The 1989 werewolf movie Night Shadow has more problems than just its super lame name. In human form, the werewolf is a drifter who looks like he spent the night under a cactus along the desert highway he trolls for victims. And he never utters a single word though the entire movie and just glare stares at you until you’re hypnotized. Or bored. (Growls don’t count as words, they’re just one long syllable.)
A big city news reporter gal comes back to her home town on vacation just as bodies and half-eaten parts are showing up like highway litter. Then there are three young guys who joke their way through the whole thing, all with bad mullets and mid-drift tank tops. (Those things were outdated the minute they went on sale.) The Asian member of the trio happens to be a martial arts expert (and motel fix-it dude) and Bruce Lees several bikers who are trying to have a romantic moment with a screaming biker chick in one of the rooms.
What does this have to do with the werewolf? I’m still trying to figure that out. And speaking of, the woolly bully makes his first fully formed moment one hour and seven minutes into the 90 minute flick. When he makes with the fur, he looks like a sheep that needs to be sheared.
The werewolf in human form has been staying at the roadside motel and stalking the big city girl, attempting to put her under his leash. (When he stares long enough, lightning bolts flash around his eyes. Wish I could do that. Then I’d be a millionaire or something.) He keeps maggot covered body parts snacks in the dresser where neatly folded clothes and/or local magazines go.
The local sheriff, whose hot for the city chick (they almost smooched, for cryin’ out loud), ends up in a face off with the werewolf in an abandoned warehouse. The kung-fu kid, who was being blamed for all the maggot-y chew bones, comes to the aid of the sheriff, whose deep in the doghouse with this non-speaking wolf-man.
Painful ‘80s hairstyles, day-glo clothing, Valley girl dialogue, and overly furry werewolf costume. Night Shadow is totally fer sure non-bombdigity.
Drinkin' & Drive-in 