Not of This Earth (1957) – Review

Roger Corman, the king of “How much movie can I squeeze out of pocket change?” delivers again with Not of This Earth, a sci-fi flick that’s equal parts bizarre, hilarious, and surprisingly captivating. This 1957 gem feels like it was concocted after someone handed Corman $5 and dared him to make a movie about alien vampires. Spoiler alert: he nailed it.

The film kicks off when a mysterious man in a sharp suit and sunglasses, day or night, he never takes them off, walks into a doctor’s office and demands a blood transfusion. But this isn’t just a case of low iron. Turns out, this pale, unblinking fellow is Mr. Johnson (Paul Birch), an alien envoy from the planet Davanna. His species is suffering from a catastrophic blood disease, and Earth’s plasma is looking mighty compatible. With the fate of his race on the line, Mr. Johnson is on a mission to harvest humanity’s hemoglobin, and nothing will stand in his way. Johnson rents a mansion and hires a nurse, Nadine (Beverly Garland), to assist with his transfusions. He also uses his alien powers, like death-ray vision and mind control, to keep people in line. Naturally, his overly formal demeanour and vampiric tendencies make everyone suspicious, but this is 1950s sci-fi, so people take a while to connect the dots.

 

“Could you see about getting me blood supplied in bulk?”

Nadine, however, starts piecing things together, especially after her boss starts “disposing” of nosy deliverymen and unlucky passersby. With the help of Johnson’s bodyguard/manservant Jeremy Perrin (Johnathan Haze), who, while a cheap crook, draws the line at intergalactic murder. With bodies piling up and her old boss, town physician Dr. Rochelle (William Roerick), under Johnson’s hypnotic control, things start to get a little tense. Eventually, it comes down to a lot of running around and the timely intervention of Nadine’s hunky boyfriend/motorcycle cop Harry Sherbourne (Morgan Jones), but can they stop him before he calls for reinforcements and turns Earth into a cosmic blood bank?

 

I wonder if he has to call collect on that thing.

Stray Observations:

• Mr. Johnson’s sunglasses aren’t just a fashion statement; they’re clearly his planet’s way of saying, “We’ve never seen Earthlings, but they must LOVE weird aviators.”
• The alien’s briefcase is supposed to hold advanced technology, but it looks like it’s hiding someone’s lunch. Maybe he’s storing alien PB&Js in there?
• Mr. Johnson pays for his blood transfusions in cash—proof that even intergalactic vampires know Earth healthcare won’t take alien insurance.
• At one point, Mr. Johnson sits down to read a newspaper. Why? Is he catching up on Earth politics? Looking for the sports scores? Browsing the classifieds for “extra blood donors”?
• Beverly Garland had alien problems a year earlier in Roger Corman’s It Conquered the World. She just can’t catch a break when it comes to close encounters of the third kind.
• Dick Miller, everyone’s favourite Corman stock player, has a memorable turn as a vacuum cleaner salesman.

 

“This device can even suck the spilled blood from shag carpeting.”

With Not of This Earth, Roger Corman, the undisputed king of “do more with less,” gives us all the alien invasion tropes on a dime-store budget. Want flying saucers? Sorry, not in the budget. How about alien technology? Prepare for sunglasses with extra flair and a mysterious metallic briefcase that screams, “We’ll explain later.” Clocking in at a brisk 67 minutes, it packs its modest runtime with alien invaders, mysterious deaths, and tons of melodramatic tension, proving that you don’t need much money to leave an impression—just a good pair of sunglasses and a lot of fog machines. Corman’s knack for stretching a dollar is evident. The film boasts eerie, otherworldly vibes thanks to the clever use of minimalist sets, stark lighting, and a haunting theremin-laden score.

 

As for the aliens, they are less than haunting.

Paul Birch, as the alien invader, delivers a performance that’s somehow both wooden and menacing. He’s like a dapper Dracula from outer space, shuffling around with a steely gaze and an obsession with bodily fluids. You never know whether he’s going to sip your blood or ask you for a loan. Then we have Beverly Garland, who shines as Nadine, the nurse who somehow doesn’t question why her boss keeps dodging sunlight and asking for “unusual” medical treatments. Garland brings depth and intelligence to a role that could have easily been relegated to “screaming damsel.” Her character’s skepticism and bravery make her a standout among other sci-fi heroines of the era. And you can’t help but admire actors who can pull off lines like “If I do not receive blood within four chronoctons of time, I will have no need of emotion.”

