The Wolfman is 2010’s first worthy production. For those of us who keep saying they don’t make movies the way they used to, Universal Pictures does just that. They do a re-make of their very own 1941 The Wolf Man. And outside of some fantastic visual effects and updated carcass carvings they barely stray from the original. Chock full of fog and full moon, it’s a horror film done by the numbers, and by the flesh. Let’s just keep this simple: if you like horror films, your tickets to this screening will be entertainment dollars well spent. And I say tickets, plural, because you may not want to see it alone.

What I really like about this film is it is Hollywood history, Universal Studios history; B film nobility treated like an Oscar film sort of how Francis Ford Coppola handled Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992). Music by Danny Elfman (Batman (1989), Edward Scissorhands (1990), Good Will Hunting (1997), Spiderman (2002)) and directed by Joe Johnston (October Sky (1999), Jumanji (1995), The Rocketeer (1991), Hildalgo (2004)), with special effects and makeup by Oscar winner Rick Baker (Men in Black (1997), An American Werewolf in London (1981)), and cinematography by Shelly Johnson who photographed Hildalgo, and Sky High (2005). It is the cinematography I must say that is as schizophrenic in its crispness and softness as a man turning to beast might be. In fact, the cinematography is almost as good as it is in Sherlock Holmes—the look and feel of the whole of England is like Sherlock Holmes (the two films on DVD and Blu-ray will be a killer double feature). But the production value here, with lyrical camera movements and long periods of time broken down for us in seconds, a man’s background and character shown to us in operatic flashes, in nightmares and drug induced hallucinations through the use of magical editing, it is filmmaking second to none, and reminds me of something Sam Raimi might do.

Lawrence Talbot played by Oscar winner Benicio Del Toro comes home to Talbot Castle where his brother has been shredded by a) an animal, b) a Gypsy, c) a lunatic. These are the options given to him by his father, coolly played to-no-stretch-of-the-imagination by Anthony Hopkins, and fearfully reiterated by all of the townspeople of Blackmoor, England. In fact the word Gypsy is spoken so often in one three-minute sequence that it seemed humorous when I knew humor wasn’t intended. As if the screenwriters Andrew Kevin Walker (Seven (1995), 8MM (1999), Sleepy Hollow (1999)) and David Self (writer of the awesome Road to Perdition (2002) and Thirteen Days (2000)) thought the word Gypsy to be funny during a late night, caffeine induced high and kept using it to amuse themselves. While investigating the murder of his brother, Lawrence comes upon a caravan of Gypsies, one of them a fortune teller played by Geraldine Chaplin, daughter of the great Charlie Chaplin. While Lawrence tries to save a child from a very stealthy wolf he gets bitten, and at twenty minutes in the “curse of the wolf” is upon him.

But the curse could be deeper than a bite, as Scotland Yard inspector Abberline played by Hugo Weaving (The Matrix (1999), Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)) indicates. It seems there is a psychological dimension to the film that enriches it tremendously. With it comes a sense of realism, that this lunacy could all be in one’s mind; that practitioners of medicine in 1891, like in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931), Mary Reilly (1996), From Hell (2001) could drive out the madness with drugs and ancient medical practices that would give Leonard McCoy a heart attack are plausible, then this whole wolf business might just be explainable. That kernel of truth, based on lycanthropy, the psychotic misconception that one believes they can turn into an animal, goes a long way, I believe, in suspending our disbelief. That and the power of the almighty pub. Seems that werewolf movies need pubs as much as Westerns need frontiers and jail cells. That the pub is the place where people are safe, and warm, and free to morph the pint’s imagination into yarns, into myths, into legends. All in an attempt to outdo one another, like a game, in from the cold, sitting around the fire. You can see how rumors begin and stories get passed around and like the jail cell in a Western, the part a pub plays is crucial to this kind of filmmaking: in addition to exposition and location it’s where the posse forms. Also the place where a philosophy of “us against them” bonds a community. And when the terror is howling in the dark, on the foggy moors, invisible to the eye, a pint is all the courage you need to make it disappear.

As if a werewolf truly exists. Come on, who are you kidding (I say confidently, as later, after the screening, I walked my dogs in the dark looking over my shoulder just as in 1981 I slept with a light on after seeing An American Werewolf in London). Like An American Werewolf in London, the nightmares that come after Lawrence is bitten are jump-out-of-your-seat scary. It doesn’t help that the music and lighting adds tremendous “noise” to creepy scenes. Flashes of monsters and flashbacks to kid nightmares, a big house and lawn like the one in The Shining (1980) where space can’t adequately be filled with furniture but is ripe for a haunting, it takes a lot of backbone for Lawrence to get through it all. Which his character, in the shear fact he begs people to run before he transforms, like Bruce Banner before he turns into The Hulk, his actions as a human being are commendable. Lawrence knows what he will become, what horrors he’ll bestow upon any flesh in sight. The classic werewolf movie is not one where the protagonist is enthusiastic about metamorphosising and killing, especially friends and loved ones. That’s what makes this werewolf story, and the original, likable.

The love story that developed in the original kind of shows up here—can’t have a monster movie without a love interest—but with very little time developed between the characters to believe their feelings for each other are anything but ordinary. Director Johnston, however, devises some well composed shots of Gwyn, Lawrence’s sister-in-law played by Emily Blunt, that linger on screen just as portions of her neck, lips, and limbs figuratively linger before the jowls of Lawrence’s inner animal. These few scenes go a long way in building a fairly decent relationship between the two that is more than just a family affair.

Speaking of family, Lon Chaney, Jr. who played the 1941 Larry Talbot, was a regular in Universal Horror films, as was his father, silent film actor Lon Chaney (The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923), The Phantom of the Opera (1925)). Del Toro looks just like Chaney, Jr., and, this Wolfman like the one before it has the father playing a significant part in the young wolf’s life. These kinds of connections come through in The Wolfman, in a subtle but palpable way to lift it out of what are at times border-line cheese. Universal sequels such as The Son of Frankenstein (1939), or Frankenstein Meets the Wolfman (1943), were films that were produced in the wake of a monster’s successful first appearance. The thought being why not create a spin-off or like in Van Helsing (2004) bring creatures together for the ultimate showdown, like if Spiderman were to fight it out with Ironman it would be an attempt at sensation, to draw a crowd in. The Wolfman 2010, while it stands alone as a fine remake of a single film in Universal’s vast horror catalogue it surprisingly includes its own satirical sideshow that threatens the integrity of the film. But considering the high production style and “throwback” feel of the film I’m led to believe it is more an honored tip of the hat to the whole of Universal’s horror history wrapped into one film than it is poor writing. Which makes me a bit more forgiving, and makes The Wolfman timeless.

Rated R for bloody horror violence and gore. Running time is just over two hours.