Allow me to present a helpful hint for aspiring genre filmmakers around the world: If and when you make the questionable decision to give your horrific cinematic monstrosity the gift of gab, you should pay very careful attention to the words and phrases that pour from his/her/its blood-stained maw. Many directors have attempted to inject some much-needed humor into their horror-based production by allowing their hairy creations to spout off at the mouth whenever the urge strikes them, only to watch in absolute terror as their celluloid offspring fails to elicit anything other than a few unintentional chuckles from its intended audience. Sometimes silence can speak volumes.

Director Lance W. Dreesen's nouveau werewolf opus Big Bad Wolf suffers greatly from what I like to refer to as Chatty Villain Syndrome, or CVS. Warwick Davis' Leprechaun series, while obviously not a barometer for what the genre can accomplish, is another franchise stricken with this oh so deadly disease, as are the last few Nightmare on Elm Street entries we've been forced to nibble upon. I've always held the belief that villains are much more frightening and intimidating when they're not trying to make me wet my diapers with the kind of ribald humor only mentally-challenged fifth graders would find remotely appealing. After all, nobody likes to die laughing.

Big Bad Wolf, on the other hand, has something going for it few werewolf flicks can claim, namely an engaging, well-scripted narrative worthy of your dwindling, media-saturated attention span. The inclusion of '80s bad-ass Richard Tyson (Three O'Clock High, Kindergarten Cop) is also a huge golden bonus, allowing this intimidating, square-jawed nightmare of a man to do exactly what he does best: scare the unsweetened Jesus Christ Superstar out of me. Had this intriguing concept come packaged with an interesting creature that didn't upchuck ridiculously cheesy one-liners all over his would-be victims, perhaps Dreesen's clever little film wouldn't strongly resemble a neutered puppy whimpering sadly in a soiled cardboard box.

Awww. Poor puppy.

The story, choking desperately on its borrowed plotlines, follows the nerdy misadventures of teenage outcast Derek Cowley (Trevor Duke). When he's not busy desperately trying to make friends with a couple of brainless fraternity clowns or pining endlessly for best friend/sexy auto mechanic Samantha (Kimberly J. Brown), our virginal hero is trying to determine whether or not his abusive stepfather Mitchell (Tyson) is a shape-shifting member of the lycanthropian race. With the help of his devilishly handsome uncle and his lifelong fellatio-prone sidekick, Derek must unravel the mystery behind a series of horrific murders before he and his crew become a plate of tasty name brand dog food — the kind that makes its own gravy. The horror!