2-Second Movie Review: Wolf

Just a scant nine years after Michael J. Fox starred “Teen Wolf,” Jack Nicholson made his own mark on the genre with “Wolf,” a film that probably would have been even more successful if it had been considered the third of the “Teen Wolf” trilogy.

Nicholson plays a mousy book editor who is fortuitously bitten by a werewolf the same week that he is demoted, his position filled by his weaselly metrosexual protege, played by James Spader, who is also sleeping with his wife. wolf

Now filled with the “passion of the wolf,” Nicholson’s senses are heightened: He can read without his glasses, he can smell the tequila his co-worker drank for breakfast, he can leap shrubs in a single bound, snap the neck of a deer, and drink from its neck like its severed artery is a spigot. He can insult Michelle Pfeiffer straight into bed.

And when James Spader dares to make idle chit-chat with him at the urinal, Nicholson turns his spray on his enemy’s suede shoes. “I’m marking my territory,” he tells the pretty-boy, before cruelling adding to the insult by identifying this batch of urine’s vineyard: “Asparagus.”

If “Teen Wolf” is the puberty allegory of this trilogy, “Wolf,” it seems, is the Viagra metaphor.

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