Cry of the Werewolf (1944)
"If you could speak, Marie La Tour, you could tell me what I want to know. What is this evil power? Where does it come from? I know that it exists and that it's here, in this house."

seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from Türkiye

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United Kingdom

seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Singapore
seen from Türkiye
Cry of the Werewolf (1944)
"If you could speak, Marie La Tour, you could tell me what I want to know. What is this evil power? Where does it come from? I know that it exists and that it's here, in this house."
Cry of the Werewolf
A few minutes into Henry Levin’s debut feature, CRY OF THE WEREWOLF (1944, Tubi, YouTube), John Abbott, the tour guide at the Marie La Tour Museum of the Supernatural, intones in his mellifluous voice, “We will now proceed to the voodoo room,” and I almost fell out of my chair laughing. Maybe it was lack of sleep or a hitherto undiscovered side effect of Ozempic. But then, most of the film seemed utterly ludicrous to me. Columbia Pictures’ attempt to cash in on Universal’s classic horror cycle is a rather limp noodle, proving that when they’re not directed by Joseph Lewis or William Castle, the studio’s B output isn’t anything to cheer about.
Dr. Morris (Fritz Leiber), head of the museum, has discovered the resting place of New Orleans werewolf Marie La Tour. This does not please her daughter (Nina Foch), a Romany princess who’s inherited her mother’s habit of turning into a wolf to dispatch her enemies. She takes out the old man, and then has to deal with his son (Stephen Crane) and the police, headed by Barton MacLane. The script never really clarifies why she would kill someone to keep the grave a secret beyond a vague desire for privacy. There’s a telling line at an inquest when Crane refers to her tribe’s superstitions, and she says, “What you call superstition we call religion,” but this was not the era to examine that idea as a reflection of Western colonialism. Instead, we get a lot of skulking around in the dark, a few shots of a wolf’s shadow and feet and a sequence lifted from CAT PEOPLE (1942) by people who didn’t understand how it worked.
There are a few decent camera angles, and at least it all moves fast. MacLane does a good job, and you get nice character turns by Blanche Yurka and Ivan Triesault. Foch tries hard and gets off some good line readings, but she can’t exude menace the way a Gale Sondergaard could. Of course, it doesn’t help that her character is all over the place. At one point she’s coldly threatening a fellow Romany who’s made himself a suspect. At another she’s crying because she had to kill him. Leading lady Osa Massen works well as the museum’s receptionist and Crane’s love interest. When Foch puts her in a trance, it’s different from her non-trance behavior. A lot of horror film actresses have problems with that sort of thing. As for Crane, or Mr. Lana Turner as he was known then, he’s rather lumpen. But then, he wouldn’t inflict his acting on an unsuspecting public for long before he gave it up to become a successful and influential restauranteur.
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