As far as werewolf films go, this is not one of the better ones. Simply dreadful acting, coupled with lazy effects and some of the stupidest looking werewolf makeup ever committed to the screen, SkinWalkers is an exercise in wasting money and sending some perfectly good (and perfectly ordinary) careers into freefall.
Rhona Mitra has never been in many a-grade flicks (she did appear in Hollow Man, as well as Johnny English, neither of which were all that great…, as well as the Christopher Lambert version of Beowulf… which goes beyond description into the stupidest film you’ll ever see!) and here, she’s not exactly doing herself any favours. And Elias Koteas should have known better.
Still, what can you expect from a film with a script so stupid it displays all the competency of a porn film and the budget to match. SkinWalkers lauds itself on being based on an old Navajo indian legend, which you’d think would be accorded some level of respect here. Unfortunately, not.
Directed with flashy bravado (but limited narrative skill) by Jason Issac (who “directed” Jason X.. woo hoo) SkinWalkerslurches from one minor set-piece to another, logic being the first victim of a plot so convoluted and unexplained you can pretty much figure out what’s going to happen from the blurb on the rear of the DVD. Perhaps the best part of the film is a energetic gun battle in the midst of a deserted small town (why aren’t there any bystanders caught up in this, I wonder…..) which is the fiercest part of the whole film.
Of course, the film rests on your ability to believe the sheer volume of bullets fired would never hit anything important, like a major character, until at least twenty minutes had passed; the film lives and dies on stupid stuff like that. Grandma, pulling out the mother of all handguns, takes on four characters with enhanced abilities like she’s simply waded into a kindergarten and opened fire.
The script leaves little room for silly things like… oh, character development… and, I don’t know, logic, so don’t expect a lot if you do decide to watch this trash. Still, for an energetic romp with little/no redeeming features except for Natassia Malthe’s boobs appearing to be in a completely separate film altogether, there’s a lot to be impressed with. The wonderful closing credits are, well, wonderful.
The film, however, is diabolical, and not worth your time.