So here’s the world’s first feature-length werewolf movie, 1935’s Werewolf of London, which wasn’t particularly successful financially or critically but did get into the ether most of the nuts and bolts, the lore, of weremovies to come.
It owes a tiny bit to Frankenstein – gentleman scientist interfering with the nature of things in a lab full or arcing electricity – and quite a lot to Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, which had been a huge hit four years earlier. Whole chunks of Werewolf‘s story appear to have been airlifted from the 1931 movie, in fact, something all the critics noticed and a few were not happy about.
While searching for a rare flower in Tibet, botanist Dr Wilfred Glendon (Henry Hull) is bitten by a hirsute half man/half beast. Back in London the effects of the bite begin to manifest themselves and on the next nights of the full moon, a hideous and hairy Dr Glendon heads off into the night, where he will kill and kill again.
Whether the killing spree will extend as far as his wife, science widow Lisa (Valerie Hobson) remains to be seen. But surely also in the raging creature’s sights is Paul Ames (Lester Matthews), the smoothie who once proposed to Lisa and is now once again sniffing around. And also, possibly, Lisa’s aunt Ettie, who appears to be pushing Paul and Lisa towards some sort of affair.
Also in the mix is a mysterious Dr Yogami (Warner Oland), a professor of something or other from Carpathia, “Carpathia” being enough of a signifier that no more need be said.
It’s a fascinating film rather than a good one. There are the rather static performances by most of the main players, the terribly terribly British accents emphasising the stiffness. Hobson is 17 years old but comes across as about 35, which is handy because Hull is 45 at this point, so the age gap isn’t quite as obvious.
Oland, the Swede who often played orientals (he was Charlie Chan in several movies) is something vaguely exotic, a Van Helsing figure of sorts who may have more (hairy) skin in the game than at first appears.
The unevenness of tone is its main problem, and the regular digressions into comedy by actors hired for their music-hall theatrics don’t do it any favours. Which is not to denigrate Ethel Griffies and Zeffie Tilbury as drunken Dickensian landladies Mrs Whack and Mrs Moncaster. They’re great. But not here, ladies, not here. Similarly, Spring Byington as the dizzy Ettie puts on a wonderful performance but this film needs more gloom and darkness, not less.
Because, at the centre, Henry Hull as the werebeast is not really convincing enough. This creature is more an angry man who needs a shave – Mr Hyde in fact – than a mythical lycanthrope, no matter what the story keeps telling us.
An American Werewolf in London renosed its title and Universal’s second attempt at a werewolf movie, 1941’s The Wolf Man repurposed its lore. That’s Werewolf of London importance in a nutshell – it got there first and it’s a decent first draft.
Maybe it would have been better if Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi had starred, as originally intended, but Oland does a decent job as the enigmatic Dr Yogami (the Lugosi role, if he’d taken it), leaving Henry Hull in his dust.
Nice image, very nice indeed. Sharp and clear, full of rich shades of grey and impressively lit by Charles Stumar, who shot The Raven the same year (which did indeed star Karloff and Lugosi), and then died in a plane accident, or he’d undoubtedly be better known. As for the director, Stuart Walker, the one-time actor and theatre director gave up directing films entirely around this time and moved into producing.
But he too would be dead within six years – was there a curse?
Werewolf of London – Watch it/buy it at Amazon
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© Steve Morrissey 2025