 

“He’s got Bette Davis eyes.”

As for the special effects? Forget CGI, the special effects here are pure 1950s B-movie fare: glowing eyes, ominous sound effects, and a menacing flying umbrella that’s supposed to be an alien weapon. It’s laughable by today’s standards, but there’s a charm in the handmade, “we’ll-make-it-work” aesthetic. Corman’s use of shadowy cinematography and minimalist sets compensates for the lack of budget, creating a moody atmosphere that gives the film an eerie quality despite its silliness. It’s simultaneously ridiculous and a little terrifying—a perfect encapsulation of Corman’s ability to balance schlock with genuine creepiness.

 

“When umbrellas attack!”

In conclusion, if Ed Wood had been given half-decent lighting and a script that made sense, he might’ve come up with something like this. Not of This Earth is unapologetically absurd, but it’s also brimming with Corman’s trademark energy and “let’s put on a show” creativity. It’s campy, quirky, and full of old-school sci-fi charm. Plus, how can you not love a movie where sunglasses are the ultimate alien disguise? This is the kind of movie you throw on when you want to laugh at something trying so hard to be serious that it loops back around to comedy gold. It’s a glorious mess, a time capsule of 1950s sci-fi nonsense, and an absolute riot and strangely satisfying—a classic Corman concoction that proves you don’t need millions of dollars to make a fun, memorable movie.

The Brain from Planet Arous (1957) – Review

If 1950s sci-fi had a Hall of Fame for outlandishly campy classics, The Brain from Planet Arous would undoubtedly have its own exhibit—complete with a glowing prop brain, John Agar’s intense stare, and a dramatic voiceover declaring, “I am Gor, from the planet Arous!”

The 1950s were a time of burgeoning interest in outer space, fueled by Cold War anxieties, nuclear fears, and the dawning of the Space Age. Films like 1951’s The Day the Earth Stood Still and 1956’s Invasion of the Body Snatchers explored extraterrestrial contact through allegories of global conflict and societal paranoia. Then there are films like The Brain from Planet Arous, which takes a decidedly more pulp-fiction approach. This sci-fi classic dared to ask the question, “What if the real menace wasn’t flying saucers or bug-eyed monsters but a giant, floating brain with a penchant for world domination and, inexplicably, seduction?“

 

“Who’s up for some alien seduction?”

The movie opens with nuclear scientist Steve March (John Agar) and his colleague Dan Murphy (Robert Fuller) discovering an unusual radiation reading emanating from a remote desert mountain known as Mystery Mountain. What they uncover is far beyond the realm of science: an alien entity named Gor, a massive, glowing brain with telepathic powers. Gor explains that he hails from the planet Arous, and he seeks refuge after fleeing a political conflict on his home world. But Gor’s benevolent facade is quickly shattered as he reveals his true intentions—conquest of Earth, nuclear annihilation of any who resist, and personal gratification in the form of dominating human hosts.

 

“Bring me your women!”

In an instant, Gor takes possession of Steve’s body, transforming the mild-mannered scientist into a menacing, power-hungry tool of destruction and exhibiting bizarre and terrifying behaviour. His personality shifts dramatically—he becomes arrogant, aggressive, and power-hungry. At times, his eyes glow unnaturally as Gor unleashes his psychic powers to demonstrate his dominance, destroying aircraft and causing explosions. As Gor inhabits Steve, he begins wreaking havoc, displaying deadly capabilities such as heat ray eye blasts and superhuman strength. With Steve under Gor’s control, the alien brain turns its sights on the world’s leaders, issuing demands for submission while showcasing its deadly power.

 

He has the power over stock footage.

