Prodigiography, or, A Degree In Horribleness
Okay, okay, unlike Dr. Horrible, I don’t actually have a degree in horribleness. But what I do have—while slightly less useful at those oh-so-common cocktail hour arguments over string theory and the origins of the American revolution—is a degree, of sorts, in monsters. That’s right: I have been certified by a respectable academic institution as a scholar in the field of folklore and mythology.
Generally, this leads to petty daydreams of parading my expertise. “Heavens, if only I knew the origins of elven magic in western ideology!” an Impressively Famous Author will cry on his/her blog. “Well,” I’ll say, gesticulating with my pipe as I lean on a mantlepiece, “It just so happens Karen Jolly wrote an excellent chapter on that…”
Although it seems unlikely that I’ll have Impressively Famous Authors clamoring at the gates, the preponderance of supernatural critters in movies and books nowadays (Twilight, anyone?) does lead me to ask: what’s up with these werewolves, guys?
Underworld wasn’t the first time werewolves appeared on the big screen—far from it—but along with the likes of Brotherhood of the Wolf, Van Helsing, and The Brothers Grimm, it relaunched werewolves into the movie world not just as monstrous, but also romantic, butt-kicking, and for some reason, black-leather-wearing. In short, it put them almost on par with vampires: monsters classed up and sassed up into action heroes and archvillains.
All of which makes for great entertainment, of course, and I confess you might find a few of those titles in my DVD collection. What’s odd to me about them, though, is what a departure they are from the actual beginnings of werewolves in European legend—especially since Le Pacte des Loups (Brotherhood of the Wolf) is actually based on the story of the Beast of Gévaudan, a man-eating animal that reportedly killed dozens of people in a southern French province in the 18th century. It’s a bloody story, but not a terribly heroic one, and it shares more with the medieval conception of werewolves than with the modern one: medieval werewolves were outcasts, ordinary villagers turned savage, running free on moonlit nights to terrorize defenseless peasants. Curiously, the medieval texts also claim they could later be restored to their senses—and if they were lucky, they could repent and regain their humanity.
That’s why, for my money, the storyteller who really gets it right is J. K. Rowling. (Spoiler alert: if you haven’t read or seen Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban—and I don’t know where you’ve been living if you haven’t, but anyway, if you haven’t—this is a huge spoiler, so stop reading this now and go pick it up.) Her star werewolf, Remus Lupin, is compelling and charming precisely because he isn’t an action hero. He’s just some guy who got bitten, and now he spends all his time painfully aware of what he’s like when he gets out of control. He’s a monster who manages to be human, whose fundamental character trait is repentance. He’s a werewolf I can actually care about.
That’s why I spent a whole day about a year ago doing nothing but devouring Harry Potter book 7—and it’s also why I’m psyched about the next book on my reading list: New Moon. I’ll be back for your spoilerrific thoughts when I’m done.
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Great essay! All that said, the modern werewolf film that I feel got it SO right from a horror point of view is "Ginger Snaps." But then again, even that movie is remarkably close to the award-winning novella "Boobs" by Suzy McKee Charnas.
I don't know Ginger Snaps! A cursory IMDBing reveals it may be too horror-ful for my delicate sensibilities... but it does look very cool, like Cruel Intentions-plus-wolfies.
Definitely no Cruel Intentions -- much more direct horror, with a touch of Heathers-ish teen angst and humor. Check it out if you can handle it. Scary, touching, and extremely witty.