Editorials
[Full Moon Frights] Jack Nicholson Becomes a Middle-Aged Werewolf in ‘Wolf’
Werewolf movies have existed for over a hundred years. There are dozens upon dozens upon dozens of them and new offerings arrive with each passing year. Contrary to popular belief, however, there are plenty of good ones out there. From the classics to the cult favorites to the obscure offerings, this column will cover a different werewolf film each month near the latest rise of a full moon. So throw out your wolfsbane and silver, take to the moors, and run towards that gleaming globe in the sky, because it’s time for Full Moon Frights!
I toiled for a very long time over which film I should cover to launch this column. Some old black and white classic? An ‘80s favorite? Maybe a forgotten gem? Perhaps a more modern choice? All such eras will eventually be poured over in this monthly series, but for some reason, Wolf Man Jack entered my mind and just wouldn’t leave. So, Wolf it is!
Wolf was born in the early 1980s as a pet project of novelist/screenwriter Jim Harrison (Revenge, Legends of the Fall) and the concept quickly drew the interest of Harrison’s friend, actor Jack Nicholson. By the time Harrison had conjured up a draft of the script that both he and Jack were happy with, the ‘80s were winding down and it had been awhile since a hit werewolf movie had come along. In other words, it wasn’t the best time to be shopping around a more expensive, prestige monster flick.
Lucky for them, Colombia Pictures’ Bram Stoker’s Dracula burst onto the scene in 1992 and became one of the highest grossers of the year. Prestige horror was in again and Columbia was hot for more. Along with its sister studio, TriStar, they would go on to produce the following similar efforts over the next decade: Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Mary Reilly, Hollow Man, and…of course…Wolf.
With their furry and fanged passion project finally getting off the ground after a decade of development, Nicholson enlisted the talents of his friend and regular collaborator, Mike Nichols. What better way to entice non-horror fans to see a monster movie than have it come from the director of The Graduate, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, and Working Girl who was re-teaming with his star from Carnal Knowledge (among others)? The script received an initial round of rewrites by Wesley Strick (Arachnophobia, Cape Fear), with a final uncredited overhaul coming from Elaine May (Heaven Can Wait, Tootsie). The result is a melting pot of Hollywood class, commercial genre elements, and a dark sense of satirical humor.
That all sounds well and good, but what does it have to do with Jack Nicholson turning into a werewolf? Everything. At its core, Wolf is the story of a middle-aged man on the verge of a midlife crisis that is brought about by sizable changes in his life. Will Randall (Nicholson) is the aging editor-in-chief of a respected New York publishing company. He likes his job and his clients, he’s been married for a decade and a half, and has an extremely comfortable life. Comfortable, but somewhat passionless.
Unfortunately for Will, the publishing company is in the process of being bought out by a ruthless billionaire (Christopher Plummer) and he is being phased out. His conniving young protégé, Stewart (James Spader) is replacing him and Will has been offered a demotion in the form of “a job that no one would want”. Did I mention that said protégé is also sleeping with Will’s wife, Catherine (Kate Nelligan)? After all, if you’re casting James Spader in the James Spader role, you might as well go full Spader with it!
In other words, Will Randall’s life has gone to shit. In any other kind of film, we’d see this turn into either a depressing drama about how fleeting one’s happiness is or Will would go off on some life-affirming vacation allowing him to forget his troubles. Instead, all of his bad luck happens to come to a head after he was bitten by a wolf on a full moon. This leads to Will’s inner passion and ambition, his inner wolf, being reborn again both literally and metaphorically. The beast within has awakened and he’s not going down without a fight. What follows is a series of events that sees Will Randall reclaiming every aspect of his life, from his self-confidence to his profession to his love life.
As the power of the wolf continues to take over, Will’s four senses increase tenfold. He no longer needs his reading glasses. He can smell liquor on the breaths of his co-workers. He can hear gossip about himself from across the building. He’s stronger and no longer looking like a tired schlub. He’s vital, vigorous, and ready to seize the things he wants most.
There’s a downside, of course. After all, this is a werewolf movie. For every moment of triumph that his newfound gifts afford him, there’s an equal tragedy. One minute, he’s spending a wonderful day with his boss’s intriguing daughter Laura (Michelle Pfeiffer) and the next he’s waking up in the forest covered in animal blood. One moment he’s gleefully pissing on Stewart’s career and the next he’s finding severed fingers in his jacket pocket from the night before. One minute he’s about to go out for a romantic dinner with Laura and the next he’s being questioned by a detective (Richard Jenkins) about a recent homicide. The wolf’s bite is taking away from him as much as it gives and it’s only a matter of time before his nightly transformations become permanent.
