Eight for Silver Is a Muddled Werewolf Story Hindered by Tired Horror Tropes

A cursed burial ground. Children singing a creepy nursery rhyme. A shadowy outsider who holds the key to survival. If these all strike you as clichéd imperatives for your average werewolf movie, then rest assured: British writer/director Sean Ellis’s latest film Eight for Silver—a protracted folkish horror story that mistakes miserablism for period accuracy—is, indeed, a werewolf movie.
The film begins by dropping the viewer smack-dab in the trenches of World War I before suddenly jumping back 35 years prior to a seemingly undisturbed British town in the 19th century. The stark terror of war is meant to mirror the atrocities committed by British townsfolk on a Romani encampment on the outskirts of their village—a scene which prevails as the most viscerally disturbing in the film, ultimately overshadowing the ensuing creature kills. Though the entire Romani population has been murdered, their spiritual presence persists as the British occupants are suddenly hunted by a horrifying predator. Unsurprisingly, the beast is particularly drawn to the manor of Seamus Laurent (Alistar Petrie), the de facto orchestrator of the Romani massacre. When Seamus’ son Edward (Max Mackintosh) suddenly goes missing, he has no choice but to call in pathologist Boyd Holbrook (John McBride), who has a history of remedying similarly unexplainable situations.
Eight for Silver’s awkward standing as a werewolf movie constantly calls attention to itself, as Ellis cherrypicks popular elements from existing folklore to incorporate into its patchwork lycanthrope mythology. As the title suggests, the mythical properties of silver are weaponized to conquer the creature, but there is no mention of full moons or monthly cycles. The film also has the distinction of the lycanthropic beast appearing completely hairless, an abnormality among popular depictions of werewolves in art and culture. The overall lack of distinct anthropomorphic animalism in the film creates a palpable disappointment in the audience, the highest voted question in the post-film Q&A webchat being, “Why wasn’t the werewolf hot?”
The horrifying potential of the werewolf creature itself, uncanny and uniquely humanoid compared to other canonical films, is ultimately squandered by an overreliance on CGI. Practical effects could have helped the monster feel less at odds with its Victorian setting, as a keen sense of set decoration can’t stop the jarring computer effects from often ruining the facade of well-executed period staples. Especially when part of the monster’s anatomy closely resembles the fleshy tendrils of John Carpenter’s monster in The Thing, computer generated imagery inevitably disappoints.