Introduction: The Prequel Nobody Howled For
There are prequels that expand a franchise’s mythology (Rogue One, X-Men: First Class), and then there’s Underworld: Rise of the Lycans, a movie that answers questions no one ever asked—like, “What if Romeo and Juliet were covered in CGI fur and bondage gear?”
Released in 2009, this third installment in the Underworld saga trades in Kate Beckinsale’s latex catsuit for a leather-clad history lesson that no one put on their syllabus. Directed by Patrick Tatopoulos, the film promised to explore the origins of the vampire–werewolf war. What it delivered instead was a 90-minute montage of growling, stabbing, and shouting about bloodlines, all shot in a color palette best described as “bruised steel.”
The Plot: Twilight for People Who Think Showers Are for Mortals
The movie opens in the kind of gloomy medieval setting where you can practically smell the mildew. Two decades of war have passed between vampires and werewolves, because apparently no one’s thought to just invent garlic-scented armor.
Lucian (Michael Sheen), the first werewolf who can transform back into a human, is raised by Viktor (Bill Nighy), the world’s crankiest vampire landlord. Viktor’s bright idea? Enslave Lucian’s kind to serve as daytime guards for the vampire coven. Because nothing ever goes wrong when you imprison creatures that can rip out throats with their faces.
Lucian grows up, learns to accessorize with shackles, and—because it’s a Underworld film—falls in love with Viktor’s rebellious daughter, Sonja (Rhona Mitra). Their forbidden romance mostly involves whispering dramatically in torchlight, exchanging longing glances, and occasionally saving each other from CGI wolves.
When Viktor finds out his daughter’s dating a werewolf, he reacts like every overprotective dad: by sentencing her to death via magical sunbeam. The moment is meant to be tragic, but the special effects make it look like she’s being killed by a malfunctioning tanning bed. Lucian, devastated, leads a rebellion of Lycans, kicks off a bloody uprising, and vows eternal war against the vampires.
And that’s it. That’s the plot. Underworld: Rise of the Lycans is basically Les Misérables if everyone in it were hot, immortal, and allergic to lighting above 5 lumens.
Michael Sheen: A Great Actor Trapped in a Bad Metal Music Video
Michael Sheen’s commitment to the role of Lucian is both admirable and deeply confusing. This man gives Shakespearean energy to lines like “We are not slaves!”—as if he’s auditioning for Macbeth: The Furry Edition. He growls, emotes, and swings his sword with the intensity of a man who genuinely believes he’s in Gladiator. Unfortunately, he’s in a prequel where the biggest emotional stakes are “will his girlfriend survive the sunlamp?”
There are moments when Sheen’s eyes gleam with genuine passion, but you can almost see the thought bubble over his head: Why am I not doing Frost/Nixon right now?
Still, he’s the movie’s best feature—like a Michelin chef trapped in a Taco Bell kitchen, giving it his all while surrounded by plastic cheese.
Rhona Mitra: Beckinsale’s Stand-In from the Discount Dimension
Rhona Mitra steps into the franchise as Sonja, the daughter of Viktor and the budget version of Kate Beckinsale’s Selene. She’s fierce, fiery, and often looks like she’s two seconds away from asking to speak to the medieval manager.
Her romance with Lucian is supposed to be tragic, but it has all the heat of a damp matchstick. Their love scenes involve the usual Underworld aesthetic: moody lighting, chains, and enough leather to qualify as a PETA protest.
The movie wants you to believe they’re star-crossed lovers defying fate—but it mostly feels like two actors trying to stay warm between takes.
Bill Nighy: A Camp Icon in Search of a Better Movie
Bill Nighy returns as Viktor, the vampire elder whose every line delivery sounds like he’s auditioning for Hamlet at Hot Topic. Nighy knows exactly what kind of movie he’s in and leans into it with theatrical relish. He hisses, sneers, and over-enunciates every syllable like a man who’s being paid by the consonant.