For all its satire, humor, romance, and drama, Wolf is still very much a horror film. Ennio Morricone’s haunting themes permeate the film like a Gothic fog. Nichols’ and cinematographer Giuseppe Rotunno’s post-transformation sequences are shot in a very dreamlike and heightened fashion, hearkening back to the classic monster films of the ‘30s and ‘40s, albeit with a ‘90s sheen. As for the transformations themselves, all involved were wise enough to hire the talents of Rick Baker. Still, you will find no full American Werewolf in London or Howling-style wolfbeasts here.
Baker & Co. have instead allowed the performers to convey much of the werewolfery; opting for old school make-up, hair, and facial appliances to enhance their already-present predatory nature. Thus we have a true Wolf Man Jack, with Nicholson jogging, running, leaping, grinning, and growling about in a riff on the classic Jack Pierce/Henry Hull look from 1935’s Werewolf of London.
Wolf isn’t a perfect movie. It’s not very scary (although not all horror needs to be) and while her performance makes up for it, Pfeiffer’s character is underwritten. Plus a couple of the heavier horror elements don’t quite fully land at times and can come off a little campy. I don’t see this as a problem, however. After all, the older era of werewolf and exploitation films that it’s hearkening back to had a similar vibe. In many ways it feels like a great marriage of Mike Nichols & Elaine May’s previous works with AIP-esque exploitation. Fitting, given Jack’s career beginnings.
What makes it sing most are Nichols’ juggling of tones and some stellar lead performances from Nicholson, Pfeiffer, Plummer, and especially Spader. It’s not an all-timer, but it’s still a damn good werewolf movie. One that weaves classic monster tropes (including an aging mystic) throughout its themes of midlife crises, self-examination, the rejuvenation of passion, and…of course…werewolf vs. man (and werewolf vs. werewolf) carnage. It’s not something we get very often and therefore should be cherished.
See you next full moon!
College kids, strippers and vampires—those were Donald P. Borchers’ only requirements when he approached Richard Wenk about writing and directing a movie for New World Pictures. As requested, Wenk cooked up Vamp (1986), a tailor-made blend of the decade’s teen movie craze as well as its horror boom.
Grim and earnest stories were still very much a part of the ’80s horror landscape, yet Vamp is something of a comedy. One difference between it and, say, Saturday the 14th, though, is the former avoids using schtick. Wenk’s movie proves that horror comedies also don’t have to subtract thrills from their recipes. Of course, it takes a minute before reaching that point; college antics and culture shocks preface this one macabre misadventure.
Vamp‘s initial setup is apt for a typical college-set, sex-driven comedy; to bribe their way into a fraternity house, two pledges (Chris Makepeace, Robert Rusler) go looking for some adult entertainment. Without wasting time on any further exposition, the characters embark on an all-in-one-night trip that quickly detours into terror.
To procure their elusive MacGuffin—a stripper willing to gyrate for some frat boys—Keith (Makepeace) and AJ (Rusler), plus a third wheel named Duncan (Gedee Watanabe), trade the safety of their remote college campus for the seediness of some unnamed city. The setting is recognizably L.A. by day, but as soon as night falls, downtown, along with the characters, slips into a kind of surreal universe. Director of photography Elliot Davis gave this early entry on his prolific résumé an unusual yet distinctive look; that Mario Bava-esque, magenta-green lighting is omnipresent, so much so that it’s almost its own character.
Chris Makepeace and Robert Rusler in Vamp
The faint comparisons to Martin Scorsese’s After Hours are merited, although not just because of Vamp’s distinguishing nighttime aesthetic. Save for the primary characters, the supporting roles in Wenk’s movie are also quite colorful and transactional in their behavior. The difference here, though, is the additional urge to ruin Keith and his friends at every turn. Some of that harm is humorous and tolerable enough, whereas the moment Vamp dishes out its first fatality, it’s abundantly clear how this movie qualifies as horror.
Vamp falls into that category of horror movie that reveals its genre with a scream rather than a series of whispers. The opening scene can function as a hint of what lies ahead—things are not at all what they appear to be—but otherwise, Wenk is more than happy to hold off on the horror. When that time does come, though, it catches the viewer off guard. In addition to the pure shock value is that sudden decision to upend the movie’s foremost feature. Or so it would seem.
If afraid of major spoilage, those new to Vamp would be wise to stop reading here. There’s just no skirting around the fact that the central fellowship in this buddy movie hits a serious snag when AJ is killed. That development causes the story to become more of a “long, bad night” journey for Keith and his romantic interest. So while Wenk scores points for subverting expectations, there is also a touch of sadness in his decision. Because if Vamp does anything well, it’s making the characters likable.
