Wolves

Writer-director David Hayter shows a flicker of action-film potential with parts of this otherwise laughably silly werewolf tale. He knows how to make a low-budget production look a little more polished, with decent special effects, adequately shot action sequences, and OK performances from a semi-recognizable cast. Till (X-Men's Havoc) isn't without talent, and he certainly still looks the part of the alternately confused and cocky teen. But the plot is overly melodramatic with its soapy twists and revelations, and the script -- which seems plucked out of the brain of a 13-year-old boy (instead of a 13-year-old girl, like many other other paranormal stories) -- is ridiculous.

Wolves fails to capture the audience's attention long enough to make the "creepy town with a secret" meets "werewolf romance" meets "prodigal son" motifs interesting or the bloodline theme surprising. There's nothing wrong with watching a movie like this as a guilty pleasure, particularly for die-hard fans of the werewolf genre. But this isn't the kind of movie you remember, except for the fact that it reinforces the belief that Momoa may never get another role as impressive (or perfectly suited to him) as the Khal in Game of Thrones.