Julia Garner, from left, Christopher Abbott, and Matilda Firth in a scene from ‘Wolf Man’
| Photo Credit: AP

After the astounding success ofThe Invisible Man, director Leigh Whannell is back to reboot another of Universal Pictures’ most iconic horror titles. While The Invisible Man turned out to be the outing that could have revived the Dark Universe which was shot down after the failure of The Mummy, the filmmaker’s latest film Wolf Man shows why the chances of getting that universe are darker than the films it could have.

In the latest iteration of Wolf Man, after getting a “closure” on his father’s sudden disappearance along with the keys to his childhood home, Blake (Christopher Abbott) decides to make a trip out of it to save his strained marriage with Charlotte (Julia Garner). Along with their child Ginger (Matilda Firth), the couple drives to the middle of nowhere when they get attacked by a mysterious creature similar to what Blake had seen 30 years ago. When one of them gets infected while escaping from the monster, the barricaded safehouse turns into a trap.

The problem with tried-and-tested stories and the tropes they come with is the sense of redundancy and predictability, and that’s what Wolf Man suffers from. Like the 1941 original film, Wolf Man is the story of a damned person whose transformation into a nefarious creature comes with the emotional pain of turning into a nightmare for their own kin. Despite the wafer-thin plot, it’s the performances of Abbott and Garner that keep the film afloat. This is what makes drastic turns like one character taking over the wheel when they were operating from the back for most of the film’s run time, look not too ridiculous.

Julia Garner, from left, Christopher Abbott, and Matilda Firth in a scene from ‘Wolf Man’
| Photo Credit:
NICOLA DOVE

After a neat prologue that sets the stage for an intriguing story, the film takes a slump. The fact that the story banks on body horror rather than scares does not work in its favour either. But opting for prosthetics and practical effects instead of CG makes for some fascinating, old school gore-show and they come as a welcome respite in this horror film that dearly needs more horror.

Of course, there are specs of intelligent writing that lift its head like a werewolf on a full moon day — like the cool POV shots of the infected as they descend into madness. But what overpowers them are the predictable aspects of the film complete with its clichés such as one character being a writer and the child saying “I wanna go home” after escaping from the clutches of death. Not to mention the banality of being a ‘cabin in the woods’ film along with its usual tropes such as the inability to communicate with the outside world.

Wolf Man, in a way, tries to honour the legacy of the original film by sticking to practical effects. But with a simple and formulaic plot, there’s little good that performances can do.Wolf Man comes short of giving us anything worth sinking our teeth into.

Wolf Man is currently running in theatres

In the many beautifully observed working-class dramedies he’s made over the past five decades, the British writer and director Mike Leigh has returned again and again to one simple yet endlessly resonant question: Why are some people happy, while others are not? Why does Nicola, the sullen 20-something in Leigh’s 1990 film, Life Is Sweet, seem incapable of even a moment’s peace or pleasure? By contrast, how does Poppy, the upbeat heroine of Leigh’s 2008 comedy, Happy-Go-Lucky, manage to greet every misfortune with a smile?

Leigh’s new movie, Hard Truths, could have been titled Unhappy-Go-Lucky. It follows a middle-aged North London misanthrope named Pansy, who’s played, in the single greatest performance I saw in 2024, by Marianne Jean-Baptiste.

You might know Jean-Baptiste from Leigh’s wonderful 1996 film, Secrets & Lies, in which she played a shy, unassuming London optometrist seeking out her birth mother. But there’s nothing unassuming about Pansy, who leads a life of seething, unrelenting misery. She spends most of her time indoors, barking orders and insults at her solemn husband, Curtley, and their 22-year-old son, Moses.

Pansy keeps a spotless home, but the blank walls and sparse furnishings are noticeably devoid of warmth, cheer or personality. When she isn’t cleaning, she’s trying to catch up on sleep, complaining about aches, pains and exhaustion. Sometimes she goes out to shop or run errands, only to wind up picking fights with the people she meets: a dentist, a salesperson, a stranger in a parking lot.

Back at home, she unloads on Curtley and Moses about all the indignities she’s been subjected to and the general idiocy of the world around her. Pansy has an insult comedian’s ferocious wit and killer timing. While you wouldn’t necessarily want to bump into her on the street, she makes for mesmerizing, even captivating on-screen company.

Leigh is often described as a Dickensian filmmaker, and for good reason; he’s a committed realist with a gift for comic exaggeration. Like nearly all Leigh’s films, Hard Truths emerged from a rigorous months-long workshop process, in which the director worked closely with his actors to create their characters from scratch. As a result, Jean-Baptiste’s performance, electrifying as it is, is also steeped in emotional complexity; the more time we spend with Pansy, the more we see that her rage against the world arises from deep loneliness and pain.

Leigh has little use for plot; he builds his stories from the details and detritus of everyday life, drifting from one character to the next. Tuwaine Barrett is quietly heartbreaking as Pansy’s son, Moses, who isolates himself and spends his time either playing video games or going on long neighborhood walks. Pansy’s husband, Curtley, is harder to parse; he’s played by the terrific David Webber, with a passivity that’s both sympathetic and infuriating.

The most significant supporting character is Pansy’s younger sister, Chantelle, played by the luminous Michele Austin, another Secrets & Lies alumn. Chantelle could scarcely be more different from her sister: She’s a joyous, contented woman with two adult daughters of her own, and she does everything she can to break through to Pansy. In the movie’s most affecting scene, Chantelle drags her sister to a cemetery to pay their respects to their mother, whose sudden death five years ago, we sense, is at the core of Pansy’s unhappiness.

At the same time, Leigh doesn’t fill in every blank; he’s too honest a filmmaker to offer up easy explanations for why people feel the way they feel. His attitude toward Pansy — and toward all the prickly, outspoken, altogether marvelous characters he’s given us — is best expressed in that graveside scene, when Chantelle wraps her sister in a tight hug and tells her, with equal parts exasperation and affection: “I don’t understand you, but I love you.”