Something that comes easily to Vamp—and other teen horror movies from this same era—is its ability to invent young characters worth caring about, or at the very least, are interesting and not so immediately off-putting. More impressive is how Wenk did all this without actually fleshing out those characters. Still and all, Keith and his kind are a grade above cookie-cutter, and in some cases, aren’t completely devoid of growth.
Grace Jones in Vamp
Vamp appeals with an assorted cast of characters. No two are the same, nor are they operating on the same wavelength. The cinematically extroverted AJ, whose actor conveyed charm and vulnerability in near equal amounts, comes alive when he’s at his most undead. Makepeace then makes the chronically cautious Keith a sympathetic fellow, even as he’s more and more affected by the night’s bizarre events. Meanwhile, Duncan is indeed the designated loser of the whole bunch, but Watanabe still manages to humanize him. As a bonus, the role didn’t require him to pull a Long Duk Dong.
As for Dedee Pfeiffer, she is plain adorable as the mysterious After Dark server nicknamed “Amaretto”. She spends all night fixing her dress strap while at the same time trying to get Keith to remember how he knows her. As their offbeat romance grows, it becomes another highlight of this movie. Whether or not Pfeiffer’s character is really a vampire also creates some welcome tension in the story.
Like a lot of its contemporaries, Vamp went on to become a bit of a cult classic. That current status is determined by several factors, but without a doubt, the casting of Grace Jones is the most considerable. The image of her writhing on that unique-looking chair, a Keith Haring original, springs to mind whenever this movie is brought up.
Chris Makepeace, Billy Drago and Paunita Nichols in Vamp
Prior to that first display of unequivocal horror, local vampire queen Katrina (Jones) took to the stage and delivered a strip show like no other. One would expect nothing less from that renowned model and performance artist. By now reports of Jones’ tardiness on set are no secret, yet it’s also hard to deny her commitment to the part of Katrina. It was, in fact, Jones who took charge of her character’s appearance—on top of Haring painting her body and that now-iconic chair, she had Andy Warhol handle her costuming. And not too many actors could seize a room’s attention without saying a single line of dialogue.
In 2022, Vamp received a retrospective novelization from Encyclopocalypse. This literary union of preexisting source material—Wenk’s original screenplay—and new ideas from author Christian Francis amounts to a more comprehensive visit to the After Dark Club. The basic story there is no different than what’s shown on screen; however, Francis gets creative with the characters’ origins and designs, and he enhances a number of key scenes.
The novelization expands on the urban and social decay of the main setting, and supplies a background for the After Dark Club. Sandy Baron’s character, Katrina’s emcee and familiar, is given ample motivation for sticking around; up until the fiery end, he is loyal to his friend and former business partner “Squeak”, who looks like he was “fed through a combine harvester, and left as nothing more than a heap of mangled remains”. Then there is Billy Drago’s character Snow, the leader of a street gang called The Dragons. His reason for menacing Keith and AJ is more altruistic than in the movie; he and his peers act tough to scare off any potential food for the vampires.
Lisa Lyon in Vamp
If not for all the backstories, Francis’ Vamp would be a hell of a lot shorter. Instead, this tie-in read dives into how AJ met Keith—the orphaned Anthony Joseph hailed from a broken home back in Brooklyn—and how their friendship flourished over the years. Keith’s archership is no longer just an assumed part of his entire being; it’s a confidence-building extracurricular for a boy who got picked on before coming into the protection of the new kid in town. These supplemental, in-depth looks at the protagonists, plus their close connection, are maybe unnecessary. The movie already did a fair and concise job of addressing their platonic intimacy without the need for flashbacks and insights, specifically in that scene where AJ lays it all out as he sacrifices himself.
Where the novelization gets off course is its approach to the minor characters. Intermittently backstorying the likes of Katrina’s indentured servants, Seko (Leila Hee Olsen) and Vlad (Brad Logan), ends up disturbing the flow of the writing. Was it absolutely essential that readers know Vlad was the Grand Duke of the House of Romanov, or how Snow’s accomplice Maven (Paunita Nichols) became so dentally challenged? No, not really. However, one’s mileage with these random biographies may vary.
The novelization is a more substantial experience, but for a movie like Vamp, less is more. And as plentiful as they are, it never simply coasts on its campy charms, either. The character work sits comfortably in that realm between cursory and meticulous, the script is sharper than first realized, and Greg Cannom’s vampire makeup is straightforward yet effective. Most of all, the movie didn’t squander its out-of-the-box concept. Richard Wenk made his vision of a “comic nightmare in which just about anything that can go wrong does” come true, and it is very enjoyable.
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