Meanwhile, Steve’s fiancée, Sally Fallon (Joyce Meadows), grows suspicious of Steve’s increasingly erratic and sinister behaviour. But her concerns deepen after discovering Steve’s connection to Gor, so she revisits Mystery Mountain and encounters Vol, another alien brain who has followed Gor to Earth. Vol is a law enforcement agent from Arous, tasked with capturing Gor and ending his reign of terror. However, Vol cannot act directly—he is physically weaker than Gor and requires human assistance to complete his mission. To spy on Steve/Gor, Vol inhabits her pet dog, George.

 

Man’s Best Spy.

Vol explains that Gor has a critical weakness: a fissure in his brain structure that can be exploited when he manifests outside Steve’s body. Sally, her father, and Vol devise a plan to lure Gor into revealing himself, but they must wait until Gor becomes overconfident and distracted by his conquest, which seems pretty easy, and then exits Steve’s body to recharge his energy. The climax is as gloriously ridiculous as you’d hope. With Gor distracted by his plans for interplanetary conquest and his creepy infatuation with Sally, our heroes spring into action. Armed with Vol’s intel and some serious resolve, they trap Gor and attack his vulnerable fissure using—wait for it—a good old-fashioned axe!

 

An axe can solve so many problems.

Stray Observations:

• If I were to discover that strange radiation was coming from the base of something called “Mystery Mountain,” I’d call the Scooby gang and then go back to bed.
• Steve and Dan are missing for a week, having gone to explore strange radiation in the middle of the desert, where the temperature reaches 120 degrees in the shade, but Sally never once thinks they could be in trouble. She’s not what I’d call good fiancée material.
• The voice of Gor, the brain, is that of uncredited actor Morris Ankrum, who starred in such sci-fi classics as Rocketship X-M, Earth vs. the Flying Saucers and The Giant Claw.
• Even after being occupied by Gor, Steve thinks Sally is imagining things when she tells him about Vol. Steve is your typical 1950s man from these types of films, thinking all women are hysterical and only good for getting coffee.
• The plot of an alien interstellar policeman pursuing a dangerous, space-faring criminal who must slip into and possess the bodies of Earth is very similar to the 1987 sci-fi classic The Hidden.
• After Steve defeats Gor, everything goes “back to normal” despite all the destruction he caused. I’d like to see how his defence of “I was mind-controlled by a brain from outer space” would fly in the courts.

 

“Do I look guilty to you?”

Directed by Nathan Juran (under the pseudonym Nathan Hertz), The Brain from Planet Arous leans fully into its absurd premise, but beneath the camp and cheese, there’s an accidental commentary on Cold War paranoia and the fear of power falling into the wrong hands. But let’s not kid ourselves—this movie isn’t here for deep thematic exploration. It’s here to entertain with nonsensical sci-fi antics, and it does so in spades. If your film is about large floating brains bent on world domination, the odds of it being taken seriously are fairly slim – even if the special effects manage to pull it off – and in this case, not much was pulled off either script-wise or effects-wise.

 

These are definitely special effects.

On the acting side of things, John Agar delivers a performance that vacillates between wooden and over-the-top, particularly when portraying Steve under Gor’s influence. His maniacal laughter and intense stares are both unsettling and unintentionally comedic, and it’s his crazed evil laughs and exaggerated facial expressions that solidify his status as a B-movie icon. Then there’s Joyce Meadows. the classic 1950s heroine who stands by her man, even when he’s possessed by a floating brain with a god complex. Her scenes with Vol the dog are unintentionally hilarious, as she earnestly treats the canine as a wise alien ally. She does manage to bring a blend of determination and damsel-in-distress energy, though her character is often reduced to reacting to the increasingly absurd events around her.

 

Putting up with a handsy-alien-possessed fiancé isn’t easy.

One of the film’s most memorable aspects is its use of those very special effects. The depiction of Gor as a glowing, floating brain is both iconic and laughable by modern standards. The double exposure technique used to animate Gor lends him an ethereal quality, but it also highlights the film’s budgetary constraints. Similarly, Gor’s eye-beam attacks, which cause objects to erupt into flames, are as charmingly primitive as they are entertaining. Gor is essentially a large, pulsating brain with glowing eyes, floating around on visible wires. Yet, there’s something endearingly ambitious about its design. The filmmakers clearly knew they were making something ridiculous, and they ran with it.

 

A classic tale of a boy and his brain.

