The film comes with a certain pedigree, it’s the directorial debut of David Hayter (the writer of X-Men and The Watchmen). It’s two key cast draws are Lucas Till (X-Men: Days of Future Past) and Hawaiian man-mountain Jason Mamoa, who played the barbaric Khal Drogo in Game of Thrones. So you’d think it can’t be too bad, right?
Oh, so wrong. As an attempt at the were-wolf genre, it’s utterly devoid of imagination or any hint of creative flair (except possibly for hairy girl-wolf nipple). Hayter uses attempted rape as a cinematic short-hand for animal passion, committed by characters who puke up leaden, exposition heavy dialogue that sounds like it’s come from an A-level film studies student. Even more of a crime when it was written by the man who managed to wrangle one of Alan Moore’s most complex graphic novels into submission.
Lucas Till is as bland and forgettable as a bowl of white rice, whilst Jason Mamoa appears to be dead behind the eyes until the start of the third act, when the film hits its stride with schlocky effects. But by that time the audience is on its phone ordering Teen Wolf from Amazon, to remind themselves how much fun this film should have been.
The cinematographer appears to have shot the film with My First Book of Filters in one hand, and An Idiot’s Guide to Cinematography in the other. Subtle it ain’t.
The extras are comprised of a humourless gag reel, and a couple of deleted scenes. Why they were deleted is a mystery, as they actually add to the story.
Best described as a steaming wolf-turd of a movie, do yourself a favour and watch An American Werewolf in London instead.
Review by Kristen Platt
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Wolves is out now on DVD.