WOLF
A film review by Ralph Benner
Copyright 1996 Ralph Benner
The most visually striking sequence to grace a Mike Nichols movie thus far is the opening one for WOLF. A wink to THE SHINING, Jack Nicholson is driving his car through snowy mountainous terrain; the long shots are tenebrous, a little Germanic and foreboding -- a setting as Xmas card from Lon Chaney, Jr. It's so moody and enveloping, and augmented by (finally!) some real movie music by Ennio Morricone, that, based on his other pictures, you wonder if Nichols had anything to do with it. The zoom & swirl of Haskell Wexler's work in WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF? the one exception, Nichols' movies are functional-looking -- just enough of whatever it takes to make them pass as movies. That's why some of us dread going to a Nichols movie; we're paying to see what is basically TV monitor. And WOLF unfortunately becomes television too -- the office sets, Michelle Pfeiffer's guest house digs and the conclusion make you cringe from their lack of appeal and ingenuity. However, because of the opening, and because Nicholson's darting eyes and brows are being utilized most fittingly, WOLF maintains a hold.
The little boy-caught-withkie-jar kind of acting that Nicholson relies on has a limited charm; when the part can soak up his "immaturity," like in THE WITCHES OF EASTWICK, he's disarming -- he makes us smile when we know he hasn't earned it. We give in because he's our idea of a capricious satyr. He can also be damned awful when he tips the degenerate scales: his whacked out Johnny Carson stuff in THE SHINING is memorable precisely because he lost control. (In his defense, he gave the material what it deserved; Kubrick, though, tried to layer it as an intellectostrata it couldn't support.) In WOLF, as one, he's got carte blanche built in to literally chew things up but, minus the last thirty minutes, he reins himself in; for the first hour or so, his metamorphosis is comicly subtle and engaging: this actor's born to sniff out the scent of booze and sex, to use his mouth to undo the clothing of his mate, to growl. It seems natural for Nicholson to have his carnal senses intensified -- and appreciated: says his wife (Kate Nelligan) on the answering machine, "You animal." Though the credits don't acknowledge Chaney's THE WOLF MAN, scripters Jim Harrison and Wesley Strick update it in a way that perhaps unconsciously borrows from Diane Keaton's BABY BOOM. In that one Keaton's a high priestess in Executiveland who gets the temporary shaft in a conspiracy led by (if memory serves) James Spader. Spader indeed plays conspirator in WOLF, conniving to take over Nicholson's senior editor position when money bags Christopher Plummer buys out the publishing firm. And, like Keaton, Nicholson seeks revenge. He warns Spader, "I'm going to get you," and there's no doubt that he will. It's a pleasure to watch Nicholson plotting this way -- he's using his innate likability, his common sense, his rarely used gift of calm -- and even more pleasurable is that he's not loaded down with obscenities. The regret is that Nichols and the writers decided to forego Nicholson's "normal state" and opt for a goofy climax and final that betray him, and Michelle Pfeiffer too. You really want him back in the office, snarling at management to protect his stable of writers. At least between full moons.
With the kind of talent gathered here to make junk food from the recipe of a horror classic, audiences have the right to believe the chefs would bring something new to the dish. What's the point of a remake if they don't? WOLF doesn't add much to mix except two super stars. Maybe Nichols, who isn't the top choice for a project like this, thought Nicholson and Pfeiffer would be enough; bordering on the offensive is that he relied on them to gloss over what he, out of laziness, didn't make clever. When the climax comes about, we're stupefied by Pfeiffer's utterances: she's covering up the series of events that don't need to be covered up. All the pieces fall into place and yet we're asked to accept that the cops will continue to hunt down the innocent. The writers dismiss the canine blood and the amulet -- the former sufficient evidence against the killer, the latter a sufficient controller of behavior. The climax and ending cheat us out of the sophisticated wrap we all deserve: it's a criminal waste to have stars of this magnitude in this day and age surrendering to the call of the wild. My idea of the perfect ending for WOLF: Nicholson and Pfeiffer get hitched, and at the reception, Pfeiffer's daddy Plummer bestows his generosity: "I've got my jet ready to take you on the honeymoon of your dreams." The next shot: the beauty & the beast arrive at a resort called Chaney's. The closing shot: Jack puts an amulet around Michelle's neck and, flashing his incorrigible, wicked smile, says, "You're gonna need this."
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