Oct 192014
 
three reels

Lou Carou (Leo Fafard) is a drunken loser deputy in a corrupt town where a “Drink & Shoot” is thought of as a good idea and Liquor Donuts is a thriving business. He is a disappointment to the sheriff (Aidan Devine) and the one good deputy (Amy Matysio), but is on excellent terms with the stunning and shifty bar tender Jessica (Sarah Lind). Lou is grabbed by some cultists who perform a ritual on him, making him a werewolf for some nefarious purpose connected to local murders. However, Lou turns out to be a far better cop as a wolf than he was as a human.

Wolfcop is gory, silly, and twisted, and it is a whole lot of fun. If you are heading out to a midnight cult movie screening (do they still do that?), this is the film you want to see. If at home, invite some friends and keep the booze flowing.

It’s surprisingly well made for its budget. Fafard is an amiable lead and looks natural enough that someone might want to check him into AA. Matysio is the anchor for the film, allowing everyone else to go wild, and Lind is the kind of attractive that only pops up in supermodel cover shoots. Sure, the feature doesn’t look expensive, but this isn’t hack work, with shots and lighting I don’t expect without five times the cash, and a bit of grain in the print isn’t a problem for a film where a drunken werewolf rips a guy’s arms off. While the film as a whole looks good, the wolf makeup looks great, and the transformation scenes are spectacular. These are up with the best that’s been done.

As an homage to ‘80s horror, ‘80s cop flicks, and ‘80s comedy, it is only slightly more clever than the films it sprung from. If you are looking for theme or wit, look elsewhere. If you are looking for a lot of gore and a monster that pauses to trick out his car, then you’ve found your film. It does have an original mythology, but it would rather focus on a hilarious werewolf-human sex scene, complete with a sappy retro-ballad, then spend time on world building details. With a runtime of 79 minutes, avoiding going too deep is a virtue. It zips in, tells its joke, rips out an eyeball, and then is gone.