves with their own innovative takes on traditional Universal monsters. The late 1950s saw Hammer's versions of Dracula and Frankenstein launch into horror immortality, bringing a much more garish, gory and sensational approach than had ever been seen before. Attention to period detail, over-the-top English scenery-chewing, and more blood and outright sexuality than had ever been previously seen in cinematic horror were among the hallmarks of the new studio's attention-grabbing output.

It only made sense that eventually, Hammer would have to make its mark on the werewolf subgenre. And so, in 1961, Hammer gave us The Curse of the Werewolf, starring the dashing Oliver Reed as the titular lycanthrope. Set in 19th century Spain, the film is much more visceral than any werewolf movie yet seen--this wolf draws real blood, and his predatory nature is explained rather explicitly as having a sexual subtext. It is without question one of the absolute gems of werewolf cinema.

And yet, much like Universal's first attempt some 25 years earlier, The Curse of the Werewolf was something of a flop for Hammer, which came as a shock following the resounding success of films like Horror of Dracula, The Curse of Frankenstein and The Mummy. As a result, the Terence Fisher-directed Curse would be Hammer's one and only werewolf-themed production, thus making it all the more special.

Following Hammer's box office failure at continuing the tradition established by Universal, the werewolf effectively went into mothballs. It appeared as if there was nothing new to say, and no new way to breath life into the old boy. It would take a full 20 years, and an entire remaking of the cinematic horror landscape, to finally bring the beast out of its hibernation. And when it finally did return, it marked the dawning of what many would consider to be a golden age of werewolf flicks.

London would be the setting once again. But this time, the werewolf would be American.

Soon to Come: Part 2 - "Bad Moon Rising"

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