0 comment Saturday, April 5, 2014 | admin
Ahh, here's something I can really sink my teeth into. The Mike, esteemed owner of the wonderful blog From Midnight, With Love, has just called a nefarious assembly of his group of supervillains known as The Midnight Warriors. Whether they be seasoned criminals or flat foots just starting out, the bloggers who have adhered the call have been asked this question: "What's guaranteed to make you happy when it comes to Horror, Genre, or Cult cinema?"
Too easy. My mind was made up before I had read the entire query. Simply put, I was determined to talk about werewolves. That's right; those furry mongers straight from the depths of hell and the darkest corners of the moor. Werewolves are the monsters that tickle me in all the right places, no matter how sharp their claws are. Everytime I see a poor sap in a horror movie suddenly suffer from a fit of ants in the pants, mouth frothing with dog saliva and hair sprouting all over his flesh quicker than a pubescent boy on steroids, I can't stop that stupid grin from spreading over my face.
My fascination with these monsters probably began around the time when I first discovered horror films. I can distinctly remember my grandmother (not unlike Maria Ouspenskaya's character in the Wolf Man series) describing to me in hushed tones the tragic story of one Lawrence Talbot. She explained how this man was bitten by some creature, resulting in a terrible transformation that overcame his body with every arrival of the full autumn moon. I was hypnotized. I had to see this movie she so enthusiastically spoke of. A quick trip to the local video store by my grandfather resulted in a viewing of the film later that night.
I was hooked. Never, not even in the Gothic exploits of Dracula and Frankenstein or the cryptozoologic terrors of King Kong and the Black Lagoon Creature, had I become so transfixed by a shuddersome monster from the screen. The mythology of the werewolf, the tragic fate of the afflicted victims, and the amazing scenes of special effects magic all combined to place me under a terror spell that I haven't awoken from since.
There's just something special about werewolves. Unlike their rivals of the Nosferatu who are constantly trying to appear hip, trendy, and "mature", werewolves have a childlike glee to them akin to Saturday morning cartoons and comic books. They're fun and engaging and they're usually at their best when they aren't meant to be handled seriously. Not that they most certainly can't (The Company of Wolves, Ginger Snaps, etc.) but let's be real here. We're watching dudes (and sometimes dudettes) rip off their clothes in an insane frenzy and literally chew the scenery as they morph into a snorting, flesh-hungry Yorkshire Terrier who's intent on ripping the innocent folks of the village a new one. How can you deny the inherent fun in that?
As you can tell from that statement, I'm a huge fan of werewolves, no matter what their form. From the conveniently clothed bipedals of the 40's and 50's to the maiden-snatching hair beasts from Europe even to today's CGI crafted demon hounds, I'm a sucker for anything that takes the time to rear its ugly snout up to the night sky and bay at the moon. Werewolves are always a 100% guarantee to bring out the monster-loving kid inside of me. The excitement I feel when I see them rampage across the screen almost makes me want to shed off my clothes and hunt with the pack.