Featuring a unique and unusual mix of horror, swashbuckling, martial arts performances, and special effects ranging from CGI of the time to puppetry and animatronics courtesy of Jim Henson's Creature Shop, BROTHERHOOD OF THE WOLF is beautifully shot and realized, with peaceful rolling hills and wild, untamed country painted upon the same canvas. All the while, a hidden menace prowls, waiting to strike when the moon rises.
A beast is loose in the countryside of the Gevaudan province of France and has been killing its victims for two years and counting! In 1764, Chevalier Fronsac (Samuel Le Bihan) and his Iroquois friend Mani (Mark Dacascos) hunt the monster by order of the King to put a stop to the killings. Aiding them in their exploits is the one-armed Jean-François (Vincent Cassel), his sister Marianne de Morangias (Émilie Dequenne) and various members of the Gallic court. Presented in a new 4K restoration, there's no better time to visit this fantastic and dangerous world!
In French, German, and Italian with English subtitles.
The Saturday, March 25th 7:30 PM showing will be presented by Kung Fu Clubhouse, featuring an exclusive pre-show of fun martial arts clips!
“Leave it to the French to find a place for kung fu in an 18th century corsets and werewolves epic. And, give them credit for including a generous helping of sex, bawdiness and a dash of Native American mysticism, too, just to make things interesting.” Sarah Michelle Fetters, MovieFreak.com
“A wonder of magpie postmodernism, a samurai adventure with Hong Kong action and a wry touch of American Western, all sewn into a free interpretation of Gallic history that also has its finger on the pulse of current social trends.” Ella Taylor, L.A. Weekly
“It was about damn time someone recognized the French countryside for what it is, a mecca of martial arts.” CinemaVoid, Letterboxd review
“Brotherhood of the Wolf plays like an explosion at the genre factory… I would be lying if I did not admit that this is all, in its absurd and overheated way, entertaining.” Roger Ebert