Lonely lady werewolf Dakota (Renee Porada) wants a normal life and takes medication to suppress her animal urges. But the past catches up with Dakota in the form of her onetime pack-mates: lead lycanthrope Michael (Todd Humes), wolf bitch Harley (Katie Russell), furry-faced fat Franklin (Brian Heffron), and the oddly effete James (Alex Bolla), who was once Dakota’s designated mate. These unashamedly murderous werewolves are determined to lure Dakota back into the fold and her perky human friend Sam (Kylie Deneen) becomes an early casualty. On the run, Dakota finds shelter with philosophically-inclined nightclub owner Logan (Lanny Poffo) whose gang of hired-guns, Ivy (adult-film star Darian Caine), Star (Pamela Sutch) and Stitch (writer-director Len Kabasinski) see off the werewolves with their martial arts skills. However, the wolves kidnap boyfriend-to-be Dan (Dennis Carver) luring Dakota into a fur-flinging showdown by the full moon.
Indie horror multitasker Len Kabasinski goes for an Underworld (2003) by way of John Carpenter vibe, with a surprising bit of Road House (1989) thrown in and a certain heavy metal fan-boy element apparent from the scores of tattooed, piercing-laden actors given supporting roles. As micro-budget action-horror flicks go, Curse of the Wolf is impressive in parts and showcases Kabasinski’s ability to assemble a fairly ingenious production with eye-catching set-pieces. Stuntwoman Renee Porada is a personable leading lady and acquits herself pretty well in the action scenes, aided by Kabasinski’s dynamic editing and inventive angles. She easily outshines the terrible supporting cast whose comic book grimacing is like something out of a particularly bad episode of Power Rangers.
The gory werewolf transformations seem inspired by the effects work Peter MacDonald, Alan Whibley and Christopher Tucker created for The Company of Wolves (1984), with lycanthropes that claw off their own flesh before bursting forth, but the wolf masks are sub-par, way below even Paul Naschy standards. Blood and guts are cast about enthusiastically but by far the scariest on view here is the sight of bloated, beer-bellied Franklin parading around in his shit-stained underpants. The blurry camcorder photography is often hard to make out which lends an amateurish feel and while Kabasinski clearly has talent as a filmmaker and stuntman (notably his battle in a werewolf infested barn) he squanders screentime dwelling on posturing attempts at cool from gun-toting killers Pamela Sutch and Darian Caine and oodles of distressingly unappealing nudity. And the eclectic rock soundtrack is utterly horrendous.