More full-blooded than you might expect from a big-studio horror movie by the director of THE ROCKETEER and JURASSIC PARK, this is a belated (and much delayed) addition to the wave of blockbuster Hollywood Gothic horrors inspired by the original Universal cycle, which began way back in 1992 with BRAM STOKER’S DRACULA, fizzled with the underrated MARY SHELLEY’S FRANKENSTEIN and totally died with the ambitious Dr Jekyll-reworking MARY REILLY.

   Large scale Gothic period horror has intermittently resurfaced to successful effect : the co-screenwriter of this film, Andrew Kevin Walker, wrote Tim Burton’s triumphant Bava / Hammer homage SLEEPY HOLLOW (which, like this, boasted an enthusiastic orchestral score by Danny Elfman) at the turn of the century, though this is a rare straight-forward Tinsel Town werewolf movie, minus the “satirical drama” pretensions of something like Mike Nichols’ horror-lite WOLF or the CG fantasy trappings of the recent TWILIGHT : NEW MOON.

  Originally set to be helmed by the promising director of ONE HOUR PHOTO, Mark Romanek before he walked due to good old fashioned “creative differences”, this fairly faithful remake of George Waggner’s popular Universal THE WOLFMAN is probably a more conventional and less subtle movie than Romanek had in mind. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. In late 19^th century England, Shakespearean stage actor Benicio del Toro is about to return to the U.S. when his brother is fatally savaged by what we certainly know is a werewolf, as opposed to a bear or a crazed lunatic or a giant fish-man or whatever the local authorities might want to claim. Returning to Dad Anthony Hopkins’ ancestral home, Del Toro is also savaged by the beast, becoming a werewolf by the light of the moon. He’s dismissed as insane by said authorities and, as he racks up a sizeable body count, Inspector Hugo Weaving (fresh from a not very successful stint on the Jack the Ripper case) proves he couldn’t even catch a fart in his own underpants. (“Don’t suppose you got any silver bullets?!”).

   Seven decades on from the same-named, now primitive-looking (though richly atmospheric) Lon Chaney Jr vehicle, the new movie retains many of the characters, key elements and narrative twists of Curt Siodmak’s 40’s script. The difference is that this one doesn't’t take itself as seriously, has a 2010 Hollywood budget to spend and boasts the kind of frenetic pacing that would have caused mass-heart failure among 1940’s audiences. Director Johnston forsakes old-school subtlety in favor of wide-eyed hamming from Brit thesps, in-your-face bouts of fast-cut gore every ten minutes or so, and sundry loud BOO!-scares.

   It’s a lot of fun, though let down by a creaking script - presumably one of the victims of the troubled, tortuous production - that bungles the back-story (this family really did win the jackpot in the shit sweepstakes) and struggles to make anyone sympathetic. It does, however, offer a pleasing series of homage's to the three great werewolf movies in cinema history. The dry-ice-dominated woodland backdrops and Rick Baker’s Jack Pierce-inspired make-up are lovely nods to the Waggner movie, as is Geraldine Chaplin’s superb cameo as the Gypsy wise-woman a la Maria Ouspenskaya. Benicio Del Toro boasts the same hair and a similar intense, feral physical presence to that of CURSE OF THE WEREWOLF’s Oliver Reed, while the excellent transformation scenes emphasize the body-stretching / popping / twisting agony of the process a la AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON. (In another nice touch, watch out for an easily - missed appearance by the pub-regular who laments “you made me miss” in that same movie, ladies and gentlemen, Mr David Schofield).

   Avoiding the ultimately wearying self-pitying puppy dog approach of Chaney Jr, Del Toro is well cast and effective even if he arguably looks like a lycanthrope well before he’s actually bitten. In the movie’s haste to breeze through its character arcs and cut to the next chase, few members of the cast get a chance to do some real acting : Emily Blunt looks beautiful as the token love interest but is very under-used. Hopkins largely phones it in, and contributes to a rather silly wolf-on-wolf tussle as part of the big climactic twist, during which the movie proves our biggest fear : a lupine Anthony Hopkins just looks like a furry, beer bellied muppet.

   Still, it’s an enjoyable ride, with a pulse whenever the wolf-man is on-screen. Kudos to the movie for minimizing the CG effects, though, admittedly, the brief digital elements (including the werewolf at its fastest and a CG bear) stand out like the proverbial lycanthrope’s sore thumb. Arguably the bloodiest Hollywood werewolf movie to date, there are plenty of torn off heads, shredded faces, munched organs and limbs akimbo. The Wolfman himself is impressively ferocious and unsentimentalised, and the decision to opt for the old-school two-legged drooling beast pays off in spades. Watch out for Rick Baker in an amusing cameo.