“Imagine if someone dared you to make a werewolf movie using only Romanian tax breaks, leftover leather, and Sybil Danning’s cleavage—and then you failed.”
There are bad sequels. There are insulting sequels. And then there’s The Howling II: Your Sister Is a Werewolf—a movie so bafflingly terrible, it makes the original Howling look like Citizen Kane by comparison. Released in 1985 and directed by Philippe Mora, this cinematic pile of shredded fur is less a continuation of Joe Dante’s stylish werewolf original and more like an Eastern European fever dream after a NyQuil overdose.
This is the kind of film where werewolves explode, Christopher Lee looks actively ashamed, and Sybil Danning rips her top off so many times the editors turned it into a music video. It’s not just bad—it’s gloriously, batshit bad, like someone tried to film an Iron Maiden album cover without a script, lighting budget, or sense of shame.
The Plot (lol): Your Sister Was a Werewolf, Now She’s Dead, Now Let’s Go to Transylvania
The film opens with the funeral of Karen White, the protagonist from the original The Howling. Her brother Ben (played by Reb Brown, known for yelling and not much else) is approached by occult investigator Stefan Crosscoe (a mortified Christopher Lee) who drops this nugget: “Your sister is a werewolf.”
No, really. That’s the actual line. And yes, it’s delivered with a straight face.
Soon they’re off to Transylvania—because of course they are—where a coven of leather-clad werewolves led by the immortal queen Stirba (played by Sybil Danning, armed with a staff, a sneer, and no bra) is preparing some sort of… orgy? Ritual? Werewolf Burning Man? It’s never really clear. What is clear is that there will be howling. A lot of howling. And moaning. And writhing. All set to an earwormy synth-rock track that somehow manages to say “your sister is a werewolf” like it’s profound.
Christopher Lee: The Wolf in Sheepish Clothing
Poor Christopher Lee. A titan of horror, a Shakespearean force, a man who once played Dracula with menace and gravitas—and here he is, standing in front of glowing latex intestines in a sequined wizard jacket, reading lines like he’s trying not to throw up.
He’s doing the Lord’s work, trying to lend dignity to a film that has werewolves dry-humping each other in slow motion, but you can see the soul leave his body with every scene. It’s the cinematic equivalent of watching your grandfather guest star on Jersey Shore.
Sybil Danning: Serving Boobs and Howls on Repeat
Ah yes, Sybil Danning, the true alpha of this film. As Stirba, she spends most of the runtime in a spiky metal bra shouting things like “I am the Queen of the Werewolves!” and cackling as people burst into flames.
Her performance is pure camp and almost redeems the film, if only because she clearly knows what kind of garbage she’s in. The infamous closing credits—where the same five-second clip of her ripping her top off is repeated 17 times—is the stuff of exploitation legend. It’s not a climax. It’s a cry for help, looped to music.
Special Effects: Or Lack Thereof
The werewolves in this film are about as scary as wet shag carpet. Instead of elegant transformations, we get cross-dissolves and face latex that looks like it’s melting off in real time. There’s an uncomfortable amount of chest hair, unconvincing contact lenses, and moments where actors clearly don’t know whether they’re supposed to be wolves, vampires, or bad 80s backup dancers.
At one point, a dwarf werewolf (yes, really) bites someone in the crotch. There’s also a werewolf orgy in a cave full of fog, strobe lights, and enough pelvic thrusting to warrant a seizure warning. It’s less horror and more Studio 54: The Lycanthrope Edition.
Dialogue: Who Needs It?
Lines are barked, whispered, screamed, or grunted—rarely acted. When characters aren’t saying things like “You must come with me to the land of the dark ones” or “The prophecy is coming to pass,” they’re staring blankly as if wondering where their careers went.
Special mention goes to the synth-rock band that randomly appears on screen, repeating the phrase “Your sister is a werewolf” in case we forgot. It plays over the opening, the mid-film montage, and the closing credits, at which point your brain simply gives up.
Final Verdict
The Howling II: Your Sister Is a Werewolf isn’t just a bad movie—it’s an out-of-body experience. It’s the kind of film you show to people just to see their reactions. It’s a slow-motion disaster stitched together with fur, fireballs, and footage from Romanian tourism reels.
And yet… there’s a bizarre charm in how completely it commits to the nonsense. It’s a camp classic of the “you’ve got to be kidding me” variety, best enjoyed with friends, alcohol, and the lowest possible expectations.
Rating: 2.5 out of 10 furry orgies
For those who like their horror with a side of sideboob and absolutely no dignity.
