Hey Burger King- “Having it My Way” includes setting up pee cams in your bathrooms.
You’re tan, full head of dark wispy hair, have those little ab divot gimmick on your hips and can tilt your head coyly to the side. Let me guess: you’re a teen Hollywood Werewolf? It doesn’t matter if you’re Greek or Malaysian- if you look like a fucking Werewolf in human form, you’re not going to starve in Hollywood. I’ve often wondered why there’s such a ground swell obsession with attractive monster movie or TV stars recently. Like any young boy growing up I used to runaround with my friends creating monster battle match ups: Who would win in a fight? Wolfman or Frankenstein? What if Frankenstein had a machine gun for a hand and the Wolfman was invisible- would that be a fair fight, etc. Little did I know these early imagination workouts would eventually prepare my mind for creating depravity and awkward sexual humor situations but back then it was just an innocent exploration of a topic I loved. These creatures were more to me than just a cause for restless nights and cheap pop out scares- they were my anti-establishment. I liked them because they were passionately doing the opposite of what my mother and father told me were acceptable. Fangs tearing through flesh, claws scraping against windows; waiting to breakthrough and terrorize- those were the moments that excited me. I knew I would never sit naked in a sorority shower with duct tape and a knife, lurking in the shadows to grab the first girl I saw. I knew I would never raise a demon through a blood ritual and send it careening on a violent quest for murder through the town square. Instead, I received the rush and freedom from those terrible moments in the form of movies and comics. At a young age, I appreciated horror for what it was; a safe way to live out those fantasies of “what if” dark moments.
It wasn’t until later that I started to understand the sociological importance of these monsters I admired. Werewolves especially appealed to me- not only did they look cool, but their violence and chaos were intriguing. Grotesquely formed muscle and teeth grew out of man in an agonizingly painful ritual- the transformation was almost a penance, a way to remind the human that his quest for death was wrong. Yet…he could not control the change- he was tortured to both hurt others and hurt himself. This gave Werewolves a unique position for me; unlike the other vampires and the mindless midnight creatures, rarely did the Werewolf revel in his situation. The power and ferocity of his killing was matched with sorrowful, lonely moments of reflection. In the ancient Europe, the creation of Werewolves likely corresponds with early serial killers- townsfolk finding mutilated corpses and rationalizing only large wolves could be the culprits. They could not fathom that level of violence was done by ordinary men, so they created fantastic tales of witchcraft and satanism as reasons for such terror.
Fast forward to 2011 and what do we have with the mythos of the Werewolf? He’s a sex symbol- unbridled rage has been translated into exotic (yet attainable) sex appeal. Mind you, this is the kind of sex we can find in a Katy Perry video not the kind found in the back stall of a Foot fetish club bathroom. His teeth are ripped out and replaced with a gel infused hairstyle, his course fur and painful form shifting is transitioned by a gratuitous shirtless pose and a gentle, sweaty brow. All of this is to remind the viewers that the main curse of the Werewolf is not a lust to destroy lives but a lust to have sex with vulnerable women. The feral monster is now the angst ridden young adult- all of his explorations at night, the freedom of dirt beneath his paws and flesh in his teeth are gone. He is PG now, whiny and perturbed that the full moon cycle corresponds with date night this weekend and he can’t go see the new Vince Vaughn movie. Life’s not fair- it would have been the third date and he was hoping for public crotch fondling.
