Universal ruled the horror genre during Hollywood's Golden Age, but other film companies crept onto Gothic grounds. In 1935, MGM borrowed Bela Lugosi and made Mark of the Vampire. Columbia put out this low-budget lycanthropic offering in ’44.

We're in New Orleans, Louisiana, where the old Latour Mansion has been transformed into a museum of the supernatural. It also apparently has drawn unworldly forces. A murderer stalks the place, and it does not wear a human shape. The underlying mystery connects to some local Romani. We're in a different era, when movie-makers showed no compunction about depicting gypsies as possessors of sinister occult knowledge, willing to kill to protect those secrets.

The film is closer to mythic sources than most Hollywood films, and one of very few older horror movies to feature a female werewolf. Our she-wolf can also transform at will, and she doesn't particularly see herself as cursed. Nina Foch has some presence in this central role. Crane isn't terribly compelling as our hero, however. Other performances vary quite a bit. The less said about the investigating police officers, the better. It's not just the acting, in this case. They've been written terribly.

Our intrepid investigators discount the role of an animal in the murders, despite clear, scientific evidence that an animal is involved. They assume guilt based on vague suspicions (in all fairness, not a few real-life police possess this flaw), and declare that a custodian’s fingerprints, if found near the site of a killing, would necessarily make him guilty. Seriously? The killing takes place in the building where the custodian works. It would be a small miracle if they didn't find his fingerprints.

Effects have been kept to a minimum. There's great fun in watching the fight with the werewolf. No matter how hard they edit and frame the scene, once you notice that the large, wolfish dog playing the transformed lycanthrope is wagging its tail (Am I a good doggie? Do I get treatsies now?), you cannot un-see it.

For the most part, the film fails to be particularly exciting or frightening. A scene involving an elevator represents an excellent chance for genuine suspense, and the film walks out of the opportunity. Throughout, viewers will get the sense of a much better picture lurking behind this one.

For all of its flaws, Cry of the Werewolf is somewhat better than it sounds. I recommend it cautiously to fans of older horror movies, and genre completists. The casual watcher seeking a Halloween thrill will most likely be disappointed.


Director: Henry Levin
Writers: Griffin Jay, Charles O'Neal

Nina Foch as Princess Celeste LaTour
Stephen Crane as Robert Morris
Osa Massen as Elsa Chauvet
Blanche Yurka as Bianca
Barton MacLane as Police Lt. Barry Lane
Ivan Triesault as Jan Spavero
John Abbott as Peter Althius
Fred Graff as Pinkie
John Tyrrell as Mac
Robert B. Williams as Homer
Fritz Leiber as Dr. Charles Morris
Milton Parsons as Adamson
Sam Appel, Tiny Jones, Hector V. Sarno, Harry Semels as Romani

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