'Wolf Man' Review: A Horror Movie Redo That Works, Thanks to Christopher Abbott and Julia Garner

If you thought Joe Johnston's disastrous 2010 Benicio del Toro effort, The Wolfman, was weighed down by Gothic melodrama, finicky mythology, and CGI extravagance, Universal's next comeback to the monster movie hall of fame, Wolf Man, could be more to your liking. This isn't a reinvention on the same scale as Leigh Whannell's earlier venture into the classic horror archives, The Invisible Man. However, there is no shortage of intensity or gore, and the script's isolation of a vulnerable family unit before thrusting them into lycanthropic mayhem is swift and efficient.

Julia Garner, Matilda Firth and Christopher Abbott in 'Wolf Man.'

Nicola Dove/Universal Pictures

Wolf Man has the claustrophobic air of a COVID-hangover film, with all but a few sequences taking place in a single environment of an ancient farmhouse and barn situated in the lonely Oregon forests. This is both a strength and a limitation. But Christopher Abbott and Julia Garner do an excellent job of heightening the dread factor as their characters' troubled marriage is tested by an increasing episode of bloodletting and flesh-chomping.

This contemporary retelling, written by Whannell with his wife, actress Corbett Tuck, omits most of the usual elements associated with the lupine legend since the original 1941 Lon Chaney Jr. screen version penned by genre-meister Curt Siodmak — no full moon, no silver bullet, no fortune-tellers, and no wolfsbane in bloom. The closest it gets to a legendary dimension is some introductory text indicating that a hiker went missing in Central Oregon and was thought to have caught an animal infection known to the local Indigenous people as the "face of the wolf."

Whannell and Tuck sharpen the focus on family tensions by removing the majority of the narrative's externals, focusing on a seemingly mismatched couple's fragile relationship as husband Blake (Abbott) undergoes alarming changes and his wife Charlotte (Garner) is forced to make split-second decisions to protect herself and their young daughter, Ginger. Setting the principal action over the course of a single tense, foggy night was a wise decision.

Even if the storyline is psychologically shallow, the performers keep us concerned in their destiny throughout. Nothing compares to the terrifying basis of domestic violence that underpins The Invisible Man remake. Nonetheless, it's gripping enough — a mid-tier Blumhouse entry bolstered by regular Whannell DP Stefan Duscio's whirling camera and disorienting angles, a juddering soundscape of elemental menace, and a bowel-churning orchestral score by Benjamin Wallfisch, which is its own kind of savage beast. It also helps that the emphasis is on actual effects rather than computer-generated imagery.

Blake's inner demons are established in the prologue, which introduces us to him as an adolescent kid (Zac Chandler). He's dragged out of bed to go hunting with his tough-talking, militaristic father Grady (Sam Jaeger), whose yelling about wanting to keep his kid safe is nearly as terrifying as the growling beast that appears to be following them. They rush up a tree and into a rickety-looking deer blind to hide, but the still-unseen beast comes dangerously near, leaving a big claw mark on the structure's entrance.

Blake is a writer "between jobs," married to Charlotte, and lives in San Francisco, where she is increasingly focused on her work as a journalist. This means Blake spends significantly more time with precocious Ginger than with her mother, making Charlotte feel like an outcast.

Blake offers that Charlotte and Ginger accompany him to Oregon as he packs up the family farmhouse after he obtains formal confirmation from state officials that the father he grew up fearing is dead. Charlotte is skeptical, but Blake believes that the stunning view from the valley near where he grew up would help them restore their strained relationship.

Blake is driving in the dark after getting lost when he is startled by the abrupt sight of a man standing erect in his headlights, forcing him to swerve off the road and wreck the hired moving truck. Panicked by the noises of a terrible predator and the proof of the devastation it can do, the three of them flee for the home, barely making it through the door as the beast closes in on them. Whannell restricts our vision of it to a fast-moving blur in the backdrop.

Charlotte and Ginger are naturally terrified, but their concern transforms into anxiety when they uncover a huge cut in Blake's arm. He quickly begins to display signs of a feverish sickness, which is obvious in his eyes, skin, and teeth, as well as in his heightened senses. In one nail-biting episode, what he thought were the thudding paws of a gigantic animal scrambling over the roof turned out to be something far more difficult to imagine.

With no phone connection to communicate with the outside world, the family is trapped there, sheltering from the predator outside as Blake's gruesome bodily metamorphosis unfolds right in front of them. He gradually loses his capacity to talk, and is unable to interact with or comprehend his wife and daughter. They get really concerned when he begins chewing large pieces off of his own damaged arm.

Abbott succeeds at portraying a wounded guy with brooding intensity as well as the gentler side of someone emotionally traumatized by a traumatic background. He pushes himself with anguished physically and mental agony into the half-man, half-beast spiral as Blake — constantly adding new layers of prosthetics — fights to reconcile the craving for blood with remaining sensations in his addled mind for his family.

The one clichéd feature is what the creators refer to as "wolf vision," which allows viewers to see Charlotte and Ginger via Blake's eyes as strange individuals highlighted in a luminous haze. The effect appears cheap, leaving you wondering whether the budding werewolf's retinas have been burned by too much glitchy video.

Despite several blunders and poor language, suspense stays mainly high, especially when Blake's protective instincts revive long enough to help them fend off the initial threat - which includes a stunning reveal that many would predict. Only when the confrontation approaches does Whannell offer us a decent look at the creature in one of multiple heightened jump scares.

Garner's role appears underdeveloped at first, but she becomes more fascinating when quick-thinking, smart Charlotte is forced to fight, and there are touching scenes of her rediscovering her love for her husband just as he is slipping away from her. Firth does an excellent job in a classic child-in-danger part, and she is moving as Ginger battles with the belief that the father she cherishes is still alive someplace.

Whannell has highlighted pre-CG 1980s horror films as influences, including David Cronenberg's The Fly and John Carpenter's The Thing, which can be seen in shape-shifting moments when Blake's bones crunch and twist and his skeleton alters.

Rob Bottin and Rick Baker were truly groundbreaking effects wizards in 1981, and anyone who goes back far enough to recall the eye-opening thrills of the visceral transformations in John Landis' An American Werewolf in London or Joe Dante's The Howling might find the most recent version lacking in originality. (I can't be the only one who finds terrified nuclear families a little boring.)

However, there is something fundamentally fulfilling about traditional monster stories, and Whannell understands primordial anxieties well enough to keep Wolf Man engaging. Furthermore, if you've ever wondered whether an animal could truly gnaw off its own limb to escape a trap, you'll be relieved.