“The Wolfpack”

The Wolfpack

YOU DO WONDER what sort of man keeps––or perhaps I should say imprisons––his children in a flat for the bulk of their young lives and yet somehow has the gall to claim he did it out of love. But Oscár Angulo, the father of the immensely likeable siblings of Crystal Moselle’s The Wolfpack, is not the film’s star (though he probably wishes he was). That dubious honour goes to those same siblings who, in spite of having a childhood that might at the very least be described as unconventional, somehow grew up to become talented and charming actors and moviemakers, albeit in their own low-budget sort of way.

In the opening scene, the oldest of the seven Angulo siblings, Bhagavan, introduces his dysfunctional family. His father is or was a Hare Krishna devotee and wanted to imitate Krishna by creating his own extensive brood in his own  unremarkable image, which should give you a clue as to what kind of man Señor Angulo is. He gave each of his sons the name of a God in the oldest language in the world, Sanskrit: Bhagavan, Narayana, Govinda, Mukunda, Jagadisa and Krsna. Oscár, we learn, hails from Peru, and met his wife Susanne, a hippie from the Mid-West, on the Inca trail to Machu Picchu. Somehow she found his anti-work, anti-government, anti-“system” ravings charming, and the pair settled down to continue their micro-revolution in a small apartment in the Lower East Side of Manhattan.


In the opening scene, the oldest of the seven Angulo siblings, Bhagavan, introduces his dysfunctional family. His father is or was a Hare Krishna devotee and wanted to imitate Krishna by creating his own extensive brood in his own  unremarkable image, which should give you a clue as to what kind of man Señor Angulo is.


The rules of the apartment went like this: never go out (unless supervised by Oscár), never talk to strangers, and never go into the rooms that share walls with those of the neighbours without express permission. After all, the neighbours might be listening. In effect, these rules meant that the Angulo children only left the apartment a handful of times each year and some years not at all. Their only relief from the claustrophobia of imprisonment was each other, and Oscár’s extensive movie library, which contained over two thousand films. With little else to do, the boys (their youngest sibling, a sister, is mentally ill) developed a sort of extreme cinephilia, which manifested in their filming and acting out hundreds of films; these reproductions often involved their stars showing a fair amount of ingenuity, such as creating outfits out of yoga mats and cereal boxes.

As you might expect, their ways of speaking are not so much seasoned as saturated with references to films, which they tend to mention to qualify or clarify something they’ve said. And they regularly slip into the jargon and slang and patterns of speech of characters from, for instance, Reservoir Dogs––a film that it seems they have particular affection for. (When you consider its themes of loyalty and brotherhood, that shouldn’t come as much of a surprise). All the while, Oscár’s delusions about his own perceived divinity seem to have caught up with him, and by the time of The Wolfpack he is a drunk and pathetic and impotent figure who is no longer able to control his family.


As you might expect, their ways of speaking are not so much seasoned as saturated with references to films, which they tend to mention to qualify or clarify something they’ve said. And they regularly slip into the jargon and slang and patterns of speech of characters from, for instance, Reservoir Dogs––a film that it seems they have particular affection for.


Director Crystal Moselle, who ran into the boys on Fifth Avenue, plays the part of detached observer throughout the film, which you feel is the way it should be. At any rate the boys are charismatic and charming enough to hold their own, so to speak, in front of the camera. But if the film does has an obvious shortcoming its the way that Moselle deals with the youngest of the Angulo siblings. There are, of course, issues concerning consent and her vulnerability, but it’s not so much that she doesn’t get time on camera as the fact she fails to get much of a mention at all. It’s possible that this was something Moselle herself and the boys established before filming, but as it is she seems to be dismissed. And it bears remembering that she still has to live with a lazy and tyrannical father and a mother who appears still to be largely in his thrall.

In a film that’s altogether memorable there are scenes that stand out. A sequence in which the brothers dance to the Europop anthem Tarzan Boy by Baltimore springs to mind, as does an early venture into the outside world. (“Whoa––this is like 3D, man!” one of the boys says). What surprises you most about The Wolfpack is that you feel it should be a tragic story; instead, and though the circumstances of the boys at the centre of the film are of course tragic, The Wolfpack is really quite uplifting, and serves more as an example of how creativity, and specifically film, can inoculate against and ultimately lift you out of misery. The Wolfpack, to put it another way, is joyful, not sad, and that’s to the eternal credit of the set of brothers at its centre, who you hope––and suspect––will one day find themselves making their own thoroughly enjoyable films.

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