I went to this film with my mother, which, as it turned out, was a terrible idea. (I know you’re all wondering why someone with a 137 IQ, feathered jet-black hair, and a crazy good jump shot would go see a movie with his mother on a Friday night? Why wouldn’t I take some lucky broad and let her play with my Schwartzanator during the boring scenes? Because of popcorn, idiots. My mom loves it – she’s like a freaking popcorn silo – and I make her buy the mega bucket every time we go.) I’ll get to why it was a terrible idea to go with my mother later, but first I’m going to tell you dummies a few things about the movie.
This movie’s about a werewolf, and it doesn’t take long for “Wolfman” to reach its blood quota. The werewolf is half-wolf, half-man, so it has all the cunning of a wolf and all the pure physical power of a man, and it uses these tools to become an ultimate killing machine. 30 minutes into this movie and the Wolfman is already ripping up a caravan of drunk gypsies – which are like the hippies of the 1400s, when this movie was filmed, so that’s awesome. The CGI is pretty intense, it’s not groundbreaking, but it gets the job done. The Wolfman itself kinda looks like my uncle Al, but the special effects when the blood starts flying is hardcore enough.
Normally I’d say a movie with this much blood and guts gets at least 7/10 chops on principal alone, but the parts of the movie that aren’t gory are nonsensical and illogical enough to make your head bleed. Not a single decision made by any character in this movie makes an iota of sense. For example, in the first scene of the movie, Benico del Toro’s kid brother goes out in the woods with a lantern to look for his dad, the Wolfman, so they can have a chat and go peaceably back to the castle. Needless to say, he ends up in about forty different pieces. Also, Emily Blunt, who plays the kid brother’s fiancé, grieves for two whole weeks before she and Benico fall in love. This bizarre love triangle breaks one of the cardinal rules of Man Law, which simply states you don’t start banging your dead brother’s fiancé less then a month after his death. You don’t go out and just start banging your friends’ sister just because your friend left America to go help poor people or something (unless your friend is a tumbling, tumbling dickweed. In which case, bang away captain, bang away.) And you certainly don’t start banging your brother’s fiancé just because he went and got tore up by a wolfman.
I also wanted to talk briefly about Benico del Toro’s shitty acting in this movie. Benico plays a werewolf, but based upon his utter lack of detectable emotion or a single facial expression, and the fact that he spends 3/4 of the movie brooding moodily in the shadows, you begin to think he might be playing some sort of robot vampire hybrid. (A Robopire? No. That’s stupid. Suggest what to call Benico del Toro by emailing his Schwartzness at theschwartzanator@gmail.com).
So there I am in the theater enjoying a mega bucket of extra buttered popcorn and a delicious gut busting Hi-C Flashin’ Fruit Punch, when another retarded montage about love comes onscreen. The montage is ending when…ping-BOOM, they show a sweet shot of some babe-o-liscious Emily Blunt side-boob, and all of a sudden I’ve got more wood than Paul Bunyan. With my mother sitting right next to me! I avoided overwhelming awkwardness with some super fast thinking. I pretended to be moved by the love montage and threw the popcorn on the floor. Then I told my popcorn-hound mother she needed to go buy me more popcorn, which she did and it gave my hot-rocket ample time to come out of orbit and cool down. (Another uncomfortable situation was barely avoided near the end of the movie when the filmmakers blow a golden opportunity for a sweet lesbo scene between Emily Blunt and the hot gypsy lady. These two were practically eye-raping each other on screen with the carnal savagery of horny wolves, yet the director chose to ignore this pure display of natural desire.)
Overall I give this movie 6/10 chops. For every redeemable quality: blood-filled murder scenes, hot Emily Blunt side-boob, there is an equal amount of pure stupidity. One helpful way to get through the boring dribble is to imagine how Dr. Gonzo would handle all of Benico’s scenes.
