WOLFEN (1981)
Ordinarily, this capsule wouldn't pass muster. I should explain. I rented Wolfen on Prime Video, and in between bouts of catalepsy (or maybe it was willful brain fog), I took in...several conversations spoken just above a murmur. That's what I remember anyway. Wolfen has got to be one of the most boring films in existence. I'm sorry, but how is this sedative regarded as one of the more agreeable werewolf romps of the 80's? It's bad enough that the viewer is cozened out of a stopgap transformation sequence. The special effects were available, but nope! And you can forget about creature suits, as the film trades spectacle for "atmosphere."
If director Michael Wadleigh had any handle on his pacing, I'd be down. Out of curiosity, I checked his IMDb page. His resume is swamped with concert footage (his claim to fame seems to be Woodstock). That actually makes sense. Countless scenes - largely bereft of dialogue, mind you - are left to linger past any reasonable point of validity, much like a Grateful Dead song. I could have referenced a Jethro Tull flute solo, but I take exception to Grateful Dead's sheer suckage. They suck, you see. Wolfen? Also sucks, but if this were a full-length review, I'd extend a half-Z'Dar out of pity for the wolves on display. They deserve better.
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