Leigh Whannell's The Wolfman is an absolute travesty, a film so bogged down by its own misguided ambition that it dares to insult its audience with every agonizingly slow, dialogue-driven scene. Christopher Abbott and Julia Garner, while undoubtedly talented actors, are wasted on a screenplay that reads like a collection of rejected first drafts from a sophomore creative writing course. Whannell's attempt to craft a "thoughtful" horror film comes off as nothing more than pretentious navel-gazing, with long, tedious conversations that add nothing to the plot and suck all momentum out of the narrative.
The werewolf design is a disgrace, looking more like a cheap Halloween costume than a creature of terror. It's baffling how a film in 2025 can fail so miserably at something that movies from the 1940s did with more finesse. Worse still, Whannell has the audacity to forgo any meaningful visual transformation sequence. The transformation-a cornerstone of werewolf lore-is entirely absent, replaced by uninspired sound effects and a lazy cutaway. This omission is not only a colossal disappointment but also a blatant disregard for the source material.
Determined to strip The Wolfman of everything that made the original story iconic... Gone are the thrills, the action, and the horror. In their place, we're subjected to a plodding, self-important drama that's more interested in existential musings than delivering even a shred of excitement. The film feels like an insult to fans of the genre, a condescending lecture masquerading as art.
The pacing is excruciatingly slow, with the film grinding to a halt whenever the characters open their mouths. The dialogue is overwrought and meandering, more suited to a bad stage play than a feature film. Whannell tries to inject tension through strained metaphors and half-baked character studies, but it all comes off as hollow and forced.