What elevates this B-movie from forgettable schlock to cult classic is its gleeful absurdity. The dialogue alternates between technobabble and unintentionally hilarious melodrama (“Through me, you will have ruled the world. But I will rule the universe”), and Agar gives his all to embody Steve’s possession, complete with intense stares, maniacal laughter, and an almost Shakespearean level of ham. And despite its flaws, The Brain from Planet Arous has carved a niche for itself in the annals of science fiction cinema. The film’s influence can be seen in later works that parody or pay homage to the era’s science fiction, such as The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Tim Burton’s Mars Attacks! This film is a mix of camp, earnestness, and unintentional humour that has endeared it to fans of cult and B-movies over the years.

 

Who doesn’t love a good killer brain movie?

In conclusion, The Brain from Planet Arous is a gloriously silly relic of mid-century sci-fi, complete with hammy acting, absurd dialogue, and a plot so bizarre it borders on genius. It’s the kind of movie you watch with friends, laughing at the ridiculousness while secretly admiring its earnestness. If you’re a fan of kitschy classics, this brainy alien romp is a must-see.

It Conquered the World (1956) – Review

It Conquered the World, a title that promises a cosmic conquest, but the execution delivers… a cantaloupe with teeth. Directed by Roger Corman, this low-budget sci-fi film is a delightful B-movie that has earned a reputation for its charming absurdity. This is a film that is both a product of its era and a cautionary tale about trusting extraterrestrial carrots.

Welcome to the sleepy small town of Anywhere, USA, where mad science and alien invasions are just one bad decision away! Our story kicks off with Dr. Tom Anderson (Lee Van Cleef), a brilliant but brooding scientist who spends way too much time staring into space—literally. Disillusioned with humanity’s flaws, he makes the very questionable decision to buddy up with a Venusian alien who promises to bring peace and order to Earth. Because trusting a creature from a planet with a surface temperature hot enough to melt lead is a solid plan. He spends much of his time on his radio talking to the aliens and ratting out his fellow humans.

 

“The President lives at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington.”

Tom’s wife, Claire (Beverly Garland), isn’t thrilled about her husband’s newfound alien pen pal, but Tom brushes off her concerns.  Why, you ask? Well, he’s a bit of a dick, and, after all, he’s convinced the Venusian has all the answers to humanity’s problems. But Tom not only ruins all her parties with his bizarre theories about alien overlords, he also spends all his nights on the radio talking to them instead of doing anything productive, like reading porn. Did I mention he’s a bit of a dick? Meanwhile, Tom’s best friend and all-around good guy, Dr. Paul Nelson (Peter Graves), starts to suspect that his old buddy has gone off the deep end when he casually announces that he’s invited the Venusian to Earth.

 

“Have a few more bourbons and it will all make sense.”

Enter the Venusian, a creature that looks like a giant triangular pickle with bat wings, crab claws, and a permanent “I’m disappointed in you” face. It sets up shop in a nearby cave and immediately gets to work conquering the world. But it doesn’t need things like lasers or spaceships—oh no! This alien uses brainwashing Frisbees to control humans. These flying devices zoom through the air like boomerangs gone rogue, attaching themselves to people’s necks and turning them into emotionless drones. This isn’t so much an Invasion of the Body type encounter as it is a low-rent version of Robert A. Heinlein’s The Puppet Masters. These flying little buddies just dropped out of nowhere, and “BAM,” you’re a mindless pawn in their interstellar game of life. One by one, the alien menace takes over its targets, including Paul’s lovely wife Joan (Sally Fraser), who then tries to make him “One of Us”.

 

“Honey, it’s the latest thing from Macy’s.”

Tom, who’s still firmly Team Venusian, watches proudly as the alien initiates its plan to rid humanity of pesky emotions like love, compassion, and free will. But Paul is having none of it. As the Venusians’ brainwashed minions spread chaos, Paul tries to reason with his deluded friend, pleading with him to see that handing Earth over to a giant Venusian veggie might not be the best idea. Things come to a head when Claire, fed up with her husband’s alien obsession, grabs a rifle and storms into the cave to confront Beulah (yes, the Venusian has a name straight from a Southern plantation). This leads to one of the film’s most memorable scenes, Claire delivers a scathing monologue, calling out the alien for its sinister schemes and basically telling it to take its bat-winged self back to Venus. Tragically, Claire’s bravery ends in her untimely demise, but not before she cements herself as one of the film’s most badass characters.

