MAD AT THE MOON (1992)
If you haven't noticed, I specialize in reviewing obscure films (duh, I know). It's a swell feeling when you find something interesting that virtually no one else has seen. Then there is the other side of the coin. That festering, possibly communicable side. God only knows what kind of disease I contracted from watching Mad at the Moon. Cool title, right? This thing wants you to believe that it's a werewolf movie, and technically, I guess you could say...yeah, it's a werewolf movie to the extent that Twilight is a vampire movie. At least the supposed monsters in Twilight had fangs. Apart from growing feral sideburns, the "monster" in Moon doesn't actually transform. Oh, and he doesn't kill anyone. He does howl, but hell, I've been known to do that after a few cans of Vanilla Coke.
This is a limp-wristed stab at a horror/western hybrid. There is some semblance of a storyline. Jenny is at risk of becoming a spinster, so she winds up marrying the first slob who decides to propose. In truth, she's in love with her husband's brother, a dark, handsome wastrel who has maybe a paragraph of dialogue. That's another thing. Director Martin Donovan is all about silence. He was probably trying to build the mood, but instead, he creates insufferably long stretches of absolutely nothing. Needless to say, the pacing is dead. No, undead. I can't believe that Mad at the Moon exists. We do see eye-catching imagery from time to time, which tells me that someone spent money on this mishap. Yuck.
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