Guy Endore created the definitive werewolf myth in his superb novel The Werewolf of Paris, published in 1933. Since Endore was snapped up under contract by MGM, Universal - determined to get in first with werewolves - had to go with a feeble myth about a rare Tibetan flower which is the only known control for lycanthropy. In Walker's patchy but mostly ineffective film, this flower becomes a bone of contention between an Oriental werewolf (Oland) and a distinguished London botanist (Hull). Oland is impeccably sinister and contributes most of the best moments, while Hull, dull as the botanist, becomes even duller in transformation after he is bitten. His make-up, designed by Jack Pierce to leave his face as nakedly expressive as Karloff's in Frankenstein, merely makes him look like a toothily hairy cretin in a rotten temper.