 

Claire is this film’s unsung hero.

With Claire gone and Tom starting to question his life choices, Paul steps in to save the day. Armed with a blowtorch (because why not?), he heads to the cave for a final showdown with the Venusian. In a tense—and unintentionally hilarious—confrontation, Paul torches Beulah into oblivion, saving humanity from the brainwashing cucumber once and for all. As the smoke clears, Tom realizes the error of his ways, but it’s too late to undo the damage. It should be noted that by the time the “climactic” showdown arrives, the Venusian finally steps into full view, and the audience gets the privilege of realizing that this is what all the fuss was about. The world doesn’t end in fire or ice—it ends in laughter because everyone is too busy pointing and giggling at the cucumber demon to fight back.

 

“Should I have even bothered calling the army?”

Stray Observations:

• These aliens even have the same ability as Klaatu as those in The Day the Earth Stood Still when it comes to making the world “stand still,” they just don’t bother with advance warnings.
• The mind-control bats attack their victims and plant little barbs at the back of the neck. Could this be an homage to the devices from the sci-fi classic Invaders from Mars?
• Lee Van Cleef is no stranger to fighting monsters; he fired the killing shot against the dinosaur in The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms. Unfortunately, in this outing, he’s not a crack shot but a crackpot.
• It’s not a proper Roger Corman film without an appearance by Dick Miller, and this entry does not disappoint as he has a fun role as an army platoon leader.
• When Paul realizes his wife is forever an emotionless puppet, he shoots her dead. That has to be one of the coldest and most heartbreaking things to be found in a ’50s sci-fi flick.

 

“Consider this a divorce.”

Roger Corman, working with a microscopic budget and a rapid shooting schedule, tries to imbue the film with a sense of menace, but the execution often undermines the intended tone. The themes of Cold War paranoia and the dangers of unchecked ambition are present, but they’re buried under layers of B-movie silliness. The pacing lags at times, particularly when the characters engage in lengthy pseudo-scientific debates that sound like rejected high school debate club material.  But when the Venusian’s plan unfolds, complete with its goofy yet memorable flying brainwashing devices, the film becomes pure campy fun.

 

You cannot deny the power of Beulah.

On the acting side of things, Lee Van Cleef gives it his all as Anderson, convincingly conveying a man torn between lofty ideals and sheer madness. Peter Graves, on the other hand, delivers a performance that can best be described as “stoically befuddled,” that is, when he’s not coldly gunning down the infected populace. The supporting cast includes Beverly Garland as Claire Anderson, Tom’s long-suffering wife, who delivers the film’s standout moment: a feminist-tinged tirade against her husband’s foolishness, complete with a physical confrontation with the monster. Garland’s spirited performance elevates the material, even as she battles an alien that looks like it might collapse under its own weight.

Note: When actress Beverly Garland got her first look at the titular monster, her sarcastic remark was, “THAT conquered the world?”

The star of the show, of course, is the alien itself—a ludicrous, waddling creation resembling an overgrown artichoke with bat wings. Designed by Paul Blaisdell, the Venusian—nicknamed “Beulah”—is a curious amalgamation of imagination and budgetary constraints. With its triangular body, stubby arms, and toothy grimace, the creature is more likely to elicit chuckles than terror. Though it falls short as a menacing villain, Beulah has achieved iconic status in the pantheon of B-movie monsters. The creature’s design inadvertently highlights the ingenuity of low-budget filmmaking. Blaisdell created something memorable, if not believable, under extreme financial and time constraints. It may be one of the most laughable-looking monsters in cinema history, but it’s also one of the more unforgettable entries.

 

We need an Academy Award for Goofiest Monster.

Roger Corman’s It Conquered the World is a quintessential example of mid-century science fiction, reflecting the anxieties of its era while serving as a touchstone for the B-movie aesthetic. Though often mocked for its low-budget effects and dubious creature design, the film has endured as a cult classic. It’s a piece of cinematic history that reveals as much about the culture that produced it as it does about the creativity of its filmmakers.

