Scott Howard doesn’t hate his life.
He just wishes somebody would notice it.
He’s average at basketball. The girl he wants barely sees him. His team is terrible. Nothing is catastrophically wrong with Scott’s world.
That’s almost the problem.
Then he starts growing hair in places hair really shouldn’t be growing.
Most werewolf movies treat that as terrible news.
Teen Wolf treats it like a promotion.
So what happens when becoming a monster is the best thing that ever happened to you?
You start wondering why you’d ever want to change back.
Rod Daniel gets the movie’s strangest idea out of the way quickly: being a werewolf isn’t especially frightening. Scott’s father is one too. There isn’t an ancient curse to break or a beast threatening to murder everyone he loves.
It’s basically genetics.
Once Scott gets past the initial shock, the Wolf gives him almost everything he wanted.
He becomes a basketball star. The school loves him. Pamela suddenly becomes interested. Stiles immediately realizes there’s money to be made and starts turning his best friend’s supernatural condition into merchandise.
Everyone accepts the werewolf remarkably quickly.
That’s the joke.
It’s also the whole movie.
Scott doesn’t transform into something society rejects.
He transforms into the version of himself society finally finds interesting.
Michael J. Fox plays that difference perfectly. Human Scott is constantly measuring himself against everybody else. He’s watching Pamela. Watching Mick. Watching the crowd. Wondering whether he’s good enough.
The Wolf doesn’t wonder.
He struts into basketball games like the outcome has already been decided. He dances. He showboats. He surfs on top of Stiles’ van. The hair matters less than what Scott gives himself permission to become once he’s wearing it.
Embarrassment disappears.
So does restraint.
That’s where Teen Wolf becomes more interesting than the goofy premise suggests.
Scott starts using the Wolf instead of simply being him.
Basketball stops being about the team because everybody wants the spectacle. Pamela wants the fantasy more than the person underneath it. Stiles is still Scott’s friend, but he’s also perfectly happy selling T-shirts.
Then the crowd starts chanting for the Wolf.
Nobody is asking for Scott Howard.
Boof understands the difference.
She liked Scott before any of this happened. She doesn’t need the Wolf because she’s interested in the person who keeps assuming being himself isn’t enough.
That brings the movie to the most obvious lesson imaginable.
Scott has to play the championship game as himself.
On paper, that’s pure ’80s teen-movie material: believe in yourself, stop chasing popularity, appreciate the girl who liked you all along.
But Teen Wolf earns it because the Wolf was never something Scott needed to defeat.
He needed to stop hiding behind him.
That’s also why the movie barely qualifies as horror despite borrowing one of horror’s most famous monsters. The traditional werewolf story is about losing control of yourself.
Teen Wolf flips that around.
Scott loves the control.
Being the Wolf makes everything easier. People cheer. Girls notice. Basketball works. Every insecurity suddenly has an answer.
The problem isn’t becoming a monster.
The problem is discovering how tempting it is to stay one when everybody likes you better that way.
So what happens when becoming a monster is the best thing that ever happened to you?
Eventually you have to decide whether the applause is worth disappearing underneath it.
Everybody wanted the Wolf.
Scott had to decide whether being Scott was enough.
Written by Rob Joncas for DeadNoteMedia.
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