Mystical wolves (called “wolfen”) are roaming the streets of New York City, and the only person capable of matching their steely, murderous resolve is Albert Finney’s emotionally detached detective Dewey Wilson. Hunting rich and poor alike, these ancient creatures are the focal point of Wolfen, though Michael Wadleigh’s clunky thriller is in fact some sort of mixed-up commentary on gentrification and the horrible historical treatment of Native Americans. The wolfen generally reside in destitute urban areas and only feed on the sick, but after a rich bigwig decides to develop their burned-out patch of Southern Brooklyn, the creatures venture out into Manhattan to eat the brains of those who would alter their home turf. This prompts Dewey – looking like he slept in his clothes after a night of serious boozing – to come out of retirement and team up with a sexy something-or-other (Diane Venora) and a coroner (Gregory Hines) to stop the beasts’ rampage. After endless wolfen POV shots, some split-screen effects (which director Wadleigh perfected on his prior film Woodstock), and a mouthful of mumbled dialogue from the hilariously disheveled Finney, Dewy and the wolfen strike an uneasy truce. Of course, why they’re kindred souls – is it their mutual disgust for The Man and urban development? Or their shared affinity for Edward James Olmos’ Native American construction worker, who loves hanging out on the top of the Brooklyn Bridge? – is anyone’s guess.