A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Werewolf movie art

February 9, 2013
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(1961) the curse of the werewolf

Today I am appreciating the art of the old fashioned movie posters made about Werewolves. I think this poster rather inspires a doomed gothic romance by the look of it. Check out this movie poster below from the 1961 movie The Curse of the Werewolf.

It’s gothic and romantic with the trees on a full moon night in the background and the beast carrying the beautiful woman with red lips and gown dress. You also get a sense of the tension and action to come as the mob at the bottom of the movie poster raise their flaming torches in protest. The title font, is also rather cool for the fact taht the yellow makes us think of moonbeams and night and the style of it looks like scratchy wood that might be found in a dark forest at night, or in a wooden cabin in the woods…ohhhh.

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Vampires versus Werewolves

February 14, 2010
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So with the release of the new werewolf movie, The Wolfman, the interest in it seems to return to this mythic battle of can werewolves topple vampires for popularity in pop culture.

All because of Twilight.

I growl and groan inwardly at the thought of this.

What is it with popularity that even the werewolves are supposed to achieve?

Twilight is not rocket science, it worked because it has a massive tween/teen audience and it’s not so much about Vampires and mortal beings and other supernatural’s as it is about Love. The big first love of your life. The passion of being consumed by love. Please, tell me what teenager doesn’t at one point have a little dream and happy thought about that? Add to the mix pretty looking people and hello-cha-ching! Start counting your money, no matter how ludicrously weak the story line is.

The rivalry between vampires and werewolves, if you want to call it that is easy to break down. I’ve said it before, Vampires are considered romantic leads. Fans of vampires will look past their undead nature, what it means to lack a soul, a conscience and their manipulative habits. Because the myth of the vampire is ingrained in passion and at some point, they play that passion and that becomes all the fans of the vampire see or want. Add to that the whole, immortality thing and the idea of permanently being with the one you love and being loved for forever in return and that’s all that’s ever needed to sustain the vampire’s popularity. Lovers and fans of vampires can overlook everything else, including the bloodshed and blood thirsty nature of their servitude for survival.

Werewolves on the other hand, have never it would seem, overcome their ruthless beast like nature, their animal self.

They’ve never been given a chance to be imagined as romantic leads (in movies). Sure, Underworld; Rise of the Lycans tried, but ultimately failed, really the story wasn’t about the Lycans so much as it was about the history of the Vampires. As most movies would have you believe werewolf movies are made for terrorizing people, for showing violence, and bloodshed. They’re not designed for showing the wolf as a soft being of feeling.

It’s kind of like the reverse thing with the vampire.

Fans of the werewolf might be able to see all sides to the complexities of being a werewolf, but ultimately the film makers, only see the rough stuff, the exterior, everything but the ability for a werewolf to love or be loved and shown in a romantic light. Although OZ on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, sure did do a good job of that with his Willow relationship.

It’s been said that Bram Stoker, the author of Dracula created the intricate relationship of vampire and werewolf together. So maybe we can just blame the dead man for our standing as always being seen as second in this “relationship”.

Because it seems ever since then, in popular culture at least, both werewolves and vampires have been linked, hopelessly together and yet, so completely far apart and opposite from one another. If this is to be believed, then we can also blame Stoker for making werewolves, underlings.

After all, it was he who referred to werewolves as “Children”. One could take that as a slight.

“Listen to them, the children of the night, what music they make.”- Dracula, from Bram Stoker’s novel. Whilst having a vampire, Count Dracula to be exact, was the story of his novel. Which is hugely, gothically, romantic in nature.

Ah, the romance of the vampire is born.

Although I do not see werewolves in popular culture being second place to Vampires, I guess I just see us as being more subtle. Vampires are all about themselves, and being seen, because they arrogantly seem to think, they have enough power of their fans ie. Humans that they are therefore above them in the life-long scale of things.

Werewolves understand the nature of co-existing, by comparison and the why and how for. So you could say, reality is, we’re actually smarter than the vamps, so in terms of longevity, and popularity, who cares?

I guess it depends what you want out of your life. I can tell you what I don’t want. I don’t want someone who doesn’t have a heart beat, can’t feel warm against me, drinking my blood. Ewww.

Besides, popular culture, doesn’t actually represent what those of us of a “animal nature” or “blood thirsty” habit, know to necessarily be true. I sure know that! Read back through my blog and you’ll see that.


The Ravening Red Wolf

January 15, 2010
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This is the fable I was told, it’s also know as the story of Roter Reitwerewolf or more universally as Little Red Riding Hood. See if you can pick the moral of the story.
******************************************************

There once was a beautiful woman with hair of spun gold the colour of flames.

