Big Sad Wolf

Lycanthropy is just a fancy way of saying tragedy

Leigh Whannell’s WOLF MAN was released in theaters this past week and, of course, I’ve got thoughts.

There have been long stretches of my life where werewolves took up an inordinately large amount of my thoughts and focus. Even before I started working on my personal werewolf story WHERE WOLF, I’d spend hours considering the plight of the lycanthrope the same way some pre-pubescent boys memorize baseball player stats. I watched werewolf movies and read werewolf books and even, one time, tried to drink water out of a wolf’s paw print because I read that you could turn into a werewolf that way.

What drove baby Rob to obsess over lycanthropes? Their visual aesthetic was definitely a big part of it. I was into werewolves for the same reasons I liked Wolverine comics or always played Blanka on Street Fighter II - mean hairy dudes were badass. But the biggest reason I consumed so much werewolf media? The reason I once wrote a fan-fiction story about Darkwing Duck fighting the werewolf from SILVER BULLET? Werewolves were, deep down, sad bois.

Even before emo was a lifestyle brand easily attained through shopping at Hot Topic, I was a sad boi who listened to Simon and Garfunkle albums and sat in my room thinking of depressing stuff until I made myself cry. If I’m being honest with myself, I have gone through points in my life where I was semi-addicted to being sad - that rush of “feels” that comes with heartbreak is the same kind of reminder of being alive that I assume drives people to skydive or run with the bulls. I like sad books and sad movies and sad music and, of course, sad monsters. And, brothers and sisters, there ain’t no monster sadder than a werewolf.

Werewolves are a metaphor for addiction - the classic true-blue werewolf - is a person who has been involuntarily damned. They are innocents forced to kill others, to lap up their blood, and to wake up with the taste of entrails on their breath. They were walking down the street one night, got bit by something they thought was a large dog, and *poof* their going to hell. What could be scarier than that? And yes, I was raised Catholic. Why do you ask?

The best werewolf stories are about people who don’t want to be werewolves - law-abiding, god-fearing folks who are driven to do bad things because of a biological quirk in their nature. They can try and fight it - locking themselves up with chains or eating a lot of red meat from the supermarket to quench that unquenchable hunger - but eventually, they’re going to relapse and somebody they love is going to be hurt. Werewolf stories are about losing control and the devastating effect that has on relationships. There’s a reason why some of the best werewolf stories are also love stories. In THE CURSE OF THE WEREWOLF, the only thing capable of stopping Oliver Reed from wolfing out is the love of Catherine Feller - but even that love isn’t strong enough to overcome Reed’s addiction to half-open shirts that expose increasingly hairy chests.

Back to Leigh Whannell’s WOLF MAN, a reboot of the 1941 Universal Studios horror film of the same name.

The original film introduced the world to Larry Talbot, a man whose resemblance to a hound dog became even more pronounced after being bit by a wolf and transforming into a lycanthrope whenever the moon bloomed. Talbot’s nightly escapades were only ended when his father, in a moment of anguish, cracked the beast’s head open with a silver-tipped cane.

Whannell’s WOLF MAN jettisons all but the basic themes of the original film - instead following Christopher Abbott as Blake as he takes a trip to the Pacific Northeast with his family and finds himself the victim of a mysterious illness that causes wolf-like changes to occur to a person’s body. Yes, this is a science werewolf!

I’ll admit - I don’t like most werewolf stories that try and frame the curse as a virus or disease. I think the part of my brain that could enjoy the intersection of science and the supernatural was permanently severed by one too many scenes in UNDERWORLD featuring leather-clad vampires studying pathogens and talking about cellular replication rates. That said, Whannell’s WOLF MAN thankfully does not spend a lot of time in the whys of it all. Whannell, you see, realizes the key to a good werewolf story lies in - “let’s all say it together” - tragedy!

Yes, WOLF MAN works because it’s a sad boi movie! Christopher Abbott was an inspired casting choice because he has that resting sad face that Lon Chaney Jr wore with pride. Abbott walks into every scene and I immediately feel like I need to give him a hug. But Whannell is not one to rest on his actor’s watery eyes and frown lines - he spends the time needed for the audience to get to know Blake and his family - to see that Blake is a good man who cares about his daughter and wife and is trying - really, really trying - to give them the kind of life he knows they deserve.

He’s a good man, but even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright. After Blake gets the forest crud and starts growing fangs and claws and sprouting new hair in weird places, it becomes clear that he is not the same man he used to be and his priorities are slightly shifted.

Werewolf stories are great because of how flexible the rules are surrounding lycanthropy. So many of the things we take for granted - silver bullets kill werewolves, the moon makes them transform, etc. - were relatively modern inventions written by novelists and screenwriters. I love it when a werewolf story introduces a new wrinkle to the lore. John Landis’ AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON introduced the idea of werewolves being able to see ghosts. Anthony Hickox’s WAXWORK introduced the idea that werewolves like to rip people’s faces in half. John Fawcett’s GINGER SNAPS introduced the idea that once you turn into a werewolf (gradually in the weeks leading up to a full moon), you can never turn back into a human.

Whannell’s WOLF MAN takes Fawcett’s idea (the transformation in the 2025 film is a bold celebration of body horror seemingly inspired by David Cronenberg’s THE FLY), but also adds something new and wonderful - the idea that werewolves can’t understand humans and vice versa.

I love the idea that to a werewolf, talking to humans is like trying to talk to Charlie Brown’s parents - unintelligible gibberish that sounds like muted band practice coming from the next reality over. That further separation between species further illustrates the werewolf’s drift away from humanity. Being a lycanthrope (or an addict) is like being on an island and removing the ability to talk and reason with your loved ones is a great addition to werewolf lore.

There are parts of WOLF MAN I didn’t love but I prefer to focus on the stuff I did - the wonderful, gross body horror, the strong performances from the entire cast, and - of course, the thick, luxurious tragedy. Leigh Whannell’s WOLF MAN is an incredibly sad movie - a full-blown tragedy about watching your family fall apart in front of your eyes and being powerless to do anything about it.

Honestly, I care about how sad a werewolf movie is much more than I care about what the werewolves look like in the film. I can go on DeviantArt and look at some bad-ass werewolves any day of the week. Only true art is going to reach into the pit of my stomach, push aside the doughnuts I ate for breakfast, and leave a sinking pit in the hollow of my guts that’ll bum me out for the rest of the day.

Bravo, Mr. Whannell - your WOLF MAN made me sad and that’s the highest honor I can bestow upon a werewolf movie.