Ever wondered what would happen if a werewolf pack was duped into taking a camping holiday in the Cotswolds by a pair of revenge seeking tooled up werewolf hunters?
No I can’t say it’s a scenario that ever occurred to me either, but Tony Jopia’s horror comedy Crying Wolf hooked me in from the opening as Gary Martin’s hard-boiled private dick investigates the strange goings on in the village of Deddinghton. A mysterious book that antique shop owner Caroline Munro (Dracula AD1972, Captain Kronos, Vampire Hunter) is reluctant to part with, reveals how a very British set of lycans get themselves caught in a trap.
This dysfunctional saloon bar pack, complete with the prematurely aged pipe smoking bore, a middle-aged Lothario, squabbling couple and forgetful pensioner who thinks the international operator is his Russian girlfriend, are soon on a bus out to the wilds (or as…
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