She had come across a small cottage, deep in the Ardennen and let herself in. It was not her home. She was in fact far from home, in a land that existed in a memory of time long past. But she needed to rest.

A hunter lived in the cottage, and upon his return from a hunting trip, he found the woman in his home.

The hunter knew by her beauty alone she was trouble. Piercing blue eyes and such pale smooth skin, delicate pink lips and ripe bosom. It was unusual to see someone of her beauty in his part of the world. A dark corner of constant battle, for souls, minds and peace.

She did not belong here, in his land, in his heath. Yet there she lay before him a heavyset cloak of red, wrapped around her. The woman was startling to the contrast of his drab and bare cottage. The hunter thought the cloak might be a drape of some kind, shaped to be clothing that served her protection from the harsh elements of the land. Or her drawing card to entice men, like him. The cloak reminded him of the dark colour of bloodshed.

“What are you doing in my home?” The hunter growled at the woman, startling her.

“Please, I only seek shelter and food. I shall not stay more than the sun rising.”

The hunter looked her over head to feet “Why do you run?” He asked.

“I do not run.” The woman laughed. “I was out walking and lost my way, before finding myself here, in need of shelter as night falls. There are creatures in the forest, that make noises that scare me.”

The hunter frowned deeply. “There is mud along the bottom of your cloak and you are without shoes.”

“I slipped on the mud near the brook, my shoes came off and I lost one to the stream. I had no purpose for just one shoe. So I left it behind and decided to walk on.”

He looked at the woman suspiciously. The hunter grunted. “You may share what food I have.”

“Are you a hunter?” She said pointing to the knife in his hand.

He nodded his once.

The woman looked about the small cottage and stood before the fireplace, warming herself. When the hunter looked over at her again, as he prepared the meat stew they would eat, the woman had taken off the cloak and dropped it to her feet. She was naked

“For food and shelter, the night ahead, I will let you lay with me.”

The hunter stopped carving meat for the hearty stew. With bloodied knife still in hand, he walked towards her. He had never seen anyone as beautiful as her.

“You do not know what you say, nor should you say it.” He said, stopping before her, his eyes gazing over the curves of her body.

The woman looked too beautiful to ignore, she smelled like woodland flowers.

“But I am here now, do you not seek comfort from me?” She asked him, watching his face carefully.

Before the hunter could clear the thoughts of her from his head and return to his dinner work, the woman snatched the knife out of his hand and stabbed the hunter through his heart.

As she pulled out the knife slowly, the woman watched the hunter drop to the ground.

“I am not what I seem and you are a fool to believe so. And I am a fool if I believed you would be gentle with me, or ask nothing of me in return for food and shelter here.”

The woman waited until the hunter was laying on the ground with barely a breath left in him.

She threw her head back and letting out the howl of the victorious wolf. She looked back at the hunter and plunged the knife into his chest again.

“When I said I wanted a morsel of food, I meant you.” She growled and crouched down on all fours beside the man.

A ripple of the hunter’s blood touched her hand, as it seeped out of his side and sprayed out wildly into her face, from his open chest. The woman smiled and licked her lips and bathed in the glorious red life.

Outside the moon shone full and proud. And again she howled. The sound echoed far and wide, the sound of victory, the call of the werewolf.

Roter Reitwerewolf’s wolf, sensed the moon and ripped through her. She shook violently, arched her back and dug her nails into the floorboards. Her body stretched, bone pulling against skin. Red and golden fur burst along her arms like flames, her nails changed to claws, her legs, became the powerful legs of a wolf.

She cried out, feeling alive as the shape shift pushed her human form inwards, and a werewolf stood, growling over the dead body of the hunter. She tore apart the man on the floor.

You see, the hunter meant no harm to the wair woman. But she did not see the situation of her being there that way.

There was a war brewing, between God’s people and his beasts in the hunter’s home land. A war of what was seen to be right, and what some people believed to be wrong. A war that Roter Reitwerewolf was ensared in.

Hunters had set up posse’s, who by night time, with flaming torch in hand and guns at the ready, searched long and hard for the abomination of woodland black magic. Roter Reitwerewolf was being hunted. They tracked and chased the wair, whenever the full moon followed the blue moon.

For Roter Reitwerewolf, it was the only way she knew to survive.

She sustained her werewolf for the whole night, after feeding on the hunter.

In the morning, she slipped into his clothes, and tied an old shirt around her head, as a scaf, covering up her beautifully, alluring hair and headed off. She looked like a peasant again. Hiding amongst the village people of the Barrle-Hertog and Barrle_Nassau.

Disguised as one of them, outsmarting the very people who were hunting her, hunting for a red wolf.


