he locals of central Oregon describe the periodic appearances of violent, animalistic bipeds as sufferers of “Hills Fever,” but it’s apparent from the start (as well as from advertising materials) that that’s just a reserved way to describe werewolves. In the world of writer/director Leigh Whannell’s reimagining of the classic mythological entity, characters have an uncanny ignorance surrounding lycanthropes, essentially refusing to explain or describe it in the most straightforward way. As with many of these kinds of horror pictures, the creators feel as if it would be unbecoming for the inhabitants to speak candidly about lore – it must be vague and dismissive (a concerted unawareness that applies to surroundings and solutions as well) when modern moviegoers might rather have had sensible, realistic acknowledgement of timeworn fantasy inventions.

Nevertheless, the film begins smartly, crafting the strict, militaristic upbringing of a boy whose father only wants to instill survivalist skills in his son. Early morning hunting and training, however, can’t prepare him for a confrontation with an unusual predator that stalks its prey while remaining in an upright position. “You can survive if you know exactly what to do.” The wilds of Oregon are tremendously atmospheric, with dense growth offering up plenty of scenery in which to hunt … or be hunted.

It’s clear that, 30 years later, Blake Lovell (Christopher Abbott) is determined not to raise his own child, Ginger (Matilda Firth), in a similar manner as he was. Of course, the concrete jungle of the big city is a vastly different arena for survival, but he also hopes to keep his temper in check while still lightly scolding the little girl who refuses to listen to him in the same way that he ignored his own parent. It also helps – as it always does in cinema – that Ginger is extraordinarily precocious and, later, inexplicably brave. It’s ironic that Blake desperately wants to avoid traumatizing his daughter, yet the remainder of the movie will be a sustained episode in doing exactly that. Meanwhile, he also contends with general discontent with his wife Charlotte (Julia Garner), with whom he’s going through a rough patch. What could be more peaceful, recuperative, and good for the family than to take a vacation back in Oregon, where Blake’s father’s farm must be tended to after the government officially declares old man Grady Lovell (Sam Jaeger) deceased?

Going back to the central notion of George Waggner’s 1941 classic, the doomed wolf man is designed to be a deeply sympathetic person, one whose tragic circumstances are even more woeful when he loses control and puts loved ones in danger (notions that may not hold much weight when standard bloodshed and scares commence, especially since the peril is entirely Blake’s fault). Although Whannell isn’t reinventing too much, he definitely approaches lycanthropy from a different angle, as if a disease – a manic, painful, mutilative, wasting sort of affliction, not unlike in Cronenberg’s “The Fly.” It also isn’t governed by specific, superstitious rules, like a full moon or the Achilles’ heel of a silver bullet.

Jump scares begin right away, but the visual yucks conscientiously shy away from an overly sensational, mid-movie-climax transformation sequence (along the lines of “An American Werewolf in London”), preferring to remain more obscured, aided by glimpses of gnarly body horror and superb sound effects. With these elements come rather blunt verbal exchanges that highlight the metaphors of werewolfism, leaving little to be inferred, but it’s still eerily poetic, bookended by meaningful locations and structures (the geography here is notably rational and comprehendible). The terrorization not just from the woods outside, but also from within Grady’s ill-lit cabin holds up nicely for a swift, to-the-point thriller (transpiring in a timeframe comparable to “Night of the Living Dead”) that uses its simplicity as a great source of stability. With its gruesomeness and boo moments (a few shots utilize recognizable choreography from “Jurassic Park”), it’s an amusing – if excessive – update to the Universal Monsters masterpiece. Gorehounds may not be all that impressed, especially in the deviations from traditional werewolf formulas, but it’s a satisfying supernatural slasher that never gets too ambitious or unwieldy – and thereby neatly accomplishes what it sets out to do.

– Mike Massie