Brotherhood of the Wolf (2001)
“Salmo truta dermopilla, from Canada.” – Gregoire de Fronsac, as he displays a taxidermically-produced hairy fish
Sometimes I admit that Christophe Gans’ Brotherhood of the Wolf is a guilty pleasure. Why, then, does it rank so highly on this list? The answer is simple. This is one of those films that I find so insanely fun to watch, that the shear multitude of innovative visual feats and jaw-dropping choreography more than compensate for what the film may lack in substance. The film is not without substance. In fact, if I really work at it, I am willing to bet I can come up with a pretty convincing argument about the film’s statement on the destructiveness of revolution and the fall of a monarchy. This is a necessary and inevitable act, the film suggests, but a lot of great things and a lot of great history are lost in the process.
But enough of that. The film is just plain fun. Every frame dazzles with excitement and there is not a dull moment in its two and a half hour running time. The first thing that grabs me is how richly coloured the film is. The period costumes dance with deep reds, blues, and greens. The forests are lush and vibrant. Even the dark caves are beautifully textured and shimmer with the glow of rich orange flame. The rain literally pops out of the screen. Outside of the cinematography, one only needs to categorize all the different genres and influences interacting seamlessly in this film to appreciate its ambition. It is a French period piece, complete with authentic and detailed costumes and locales. It is a historical epic, based (or at least inspired by) actual bizarre killings in the Gevaudan region by an unidentified wolf-like creature in the mid-eighteenth century. It is a horror/fantasy film, home to a mysterious beast. It is an action film, utilizing the kick-boxing talents of Mark Dacascos. It is an adventure and it is a romance. It is funny and it is tragic. One would imagine that all these elements could not possibly function effectively together, but Gans makes it work. And the result is always breathtaking, always vivid.
Sometimes I admit that Christophe Gans’ Brotherhood of the Wolf is a guilty pleasure. Why, then, does it rank so highly on this list? The answer is simple. This is one of those films that I find so insanely fun to watch, that the shear multitude of innovative visual feats and jaw-dropping choreography more than compensate for what the film may lack in substance. The film is not without substance. In fact, if I really work at it, I am willing to bet I can come up with a pretty convincing argument about the film’s statement on the destructiveness of revolution and the fall of a monarchy. This is a necessary and inevitable act, the film suggests, but a lot of great things and a lot of great history are lost in the process.
But enough of that. The film is just plain fun. Every frame dazzles with excitement and there is not a dull moment in its two and a half hour running time. The first thing that grabs me is how richly coloured the film is. The period costumes dance with deep reds, blues, and greens. The forests are lush and vibrant. Even the dark caves are beautifully textured and shimmer with the glow of rich orange flame. The rain literally pops out of the screen. Outside of the cinematography, one only needs to categorize all the different genres and influences interacting seamlessly in this film to appreciate its ambition. It is a French period piece, complete with authentic and detailed costumes and locales. It is a historical epic, based (or at least inspired by) actual bizarre killings in the Gevaudan region by an unidentified wolf-like creature in the mid-eighteenth century. It is a horror/fantasy film, home to a mysterious beast. It is an action film, utilizing the kick-boxing talents of Mark Dacascos. It is an adventure and it is a romance. It is funny and it is tragic. One would imagine that all these elements could not possibly function effectively together, but Gans makes it work. And the result is always breathtaking, always vivid.
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