Review – The Curse of the Werewolf

At least a couple of critics have identified this as the greatest werewolf movie ever made, but frankly I just don’t see it. I suppose it’s probably the hands-down winner for most elaborate explanation for why the protagonist is a werewolf: his mother, who was mute, was raped by a lunatic in prison, and then her son was born on Christmas. So every time our hero tastes blood and/or becomes sexually aroused while the moon is full he turns into a wolf, or if not a wolf then at least something that looks vaguely like it might be marching across the floor of Madison Square Garden during the yappy dog division of the Westminster Kennel Club competition. Oliver Reed takes the lead with his usual aplomb, exploring his full range of mugs that make him look as if he’s ready to either transform into a ravening beast or uncork an explosive bowel movement. I guess I’ve seen worse werewolves, but this one still does too much to bring the word “dog” to mind. Mildly amusing