The Wolfman (2010) – Review

In 2010, Universal aimed to resurrect a classic monster with modern visual effects and a star-studded cast, not to mention having legendary make-up artist Rick Baker on hand, but the result was a moody, occasionally stunning film that struggled under the weight of its ambition. Let’s journey back in time and enter the foggy moors and see what happened.

Set in the fog-drenched moors of Victorian England, our story begins with Lawrence Talbot (Benicio Del Toro), a brooding actor with a penchant for tragic stares. After a lifetime of avoiding his creepy family estate, Blackmoor, he’s lured back by the mysterious death of his brother, Ben. Turns out Ben was mauled to pieces under mysterious circumstances. (Hint: It’s not a bear.) Ben’s grieving fiancée, Gwen Conliffe (Emily Blunt), convinces Lawrence to stay and investigate, because who better to solve a gruesome murder mystery than a Shakespearean actor with daddy issues?

 

“Couldn’t we get someone to call Hercule Poirot?”

Upon arriving at Blackmoor, Lawrence reunites with his estranged father, Sir John Talbot (Anthony Hopkins). Sir John is a strange, wild-eyed man who seems a little too comfortable with the ominous howls echoing through the night. He claims he’s locked the family’s past behind a thick layer of eccentricity, cryptic warnings, and an alarming number of animal skulls. Nothing suspicious here, right? While snooping around for answers, Lawrence stumbles into a local tavern and learns that Blackmoor has a reputation for werewolf attacks, a fun local legend that everyone treats as fact. The villagers’ advice? Don’t go into the woods. His father also recommends staying inside during the full moon, So, naturally, Lawrence ignores all that advice and while investigating a gypsy encampment, things go from bad to worse.

 

Mind you, a lot worse for others.

While tracking the beast through the fog, Lawrence is bitten during a particularly gruesome encounter and is only saved by the timely arrival of some gun-toting locals. Despite his serious wounds he somehow survives (thanks to the not-so-tender ministrations from the gypsies), but he’s not quite the same afterwards. Not only does he rapidly heal, but his senses have sharpened, his strength increases, and he develops an unhealthy love for moonbathing. The local villagers, led by the determined Inspector Aberline (Hugo Weaving), start to piece together the connection between Lawrence’s newfound glow-up and the violent attacks happening around Blackmoor. Unfortunately, a posse and a passel of silver bullets aren’t enough to stop this “new and improved” Lawrence Talbot.

 

Cue a dark and bloody night.

Things get even more complicated when Sir John drops a bombshell: not only is Lawrence turning into a werewolf, but lycanthropy runs in the family. Yep, dear old dad has been rocking the werewolf curse for years and is surprisingly nonchalant about it. In fact, he kind of enjoys it. Cue a father-son bonding moment in which Sir John explains the joys of werewolfing out while ominously sharpening his claws. The film culminates in an epic werewolf-on-werewolf battle as Lawrence and Sir John face off in the ruins of their ancestral home. Think of it as family therapy but with more growling, slashing, and roaring fires. Meanwhile, Gwen must decide if her love for Lawrence is strong enough to handle his other half or if she should consider putting him down with a silver bullet—a tough decision when your boyfriend keeps eating your neighbours.

 

“So, he’s a dog.”

Stray Observation:

• People who walk through dark and spooky forests and call out “Show yourself!” are just asking to be attacked by a werewolf. Darwinism in action.
• That Lon Chaney Jr. was supposed to be the son of Claude Rains in the 1941’s The Wolf Man was always a bit of a stretch, a tradition this sequel continues with Benicio Del Toro playing the son of Anthony Hopkins.
• Lawrence meets a man with a silver wolf-headed cane that he acquired in the Village of Gévaudan, France, which makes this a reference to both the original film and Brotherhood of the Wolf.
• That Inspector Aberline would immediately suspect Lawrence is ridiculous. He wasn’t around when his brother was killed, and several locals witnessed the “creature” attack him. No wonder he wasn’t able to catch Jack the Ripper, as he’s clearly a terrible investigator.
• No matter what Lawrence was wearing previously, the Wolfman is always in the same clothes post-transformation, which was the case in the 1941 original as well.
• Our tragic hero had spent most of his life in America, only to come to London and become a werewolf. You could almost say, “He’s an American Werewolf in London.”
• Lawrence stays alive long enough to thank Gwen for shooting him and reassures her that it was the right thing to do, similar to the ending of Werewolf of London (1935).

