Cursed

Had Craven and Williamson braved a more straight-ahead genre picture, they might have been onto something. Many vampire or werewolf movies have a moment when a newly bitten human, conscious of his or her impending transformation, warns somebody to get away from them. Here, the "cursed" beings of the title bear the sign of the beast and many of its instincts—heightened senses, unusual strength, sex appeal, and an appetite for flesh and blood—but they have the ability to keep their powers in check if they so choose. When a wolf ambushes Christina Ricci and her younger brother Jesse Eisenberg near the scene of a roadside accident, their capabilities quickly alter in tune with the lunar cycle, but they have to contend with the original werewolf, who wants to finish the job. As usual, Williamson provides a number of candidates for the mystery baddie, most obviously Ricci's shifty boyfriend Joshua Jackson, who just happens to own a mirror-filled nightclub that would be perfect for a stylish climactic showdown.

As with the first act of Wolf or most of the Canadian cult favorite Ginger Snaps, Cursed sputters to life whenever the new wolves are discovering their powers, like Ricci picking up the sweet aroma of a nosebleed or Eisenberg battling his dog over a piece of raw steak. Eisenberg, in particular, excels during the few scenes that show him grappling with the new changes in his body, tapping into all the vulnerability and charm that were so abundant in Roger Dodger. Though Craven shows flashes of the old magic, Cursed eventually settles into rote, uninspired horror fare, hog-tied to the Williamson formula all the way to arbitrary finish. The film may be one of the best ever not screened in advance for critics, but that still doesn't put it in the finest company.