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Wolfen
[Warner Brothers]
1981; color
Directed by Michael Wadleigh
Starring: Albert Finney, Diane Venora, Edward James Olmos, Gregory Hines, Tom Noonan & Dick O'Neill
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Wolfen isn't so much a 'werewolf' movie as it is one that seems to ask 'Wolves? Where?' because we never get to see any man-to-wolf transformations, and the wolves in question aren't even shown until the last 25 minutes. Released during the summer of 1981, three months after The Howling and a month before American Werewolf In London, Wolfen misses the mark. Instead of specifically focusing on lycanthropy, the movie is mostly cop psychodrama, part murder mystery and part wolf movie, all tied together very loosely with lots of Native American mysticism and a subplot about urban renewal. Got all that? I know, it's pretty much a mess. For starters, this was directed by the same guy who did Woodstock, Michael Wadleigh. Of the four films he's made, this is the only one not related to live music and it's pretty obvious his talents are best dedicated to capturing non-dramatic performances. The story starts off with a couple of Native American guys hanging out at the top of the Brooklyn Bridge engaged in what looks to be some sort of ritual. Then we jump to a wealthy couple in their limo stopping in Battery Park for a romantic walk. As they stroll around, while their driver waits outside the car, we get the first of many wolf POV shots, stalking the couple from afar and then up close. (One of the few intriguing things Wadleigh does is make the wolf's POV all posterized, and sonically tweaked, to indicate some sort of heightened - and, as we later see, targeted - sense of awareness.) As soon as the driver hears a weird noise, his gun comes out but before he can even make a sound or react, we see his hand fly off and he's on the ground dead. Within seconds the couple have also been massacred by the still unseen presumably animal assailant. The cops are called in and that's when we're introduced to the real main character in the movie, Detective Wilson. (Played by Albert Finney.) He's apparently back on the force after having had a leave of absence due to either alcohol or psychological/ emotional problems, or possibly both. Wilson doesn't really take note of the case until his buddy, a medical examiner played by Gregory Hines, tells him that, despite the brutality of the crimes, there's no trace of a murder weapon. His ears really perk up when a homeless guys is discovered dead in the ruins of a South Bronx housing project by what looks like the same method. One of the persons of interest he speaks with is a recently paroled Native American (Edward James Olmos) who not only lets Wilson know he's clean, he also casually mentions he's the best at shape shifting. (Whereby an individual takes on the characteristics of an animal.) Somehow or another Wilson susses out that the killings are all related to an urban redevelopment plan for the South Bronx - which has never looked as desolate and war-torn as is does here. However, the area targeted for demolition is apparently some sort of sacred native ground that goes back to when the Indians owned Manhattan. The genocide of Native Americans by conquering white men is repeatedly seen as mirroring the genocide of the native wolf population in America, and the wolves are the spiritual brothers of the Indians, carrying out their revenge. Right. (Spare me the socio-politico mumbo jumbo please, this is supposed to be a fright flick.) When it all ends the wolves are supposed to be seen as sympathetic (albeit bloodthirsty) characters and modern man is supposed to be the real monster. Which is, I guess, what's to be expected when hippies try to make horror films.
—the Kommandant
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