 

This movie takes stalking quite literally.

When Universal Pictures greenlit 2010’s The Wolfman, the vision was clear: resurrect a classic monster for a modern audience, blending the gothic elegance of the 1941 original with contemporary filmmaking techniques. What unfolded instead was a textbook example of how not to approach a remake. This had all the makings of a modern horror classic: a rich legacy to draw from, an A-list cast, a celebrated director in Joe Johnston, and an Oscar-winning makeup effects artist in Rick Baker. Yet, despite its potential, the film stumbles, burdened by a clunky script, uneven performances, and a tonal identity crisis that leaves it howling in frustration rather than triumph. The cast, while impressive on paper, delivers mixed performances. Del Toro captures the torment of Lawrence’s curse but often feels too subdued, as if sleepwalking through his role. Hopkins, on the other hand, gleefully chews the scenery, teetering on the edge of camp. Blunt is underutilized, her character relegated to the familiar “tragic love interest” archetype, while Weaving’s Aberline brings a welcome dose of sharpness and determination.

 

“Why, Mr. Talbot? Why, why? Why do you do it?”

One area where The Wolfman earns praise is its visual design. The Victorian-era setting is beautifully realized, with shadow-drenched forests, foggy moors, and grand but decaying mansions providing a suitably eerie backdrop. The set design and cinematography transport the viewer to Victorian England, drenched in eerie fog and moonlight. If this remake succeeded in any area, it was in its visual presentation. The production design, cinematography, and Danny Elfman’s haunting score created a rich gothic atmosphere. The Victorian-era setting, with its shadowy forests and crumbling mansions, was a feast for the eyes. However, these aesthetic triumphs were not enough to compensate for the film’s narrative and tonal shortcomings.

 

It does have some nice cinematic werewolf moments.

Sadly, a defining feature of The Wolfman is its heavy use of CGI, particularly in the transformation sequences and action scenes. While Rick Baker’s practical effects work—most notably in the werewolf makeup—was superb, the film undermined this craftsmanship by overlaying it with excessive computer-generated imagery. The werewolf transformations, a hallmark of the genre, felt sterile and unconvincing due to the CGI’s weightlessness. Unlike the visceral, painful transformations seen in classics like An American Werewolf in London, this movie’s digital approach failed to evoke the same sense of awe or horror. Similarly, the action scenes, such as the climactic battle between Lawrence and Sir John, were marred by cartoonish effects that broke the immersion.

 

When werewolves go bad.

In conclusion, Joe Johnston’s The Wolfman is a missed opportunity—a film with the potential to rejuvenate a beloved monster mythos but one that falters under the weight of its ambitions. While it boasts some striking visuals and moments of genuine horror, it ultimately succumbs to uneven storytelling, misaligned performances, and an over-reliance on CGI. What should have been a modern Gothic masterpiece instead feels like a beautiful but hollow shell.

Dog Soldiers (2002) – Review

Before werewolves were sexy and CGI ruled the night, Neil Marshall’s Dog Soldiers tore onto the screen with a snarling blend of blood, guts, and pitch-black humour. Set deep in the Scottish Highlands and drenched in practical effects, this cult horror-action hybrid pits a squad of unlucky British soldiers against a pack of terrifying beasts—and it doesn’t let up for a second. Let’s sink our teeth into what makes this low-budget creature feature such a ferocious fan favourite.

The movie kicks off with a vicious attack on a couple of campers by something monstrous, adding more reasons to never go camping – but from here on out, we follow a group of British soldiers on what is supposed to be a routine training mission in the remote Scottish Highlands. Led by Sergeant Wells (Sean Pertwee), the squad includes Private Cooper (Kevin McKidd), who has been recently reassigned after a tense encounter with a ruthless special ops Captain, Richard Ryan (Liam Cunningham). During their training, the soldiers stumble upon the remains of a Special Forces team, slaughtered by unknown assailants, and they soon realize they’re being hunted by something deadly lurking in the woods.