When Viktor condemns his daughter to death, it’s less heartbreaking and more “My Wi-Fi isn’t working again!” energy. His performance is so gloriously over-the-top that you half expect him to break into song. (“You are grounded, and also immortal!”)
If this movie had any sense of humor, it would’ve given him a musical number. Instead, he spends most of it scowling in dim lighting, as if personally offended by the cinematography.
The Aesthetic: Fifty Shades of Blue-Grey
If you’ve ever wanted to watch an entire movie through a pair of dirty sunglasses, congratulations—Underworld: Rise of the Lycans has you covered. Every frame is drenched in cold steel blues and ashy grays, as if someone spilled a gallon of eyeliner over the film reel.
There are moments when it’s genuinely hard to tell who’s winning the fight scenes because everyone blends into the background like goth wallpaper. The set design is impressive—castles, chains, torches—but it all feels suffocatingly uniform. It’s like living inside a metal album cover, minus the energy or irony.
The Action: Swordfights, Howling, and Excessive Hair Gel
The action sequences are, to put it kindly, aggressively average. There are plenty of snarling Lycans charging into battle and vampires swinging swords in slow motion, but none of it feels particularly thrilling. Every fight looks like it was choreographed by someone who Googled “cool fight moves” five minutes before shooting.
The werewolf transformations are decent for 2009 but still look like someone spliced Teen Wolf with Resident Evil. There’s a lot of growling, a lot of leaping, and way too much chest hair.
You’d think a movie about a vampire–werewolf war would be wild and kinetic, but somehow it manages to feel both loud and sleepy. Like watching a fireworks show entirely in black and white.
The Script: Gothic Poetry by Way of a Protein Shake
The dialogue in Rise of the Lycans is written in a peculiar dialect known as “Fake Ancient Brooding.” Every sentence sounds like it was pulled from a heavy metal lyric sheet. Characters say things like “The chains of bondage will be shattered!” and “I will avenge my beloved under the crimson moon!”
You could make a drinking game out of every time someone dramatically mentions “blood,” but you’d be dead before the third act.
Even the exposition scenes are unintentionally hilarious. Characters spend entire monologues explaining the rules of a universe that’s already been explained in two previous films. By the time Viktor starts talking about lineage, hierarchies, and Lycans, you can almost hear the audience muttering, “We get it. You bite people. Move on.”
The Tone: Dead Serious About Its Dead Seriousness
Perhaps the biggest sin Underworld: Rise of the Lycans commits is taking itself too seriously. It wants to be an epic tragedy, a tale of forbidden love and rebellion—but it forgets it’s about werewolves and vampires wearing leather armor. There’s no humor, no levity, no self-awareness. Just endless gloom and doom delivered with straight faces and clenched jaws.
It’s as if the filmmakers thought making everyone whisper angrily in candlelight would make it Shakespearean. Instead, it’s like a Dungeons & Dragons campaign narrated by a Hot Topic cashier.
The Legacy: Prequels Are Forever… Unfortunately
By the time the credits roll, Rise of the Lycans feels less like a film and more like an extended lore cutscene for fans who memorized the franchise wiki. It doesn’t add much to the Underworld mythology—just a few new characters, some tragic romance, and an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.
It made $91 million, proving that people will pay good money to watch werewolves in bondage revolt against their undead bosses. But it also marked the point where the Underworld series started eating its own tail—a franchise doomed to eternal repetition, much like its brooding immortals.
Final Verdict: Howl at Your Own Risk
Underworld: Rise of the Lycans is dark, loud, and utterly joyless—a movie so drenched in shadow it practically devours its own fun. It’s not the worst vampire film ever made, but it might be the most self-serious one.
If you’re looking for emotional depth, compelling storytelling, or even coherent lighting, you’d be better off staring into a jar of black ink. But if you want to watch Michael Sheen yell about freedom while covered in fake blood, hey—at least the soundtrack slaps.
Rating: 2 out of 5 Silver Chains
A prequel so grim it makes you nostalgic for sunlight—and coherent plots.
