Main cast: William Gregory Lee (Jeff Allen), Elisa Donovan (Annabelle Morris), Michael Bergin (Vince), and Eric Roberts (Dyson Keller)
Director: David DeCoteau

There are two steps to enjoy a David DeCoteau movie. First, revel in the shamelessly bad kitsch of these movies that are nothing more than an excuse to have hot young men in tight briefs running around the place. Next, read reviews of these movies by male critics that freak out at the shameless homoeroticism in these movies. You’d think that after so many B-grade horror movies with women running around naked or near naked, some turnaround is fair play, but no, these critics act as if something has snipped off their testicles in their reviews. Hilarious, I tell you.

Wolves of Wall Street, however, is a “serious” David DeCoteau movie. There is only one gratuitous men in briefs shot, and even so, it’s hard not to burst out laughing when four hot hunks rip off their white office shirts to reveal the same black muscle tank-top and later on, the same black boxer-briefs. There are also many gratuitous close-ups on lead William Gregory Lee’s nipples, in particular, the left nipple. Alas, at the end of the day, the guys are hot but the movie is… not.

Jeff Allen is a naive and romantic guy in Wall Street looking for a job. He wants to be a broker all his life, apparently. He meets a bartender, Annabelle, whom he falls for. She introduces him to Dyson Keller and his bunch of “elite brokers” at Wolfe Brothers, and when he gets inside that elite circle, he realizes that they are werewolves and he is turned into one of them. Oh no, what shall he do now?

For a werewolf movie, there is not one single transformation scene. These werewolves instead make angry faces and bite at people’s necks, and they don’t even have the decency to sprout fangs while they are at it. Maybe the entire budget is blown on Eric Roberts’ salary, and you know this movie is the B in the barrel when the biggest name on the marque is Eric Roberts. It is also hilarious how the moon is always full and looks as if it’s just fifty miles from Earth. The premise of werewolves channeling their predatory instincts into making money on Wall Street is fun and actually very good, but the execution is the pits. But seriously, would anyone watch a David DeCoteau movie for the plot or the horror?

Well, I am sad to report that there is very little slashy element in this movie. The closest thing to paradise here is the relationship between Jeff and his lupine mentor Vince, with an implied four-way sex with two women in this movie that is, alas, never exploited to the hilt (pardon the pun). Vince is rather unnaturally concerned and protective over Jeff, if you know what I mean. Alas, while Michael Bergin is cute on the eyes, he is more wooden than a wooden spoon. The lines in this movie are cringe-inducing as they butcher every hackneyed thing you can come up with involving “scratch”, “hunt”, “hunger”, and of course, “pack”. If they have replaced Vince’s “This is what you’ve always wanted, go hunt!” with “Kiss me, you fool!” or “Okay, everyone strip, I want to make sure that all of you are wearing the same undies!”, this movie will be so much fun to watch.

Some fun can be gotten from laughing at the cheap sets, the recycled scene of the full moon, and the horrendous acting, but why bother with this one when there are so many campier and more exploitative David DeCoteau movies out there? Wolves of Wall Street is high on plot, low on hot guys wearing little, and therefore, in the scheme of things, a really bad David DeCoteau movie indeed.