 

Who will survive?

As night falls, the soldiers are ambushed by a pack of massive, relentless werewolves. Which is not a good thing. Desperate to survive, they seek refuge in a secluded farmhouse, where they meet Megan (Emma Cleasby), a zoologist who warns them about the creatures’ nocturnal nature. Unfortunately, she may have her own brutal agenda when it comes to the pack of werewolves harassing them. The squad quickly turns the farmhouse into a fortress, fighting off wave after wave of attacks from the werewolves, who seem determined to wipe them out. Supplies and ammunition dwindle, and tensions rise as the soldiers struggle to make it through the night.

 

It’s not a teddy bear’s picnic.

Stray Observations:

• Missing campers are explained away as the result of “an escaped lunatic,” which is the same phrase to describe Jack and David’s attacker in An American Werewolf in London.
• Some of the corpses hanging around in the basement were originally created for and used in the 1997 sci-fi horror classic Event Horizon, which also featured Sean Pertwee.
• Cooper breaking through the bathroom wall to the bedroom mirrors the scene in 1964’s Zulu, where Pvt. Hook is in the Hospital as the Zulus break in.
• One of the soldiers in this movie is called Bruce Campbell, an obvious nod to the iconic star of the Evil Dead movies. Sadly, this particular Campbell doesn’t even make it to the second reel.
• A silver letter opener killing a werewolf, set up in the film’s cold open, is similar to the silver-topped cane in 1941’s The Wolf Man. A Chekov’s Gun of werewolf killing, if you will.
• While silver is their weakness, the film doesn’t explicitly state whether or not the full moon has any effect on a werewolf’s transformation.

 

The ever-fluid rules of lycanthropy.

Writer/director Neil Marshall makes the most of a modest budget, relying on practical effects that give the werewolves a visceral, real-world weight. And those werewolves! These aren’t your CGI fluffballs; they’re lanky, towering, wolf-headed beasts that hunt in packs, making every encounter nerve-shredding. Dog Soldiers also doubles down on clever survival-horror tactics. The soldiers, holed up in a tiny farmhouse with limited ammo, pull off some makeshift tricks that add to the film’s underdog charm. Plus, it’s refreshing to see characters who don’t make dumb horror-movie decisions – these guys are soldiers, and they act like it, using what little they have with ingenuity and grit.

Note: Neil Marshall claims he wrote this film as a knee-jerk reaction to An American Werewolf in Paris, which he thought was terrible.

The film’s secret weapon is its sharp dialogue and comradely banter amongst this group, which keeps you laughing even as the situation goes from bad to worse (and to “even worse than that”). The squad’s ragtag humour in the face of absolute carnage feels natural and earned, with standout lines like “I hope I give you the shits!” becoming fan favourites. The cast brings just the right mix of tough-guy grit and hopeless camaraderie as they realize there’s no cavalry coming to save them. And yes, it’s gory – but it’s the fun kind of gory. Watching this squad of soldiers desperately trying to stay one step ahead of these relentless werewolves, patching each other up with duct tape and household supplies, is an absolute blast. It’s a horror movie with grit and guts (literally) but doesn’t take itself too seriously, which makes it a scream to watch with friends.

 

This werewolf film is not for the squeamish.

The practical effects for the werewolves are a standout element, giving the creatures a towering, nightmarish presence that is more terrifying because it feels so real. Opting for practical effects over CGI, Marshall creates a sense of physical danger that few modern horror films manage to achieve. The werewolves are shown sparingly but effectively, lurking in shadows and making sudden, brutal appearances that keep the tension high throughout, helped by Sam McCurdy’s excellent cinematography.

 This isn’t a slick Hollywood horror movie; it’s raw, a little grimy, and a lot of fun, perfect for fans who appreciate practical effects, a generous helping of gore, and characters who react like real people would if faced with monstrous creatures in the woods. It’s no wonder Dog Soldiers has become a cult classic – it’s brutal, it’s funny, and it delivers on a simple promise: werewolves versus soldiers in a no-holds-barred fight for survival. A must-watch if you love horror with a side of gallows humour and a lot of bark (and bite).