A superior thriller, WereWolf of London benefits from good performances and excellent production values. With the absence of a name horror star, the emphasis is on story and atmosphere. The show has a rather un-Universal look to it, which may be explained by the fact that art director Albert S. D'Agostino soon flew the coop to RKO, where he flourished for two decades. Wilfrid Glendon's 'mad lab' does not feature Uni's standard gothic lighting, and the ersatz London is visually well-rendered, even if almost nobody seems to have the appropriate accents. In what must be the best comedy relief of the series (Savant never cared for screaming mimi Una O'Connor), Ethel Griffies and Zeffie Tilbury play a pair of hilarilously drunken crones. 'Mrs. Whack' does indeed knock her drinking partner stone cold at one point, and we almost fell out of our chairs. A very young Spring Byington is also at hand as an early near-victim, and she makes her busybody character far more charming than it has any right to be.

Monster fans have often criticized Henry Hull's makeup and indeed the entire conception of the monster, but Savant holds an opposite opinion. Hull's WereWolf has slightly wolfish features, as opposed to the hairy-dog conception later given Lon Chaney, Jr. And the curse-flower-full moon mythology is not founded in any mittle-European gypsy myth, but it is effective, and no less authentic than Curt Siodmak's later inventions. Savant wonders if the flower / monster connection, was later lifted as the 'tana leaf' gag for the Mummy movies.

Jack Pierce's werewolf makeup is very impressive and definitely an outgrowth of Henry Hull's appearance. Turning his widow's peak into a demonic hairline, and giving him sort of a second lower lip, Hull's monster is frightening in a number of almost portrait-like closeups, lit from below. Although Hull's murderous attacks all happen offscreen, his transformations are nicely depicted in setpieces far better than in the later The Wolf Man. John Fulton provides one great moving shot that shows Were-Wilfrid walking as he transforms, using traveling mattes to hide the makeup changes. On '60s television, before the general awareness of effects processes, we thought this looked great; back in 1935, it must have seemed like magic.

The relatively subtle makeup makes this less of a 'lookit the monster' story, than a human Dr. Jekyll kind of tale, and presents Wilfrid Glendon with almost the same problem as Stevenson's creation. Henry Hull makes an interesting but unromantic lead. Never a great actor (his most memorable role is the blowhard publisher in Fox's Jesse James movies) he does give his scientist here a less-than-dominant manner, which is a key factor in 'reading' this movie.

Savant is as tired as the next viewer of essays that invent homosexual subtexts for popular movies, but in WereWolf of London this idea is almost impossible to ignore. Wilfrid's unholy bond with the mysterious Dr. Yogami completely overwhelms his jealous / indifferent relationship with his unfulfilled wife. Together, he and Yogami share 'secrets' unacceptable to the police and society at large. Wilfrid has the courage to enter a forbidden Tibetan valley, but not enough to tell his wife he's sick. If he honestly informed her of the truth, Lisa might well flee to California with her old beau. He seems to be ashamed of his 'disease', as if he's responsible for it. For his part, as a 'brother sufferer', Yogami sincerely tries to convince Wilfrid of their mutual need for a supply of Tibetan flower blossoms. When he begins stealing them, it's only because he's as desperate as our hero. Interestingly, although he endures a constant stream of insults (Dr. Yokohama?), Yogami never becomes an 'evil Oriental' stereotype.

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The proof is in Wilfrid's death scene, where Lisa witnesses a repulsive monster transform into her husband as he expires. There's little remorse at discovering her husband's secret identity. Her fright and disgust more than justifies Wilfrid's earlier decision not to confide in her. As far as Lisa is concerned, Wilfred wasn't a victim, he was scum. The picture dissolves to a plane winging its way to California (no deviants there, of course) without further comment.

With its refreshing set of characterizations, superior monster mythos, and subversive subtext, WereWolf of London is one of the best Universal Horror movies.