Part-World War II/concentration camp drama, part-fairy tale, part-psychological study of how even children can descend into barbarism given the right circumstances, part-allegory for what happened to Poland after German occupancy was replaced with Soviet occupancy, all wrapped up in the aesthetic and tonal qualities of a horror movie, writer/director
Adrian Panek's Wilkolak is a parable of violence and lost innocence. The title is a rather clever play on the figure of the lycanthrope as found in literature dating back to at least the Middle Ages - the film depicts children who are ravenous and uncontrollable and dogs who are ravenous and uncontrollable, but there's no werewolf unless one combines the two groups on an abstract thematic level. Which, of course, is exactly what the title is inviting us to do. Kind of like
Assault on Precinct 13 (1976) set in the immediate aftermath of the War, with elements of Charles Perrault's 1697 version of Le Petit Chaperon Rouge and
William Golding's Lord of the Flies (1963) as well as films such as
Démanty noci (1964),
White Dog (1982), and
Fehér isten (2014), Wilkolak is understated, subtle, and thematically layered.
February, 1945; Gross-Rosen concentration camp. Germany have all but lost the War, and the SS are in the process of abandoning the camp. Before they go, however, they force the inmates to do pointless exercises in the freezing night-time temperatures, with anyone resisting set upon by the camp's vicious German Shepherd guard dogs. When the SS depart, the Red Army liberate the camp, and a group of eight children are transported to a temporary orphanage housed in a dilapidated mansion in the forest. The group includes the de facto leader, Hanka (an excellent
Sonia Mietielica), who, at 20, is the eldest by several years; Hanys (
Nicolas Przygoda) a late addition to the group from another camp, who is not made especially welcome; the quiet and possibly irreparably disturbed Wladek (a very creepy
Kamil Polnisiak), who resents Hanys's presence, and from whose perspective much of the film is told; and Mala (
Matylda Ignasiak) a mute six-year-old girl. The only adult at the mansion is the bitter and disillusioned Jadwiga (the always excellent
Danuta Stenka), who, despite herself, soon bonds with Hanka and Mala. As Hanka attempts to re-civilise the children (by having them use a knife and fork instead of their hands, for example), they must worry about marauding Soviet soldiers with rape on their mind. However, soon, a greater threat presents itself - the now feral camp dogs, driven mad with hunger, have made their way through the forest and have surrounded the mansion.
In essence, Wilkolak is a World War II pseudo-horror story about traumatised concentration camp children trapped in a house by vicious dogs. It absolutely should not work. But it absolutely does work, with all manner of subtle thematic layering. Of course, the main theme is barbarism; the idea that the children have been dehumanised by their time in the camp. One of the first scenes upon arriving at the mansion sees several of them cruelly chasing a rat, which they then stamp to death, recalling how the SS were treating the prisoners just minutes earlier, and it's telling that the first instance of violence after we leave Gross Rosen is perpetrated not by a German, a Soviet, or a dog, but by the children themselves.
Of course, this highlights the question of who exactly is the eponymous Wilkolak. Panek approaches this question by is a parable of violence and lost innocence. The title is a rather clever play on the figure of the lycanthrope as found in literature dating back to at least the Middle Ages - the film depicts children who are ravenous and uncontrollable and dogs who are ravenous and uncontrollable, but there's no werewolf unless one combines the two groups on an abstract thematic level. Which, of course, is exactly what the title is inviting us to do. Kind of like Assault on Precinct 13 set in the immediate aftermath of the War, with elements of Charles Perrault's 1697 version of Le Petit Chaperon Rouge and William Golding's Lord of the Flies as well as films such as Démanty noci, White Dog, and Fehér isten, Wilkolak is understated, subtle, and thematically layered.
