Graves, Clint Walker, JoAnn Pflug
A rather snoozy Dan Curtis werewolf mystery,
Scream of the Wolf nonetheless has a few things to offer.
For one, a few of the wolf attacks are kinda
scary -- particularly the opening scene and the attack on attractively-named
Jo Ann Pflug in her Hollywood Hills home (which, in the
fine MOTW tradition, looks like a Chi-Chis on the inside).
For another, it's a sobering reminder that silver fox Peter Graves
(whom Airplane! had already reduced to a
punchline before my generation got to know him) was kind of a hot daddy
in his day, and a very likeable actor. Clint Walker,
on the other hand, continues his MOTW assault (this and the same year's
Killdozer are two
of the most boring ever made), mumbling in his painfully outdated (and
completely affected) cowboy drawl and flinging his heavily-oiled, Grecian
Formula'd mop around like a flapper at a hootenanny. The ultimate twist
is kind of interesting, at least (Curtis and scripter Richard
Matheson teamed on the similarly is-it-supernatural-or-isn't-it
"No Such Thing As a Vampire" segment of the Dead of
Night anthology) -- but not enough to save the flick from being
bogged down by too many old-man standoffs.