Werewolves

Directed by Steven C. Miller, Werewolves follows Frank Grillo’s Wesley as he attempts to keep his family safe during the one day a year wherein millions of people are transformed into the title creatures. It’s a fairly irresistible (and seemingly foolproof) premise that’s squandered early and often by Miller, as the filmmaker, armed with a script by Matthew Kennedy, delivers a frustratingly inept thriller that’s been saddled with a whole host of arms-length elements and attributes – including Brandon Cox’s slick, styleless visuals, James Burkholder and The Newton Brothers’ overbearing score, and a meandering, uninvolving narrative. The picture’s failure is especially disappointing given Grillo’s predictably compelling (and agreeably grizzled) performance, which, when coupled with a relatively promising early stretch, ensures that the picture’s shift from basically watchable to flat-out interminable is quite disappointing (to say the least) – with the movie’s hopelessly tiresome midsection paving the way for a violent yet entirely underwhelming third act. By the time the far-from-satisfying conclusion rolls around, Werewolves has definitively cemented its place as a complete and total misfire that could’ve, in more competent hands, been a fun, briskly-paced monster movie.

* out of ****