Showing Out

Showing Out’s Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

Just last month, director Joe Johnston’s remake of the 1941 classic The Wolfman was far from complete. Notoriously plagued with release date pushbacks and highly publicized creative differences between Universal Studios and its chosen directors (yes, there was more than one), The Wolfman came to the final showdown during the 11th hour of post-production. With the film in the can, Donna Langely, Universal’s production president, enlisted the help of a new editor early last month, a move that made headlines around the blogosphere as word got out that Johnston would cut his own version of the film and they would each screen to different audiences. Whichever film got the better test screening response would be the version that ended up in theaters. Though the world may never know who actually ended up winning the battle of the creative minds, the advance version of The Wolfman that played tonight in New York City showed no signs of post-production discord. In fact, it was quite the opposite: the version of The Wolfman headed for theaters this Friday is a blithe, hollow film devoid of any sort of character development or plot intrigue. But you guessed it - there’s a whole lot of gore. Thankfully.

The film, which stars Benicio Del Toro as stage actor Lawrence Talbot, is a bloody thrill ride with nary a moment’s waste on sweating the small stuff - you know, like evoking any sort of audience sympathy for the characters or even explaining emotional developments that unexpectedly take place. From the beginning of the film, Johnston sets the tone as horrific and gory (and horrifically gory, at that), opening the pic with a man seeking out a wolflike creature by moonlight, only to be brutally slashed across the chest and face before the opening credits roll and the film sets off on its aerobic yet surprisingly dry journey.

Set in 1880s Victorian England, The Wolfman focuses on Talbot after he returns to his home after years of excommunication from his family, a choice that we soon learn was involuntary. After arriving at his father’s estate in Blackmoor, England, Talbot goes on a journey to get to the bottom of his brother’s sudden death after sympathizing for his shellshocked widow Gwen Conliffe (played by a wonderful Emily Blunt), who soon leaves and inexplicably returns to the manor soon after.

Talbot goes on a vengeful quest for the truth, only to end up at a gypsy campground where a wolf-like creature wreaks (graphic) havoc on the small collective. Necks are shredded, insides are ripped out - it pretty much sets the tone for the rest of the movie. Talbot is almost done for after the wolf attacks him and bites his neck, but the creature is soon scared off after a gang of gun-wielding gentlemen come to his rescue (funny, bullets didn’t seem to bother the wolfman before). From there, Talbot heals unusually fast as Gwen tends to his wounds, a sign that a snooping investigator takes to mean that he is in fact cursed with a lycanthropic vex.

Turns out, he’s right. After Talbot turns into a wolf by the full moon, he shreds everyone and everything around him, sticking his hand inside of people and ripping out body parts and, quite hilariously, knocking the head off a poor sap who attempts to shoot himself in the head but fails to do so after his gun jams. Talbot awakens soaked in blood on his father’s estate, with his fellow wolfman father Sir John Talbot (Anthony Hopkins) standing over him and allowing him to take full blame for his son’s killings. Sir John sends his son off to a mental asylum where he again wreaks havoc on a group of skeptical scientists, terrorizing London by flipping over trolleys and slashing everything in sight.

Talbot awakens under a bridge, soon seeking refuge in Gwen’s London shop (quite conveniently located) and returning home to Blackmoor to seek revenge on his father, who he earlier learned killed both his brother and his mother at a young age. It all results in a showdown that’s entirely too predictable if not satiatingly savage, culminating in a tender moment between Gwen and Talbot that puts an end to the madness.

If the plot sounds too basic, that’s because it is - and it can almost entirely be blamed on a lackluster script care of scribes Andrew Kevin Walker and David Self. The film offers little for audience members to grasp, either boiling down backstory to mere sentences or rushing character development without any explanation. For example, though the story takes place over three lunar cycles, the audience is led to believe that Gwen deals with the loss of her husband in two of those cycles and falls in love with Talbot by the third. There is no grievance, no remorse or guilt conveyed for any of this absurd behavior, dumbing down Blunt’s character to that of a wanton woman who is a slave to her emotions. No dignity, no nothing. If ever there were a film where men are clearly shown incapable of properly portraying a female on the screen, The Wolfman has the winning ticket.

That’s not to say that Blunt doesn’t play the character with as much depth and sincerity as it allows. Her performance, as well as Hopkins’ elusive, complex portrayal of Sir John, lift the film from the characterless abyss into which it could have fallen. Del Toro, on the other hand, isn’t as convincing. Though he’s on-screen for almost the entirety of the film, Del Toro is lifeless. His detachment to his character is meant to create an aura of mystery, but it instead comes off as emptiness. Never before has an actor who has previously proven himself so talented missed the mark this badly. Not only is he boring to watch, but it almost seems like he’s indifferent to the character - a byproduct of either poor writing or poorer post-editing.

Based on the film’s history with post-production, it’s likely the latter. While the CG effects throughout the film are dynamic and overly stimulating, there are problems that clearly could have been remedied had the editors taken more time to piece it together. In the beginning of the film, Talbot drinks by himself in the corner of the local tavern, overhearing a group of men discuss their hypotheses on how his brother died. Talbot finishes off his drink, and suddenly, when the camera cuts back to him moments later, the glass is magically refilled.

And later in the film, the oversights are glaring. When Talbot walks from London to Blackmoor - yes, walks - he passes a sign that lets the audience know where exactly he is during his travels. The only problem? He’s 16 miles away. Too bad the editor who added that sign on during post-production didn’t take into account that England has run on the metric system since the British Weights and Measures Act was passed in 1824.

It’s easy to sit here and nitpick, but The Wolfman is so rough around the edges that it offers nothing more than scare after scare after scare for a good 91 minutes. Any horror fan who gets a kick out of entrails spilled out onto the floor and severed heads rolling off of bodies will love this film, but no one should expect more from it. After all, any film whose production history is more interesting than the film itself wears its heart on its sleeve - or, in this case, on the paw of a wolf.