The Company of Wolves (1984)

The Company of Wolves is what happens when a familiar bedtime story grows teeth and turns into a feverish, poetic dream you can’t quite shake off in the morning. Neil Jordan stages Angela Carter’s ideas with lush, storybook imagery and a deliciously uneasy atmosphere, where every shadow in the woods feels like a warning and every whispered “lesson” carries a sly, feminist sting. It’s horror, yes—complete with gooey, practical werewolf transformations and bursts of violence—but it’s also lyrical and strangely tender, more interested in desire, danger, and growing up than in cheap scares. If you want a straightforward creature feature, this may feel like a dark fairy-tale collage; if you’re open to something stylish, symbolic, and hypnotic, it’s a singular kind of spell.

The Company of Wolves is clearly aiming for a grown-up, dreamlike spin on Little Red Riding Hood—more fairy-tale psychology and sexual awakening than straightforward werewolf horror. When it works, it’s wonderfully strange, with striking storybook sets, a terrific Angela Lansbury, and some memorably gnarly transformation effects. But it’s also uneven: the pacing drifts, the nested “cautionary tale” structure keeps interrupting momentum, and the characters can feel more like symbols than people you’re meant to care about. If you want a tight plot, consistent tone, or modern creature-feature thrills, this may feel artsy and a bit twee; if you’re in the mood for surreal folklore and atmosphere over narrative drive, it’s a distinctive oddity worth sampling.