Frankenstein's Monster. But is there anything so chilling as the stop-you-in-your-tracks anguished howl of a werewolf? A man reduced to his most base instincts. An unwilling killer. A victim. Ever since I was a kid I have wanted to be a werewolf. They have always been my favourite monster and any Psychotherapist worth their degree would probably track it all back to the issues of growing up as an outcast, puny Geek. And they would most likely be right. I don't care. Issues or no issues, having the sheer raw ferocity to rend limb from limb always seemed quite romantic to me. Clearly I have missed the subtext of the human cursed, a murderer but not by choice. Maybe I do have issues. The mythos of the werewolf stretches across thousands of years, with the earliest known descriptions from Greek literature. Men who took the form of wolves for a few days each year, who were transformed after eating human flesh or King Lycaon who was punished for trying to challenge the God Zeus. Very quickly the werewolf myth took on the idea of the curse and a human forced to live with the consequences of their actions. Come medieval times in Europe wolves were one of the major dangers to outlying villages. And as with all good phobias people developed stories to make it easier to understand, to have someone to blame. And that blame fell on anyone who seemed different. There is a lot of astonishing transcripts still available from the religious courts of the werewolf hunts that tell of innocent men and women killed due to being accused of lycanthropy. Yet it is in modern times that the werewolf has found its broadest cultural connection. In cities of rules and regulations, of civilised society where emotions are repressed and violence condemned, the werewolf represents the eruption of our animal desires and instincts. The potential to kill. And to enjoy it. And so we come to the movies. And the glut of werewolf content that has had a constant audience for almost 100 years.