Universal Studios
Oh, Werewolves, where do I even begin with this howling disaster?
Directed by Steven C. Miller, the story, if you can call it that, revolves around a supermoon that activates a dormant gene that turned a billion people into werewolves a year ago because… uh, moon reasons?
As another supermoon is looming, and humanity’s best hope lies with Frank Grillo as Wesley Marshall, a scientist-soldier hybrid who looks like he’s perpetually one flex away from ripping his shirt off and keeping a straight face through lines like “The moon’s back, and it’s pissed.”
He’s teamed up with Katrina Law’s Dr. Amy Chen to test “moon screen”—yes, a literal spray-on werewolf repellent that sounds like something you’d buy at a gas station next to the off-brand bug spray.
Meanwhile, Wesley’s sister-in-law Lucy (Ilfenesh Hadera) and niece Emma (Kamdynn Gary) are stuck barricading their house against a horde of hairy lunatics, including a gun-toting neighbor who’s basically a walking Fox News parody with claws.
Lou Diamond Phillips also shows up to collect a paycheck, playing Dr. Aranda with the enthusiasm of someone counting the days until retirement this action-horror flick is a masterclass in taking a decent premise and drowning it in a swamp of stupidity so thick you could use it to grout tiles. Imagine The Purge but with werewolves—sounds like a blast, right?
Well, buckle up, because this film somehow manages to turn that wild pitch into a joyless slog that’s equal parts baffling and unintentionally hilarious. The whole thing unfolds like a fever dream where logic was the first casualty
0The film’s central gimmick is that looking at the supermoon for one second turns you into a werewolf, which raises about a million questions it never bothers to answer. How do blind people fare? What about cloudy nights? Why does “moon screen” work like sunscreen but only if you squirt it in your eyes? The werewolves themselves are a riot—practical effects that Miller clearly loves, but they look like dudes in Party City costumes stumbling around like they’re late for a furry convention. There’s a scene where Wesley and Amy are dodging these snarling beasts across a city that’s suspiciously empty, and it’s less tense than it is comical—like watching a game of tag where everyone forgot the rules. The plot lurches from one nonsensical beat to the next: a militia shows up for no reason, a decapitation happens because why not, and the climax involves a werewolf getting yeeted off a roof in a way that feels more Looney Tunes than horror.
The execution is so poor it’s almost performance art. The editing is choppy, the pacing is a mess, and the dialogue is a treasure trove of clunkers—“They’re like addicts without a fix!” one scientist declares, as if that explains anything. The film wants to be a gritty action-horror hybrid, but it’s too dumb to be scary and too plodding to be fun. The result is a 94-minute shrug that leaves you wondering if the real werewolf curse is having to sit through it.
Extras included several deleted scenes that no one ever needed to bear witness to.
In the end, Werewolves is a monument to wasted potential.
It’s got Grillo, it’s got practical effects, it’s got a bonkers premise—but it’s so poorly stitched together it’s less a movie and more a cry for help. If you’re drunk enough, you might chuckle at the sheer absurdity, but even then, you’d be better off howling at the moon yourself than watching this fur-brained fiasco.
Woof.
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