In Leigh Whannell's reimagining of “Wolf Man,” Christopher Abbott carries this burden with devastating precision, crafting a performance that owes as much to Jeff Goldblum's tragic Seth Brundle as it does to Lon Chaney Jr.'s original cursed Larry Talbot.
The setup is deceptively simple: Blake (Abbott) brings his wife Charlotte (Julia Garner) and their young daughter to his childhood home, ostensibly to repair their fracturing marriage. But like all good horror, the real monster isn't the one with fangs and fur – it's the past that haunts these halls, the unspoken griefs that tear at the fabric of family bonds.
What distinguishes Whannell's vision is its patience. Unlike the immediate thrills of many modern horror films, “Wolf Man” takes its cues from Cronenberg's “The Fly,” allowing its transformation to unfold as a slow-burning tragedy. Abbott worked with choreographer Or Schraiber to develop the physical language of his metamorphosis, and the results are mesmerizing. Each twitch, each contortion feels like a battle between man and beast, civilization and savagery.
Garner's Charlotte serves as our emotional anchor, with the actress bringing a raw vulnerability to what could have been a standard “worried wife” role. Her observation that the film represents “the seven stages of grief” is particularly apt – this is as much a story about loss and acceptance as it is about lycanthropy.
The practical effects work here deserves special mention. In an age of CGI transformation sequences, there's something viscerally effective about watching Abbott struggle with prosthetics that physically alter his performance. The weight of the makeup literally shapes his movements, forcing a hunched posture that speaks to the burden of his character's curse.
Whannell, known for his work on “Saw” and “Upgrade,” brings his technical precision to the proceedings while never losing sight of the human drama at the core. His reference to “Saw” in certain sequences isn't mere homage – it speaks to the film's larger themes about the prices we pay for transformation, willing or otherwise.
What emerges is less a traditional monster movie and more a meditation on change itself – the ways we resist it, the ways it claims us anyway. Abbott's comparison to “The Elephant Man” is telling; both films understand that true horror lies not in the physical manifestation of difference, but in society's response to it, and in the tragic self-awareness of the transformed.
The film's remote setting serves as more than just convenient isolation for genre thrills. Like the best Gothic horror, the house becomes a character itself, its corridors and shadows reflecting the psychological landscape of its inhabitants. When the inevitable violence erupts, it feels less like supernatural intervention and more like the house itself expressing long-buried traumas.
“Wolf Man” succeeds not because it reinvents its source material, but because it understands what made it resonant in the first place. In an era of endless reboots, here's one that justifies its existence by finding new emotional depths in familiar territory. It's a reminder that the best monster movies have always been about the monster within us all, waiting for its moment to break free.
As Blake's transformation progresses from subtle psychological shifts to full physical metamorphosis, we're reminded of all the ways humans change – through grief, through trauma, through love and loss. In the end, “Wolf Man” asks us not to fear the beast, but to understand it. And in that understanding, perhaps, lies our own transformation.
Opening in theaters January 17, “Wolf Man” proves that there's still life in these old bones, especially when approached with this level of craft and care. Like the best of its Universal Monster predecessors, it understands that true horror lies not in the supernatural, but in the all-too-human heart that beats beneath the fur and fangs.
What aspects of human nature do you think monster movies like “Wolf Man” reveal about our own capacity for transformation and change?