Once upon a long ago…

October 23, 2009
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I got sent a link to the Wolfman trailer by @booklover73 on Twitter and it got me thinking about the tale of The Wolfman I was told as a child.

Since it’s almost Halloween seems appropriate to share it, so gather round gentle readers, and read along to this dark tale.

Once upon a long ago, there was a land in chaos.

In the United Provinces of the Spanish Netherlands the king of the land, was not pleased with his kingdom. He believed to rule his kingdom properly, everyone must follow his rule under, his god. He wanted the people of the provinces to have one god only.

The people of the seven provinces had always lived good lives. But when they told the king they did not wish to follow his god, they made him mad. The King formed armies of men in silver who were dispatched to make the people, listen to his decree. When they did not, they often met with death at the end of a sword, or were hung.

The people lived in fear of the kings silver men.

The men in silver were many, and always travelled as large groups on horseback. They carried swords, and they never left a village standing. Their arrival always signaled that death would follow to those who opposed the king.

But there was one village the silver men came to, that history would prove, to be different to the others they had conquered.

In the province of Uterecht, most of the villages had heard of the warring these men were bringing across the lands. A man named William, had spoken to them, told them of what it meant to fight the kings’ rule. William formed many friends, who rode with him across the provinces spreading the word of what was coming to those who did not do as they king wished.

The villagers of Maarssen, knew they could save their own village if they sought the council of their neighbors the Breukelen for help. They knew it would not be long before the silver men visited the town and burned their houses for not following the King’s decree of one god for all.

The village of Breukelen was also a small village, filled with families, farmers, blacksmiths and women who made the finest patterned materials of silk and wool. They like the Maarssen were a happy village, who were happy to live their lives from day to day, doing as they always had.

After speaking to the elders from Maarssen they decided the best way to save their villages from ruin and keep their people alive was to join their defenses.

The war of the silver men, was always moving closer to them, every day.

Together they sought out their surrounding neighbors for help in protecting the lands they lived on and their people.

They formed groups of messengers. Each group with a member from the Maarssen and the Breukelen was told to ride to a village and seek their support for the war.

The villages were spread wide and far.

The evening two of the messengers reached a village, but it was already too late.

Every house in the village burned. Bodies lay slain in the streets and pierced through pitchforks as a warning to those who rode through, of the might of the kingdom’s silver men.

Flames burned crops of wheat. The night sky was so blackened from the smoke of many fires, that the stars could not be seen for three whole nights. Instead of sunlight for those three days, ash rained down from the darkened sky.

Few animals managed to escape being slaughtered. Horses ran scared through cobblestone streets. The cattle of farmyard animals, whined so loudly that it was said the messengers thought they were crying and screaming at the same time, as they stampeded the nearby lands in confussion.

But one man, was found alive in the village.

On his knees, he wept.

He wore a fur across his shoulders, and a helmet with a wolf’s head on it. He held a younger man, in his arms, his eyes closed, blood staining his clothes.

“He was my brother.” The Beserker told the messengers.
“He fought the soldiers. He tried to stop them from coming into our village. We are peaceful he told them. We have artists here. Artists do not need to seek god or war. We have taverns with mead that you will be given all night. Beds for you to rest in as long as you need. But the soldiers did not care. I could not get to him, before they drew their swords and cut him down. A woman screamed and then they began burning our homes, killing our people.”

The messengers listened to the weeping Beserker. They offered to help the Beserker bury his brother, so he could be at rest. The Beserker, was so angry by the thought of parting from his brother, he yelled at the messengers:

“I will ruin the fires of the one god and king in blood and love. When the moon is next full, I shall walk amongst those who seek to destroy us as a man. By nightfall they will only see the beast of their creation, an animal that abhors mankind, and only seeks to fuel his revenge through their death. I will tear them apart with my teeth and cut open their flesh. I curse their life if it can not be this way for them as it is for me!”

The messengers, tried to help calm him down. But he would not be parted from his dead brother nor listen to the messengers who told him to join their cause. The Messengers realized there was nothing further they could do and left.

It is said that after three nights of falling ash from the sky the darkened smoke cleared and the full moon was able to be seen.

The messengers continued to form their alliances with the villages, and fight the silver men’s armies. Reports came in from far and wide of a lone creature, not unlike a wolf but some said more like a man, seeking out only the silver men and those they protected under the king’s rule. These people would be found dead, their throats torn, their hearts missing, with only claw and teeth marks on them. It was often said that wild animals, wolves in particular had attacked them.

But those two messengers always thought that this was the Besersker’s curse to carry as the Wolfman, forever seeking his vengeance, yet never satisfied.


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