February 1945; Gross-Rosen concentration camp. Germany have all but lost the War, and the SS are in the process of abandoning the camp. Before they go, they force the inmates to do pointless exercises in the freezing night-time temperatures, with anyone resisting set upon by the camp's vicious German Shepherd guard dogs. When the SS depart, the Red Army liberate the camp, and a group of eight children are transported to a temporary orphanage housed in a dilapidated mansion in the forest. The group includes the de facto leader, Hanka (an excellent Sonia Mietielica), who, at 20, is the eldest by several years; Hanys (Nicolas Przygoda) a late addition to the group from another camp, who is not made especially welcome; the quiet and possibly irreparably disturbed Wladek (a very creepy Kamil Polnisiak), who resents Hanys's presence, and from whose perspective much of the film is told; and Mala (Matylda Ignasiak) a mute six-year-old girl. The only adult at the mansion is the bitter and disillusioned Jadwiga (the always excellent Danuta Stenka), who, despite herself, soon bonds with Hanka and Mala. As Hanka attempts to re-civilise the children (by having them use a knife and fork instead of their hands, for example), they must worry about marauding Soviet soldiers with rape on their mind. However, soon, a greater threat presents itself - the now feral camp dogs, driven mad with hunger, have made their way through the forest and have surrounded the mansion.
In essence, Wilkolak is a World War II pseudo-horror story about traumatised concentration camp children trapped in a house by vicious dogs. It absolutely should not work. But it absolutely does work, with all manner of subtle thematic layering. Of course, the main theme is barbarism; the idea that the children have been dehumanised by their time in the camp. One of the first scenes upon arriving at the mansion sees several of them cruelly chasing a rat, which they then stamp to death, recalling how the SS were treating the prisoners just minutes earlier, and it's telling that the first instance of violence after we leave Gross Rosen is perpetrated not by a German, a Soviet, or a dog, but by the children themselves.
Of course, this highlights the question of who exactly is the eponymous Wilkolak. Panek approaches this question by drawing a lot of parallels between the children and the dogs; both are hungry, both have been taught barbarism, both are aggressive and feral, both move in packs, both need significant reconditioning. Indeed, just as is the case with the dogs, Hanka says of the children, "they can't go hungry or they'll kill each other", to which Jadwiga says, "then let them kill each other". This draws yet another parallel - neither group are seen as worth saving, neither is considered human; to quote King Lear, "Man's life's as cheap as beast's".
Working in tandem with such parallels, the title is metaphorical - neither the children nor the dogs are the Wilkolak, yet both are. That this is so is indicated only moments after the scene with the rat, as we see the children happily playing tag. It's an extraordinary contrast, which suggests for every moment where their traumatised dysfunction rises to the surface, so too are there moments where their childish innocence shines through (i.e. They are half-human, half-beast), a contrast which recurs in various guises throughout - for example, for Wladek's psychological trauma, there's Mala's gentle innocence; and although Hanka makes the children sit at the table and use cutlery, another scene sees them fighting over a tin of dog food, which they spill on the floor, before devouring with their hands.
The most obvious aesthetic element of the film is that it employs classic horror tropes throughout - POV shots of the dogs in the forest; the grisly discovery of a mutilated corpse; a slow-motion shot as one of the children is being chased by a dog; the dilapidated and isolated house, both sanctuary and prison;
Dominik Danilczyk's ominous photography which often shoots from around corners and within shadows. Additionally, much of the film is focalised by Wladek, which gives the story an element of intimacy and emotional stoicism (insofar as Wladek is emotionally shut down). Grafting the story of concentration camp survivors onto a horror template may seem crass and disrespectful, but Panek pulls it off magnificently.
There are a few problems here and there, but none are especially serious. For example, the film lags a little in the long middle act, which sees the dogs surround the house, and which becomes a little repetitious, with the tension slackening somewhat. This act could have done with having maybe ten minutes or so shaved off. Another small issue is that apart from Hanka, Hanys, and Wladek, none of the other children receives any characterisation. Mala gets a little backstory, but that's about it, with the rest of the group essentially functioning as background extras, often to the point of blurring into one another.
These small issues notwithstanding, however, Wilkolak is an exceptional film. What really struck me was that despite its use of horror tropes and a fairy tale aesthetic, there's hardly anything here that couldn't have happened in historical actuality. This is part of the reason that the film never comes across as exploitative or distasteful; because it maintains a realist stance throughout. All things considered, this is a thematically fascinating, brilliantly made film.
