Werwulf: The Medieval Werewolf Tales That Could Inspire Robert Eggers’ Next Movie

From his very first movie The Witch, Robert Eggers taught us a simple but important equation: Robert Eggers + Monster + Archaic Spelling Conventions = Good Movie. So while we’ve loved The Lighthouse, The Northman, and Nosferatu, we’re even more excited about his announced next project: Werwulf.

More than just a stylistic flourish, the title of Eggers’ latest, rooted in the Old English spelling of “werewolf,” indicates the approach he’ll likely take. As when he borrowed from Puritan sermons, court documents, and journals for The Witch, and the ur-Hamlet poem with Norse roots in The Northman, Eggers will probably look at early myths about lycanthropy for his film, finding something fundamental in the monster that predates 1935’s The Werewolf of London and 1941’s The Wolf Man. At present, we know that Eggers has re-teamed with Sjón, co-writer of The Northman, and that the movie will apparently be set in the 13th century. For those who want a better idea of the duo’s inspiration, here are some prominent stories, myths, and alleged real incidents from the medieval and early modern periods.

Bisclavret

While Eggers certainly loves horror and the macabre, he rarely goes for straightforward scares. For that reason, he may find special inspiration in “Bisclavret,” one of the Twelve Lais (short poetic narratives) by Marie de France, a French poet from the late 12th century.

“Bisclavret” begins with elements familiar to anyone who has heard an ancient wolfman story before. Every week, a beloved Baron named Bisclavret disappears for three days, only to return without explanation. At his wife’s urging, Bisclavret (whose name literally means “werewolf,” which should have been a big giveaway) admits that he transforms into a wolf on those absent evenings.

Unsurprisingly, the confession disgusts his wife and she looks for a way to get rid of him. Her solution comes in the form of a knight who has long held a flame for her and from a caveat that Bisclavret revealed: he must return to his clothes to revert into human form. The wife orders the knight to steal Bisclavret’s clothes, forcing him to stay in wolf form. With the husband gone, the wife marries the knight.

One year later, the king goes on a hunting trip when he encounters a wolf of remarkable gentleness, who nuzzles up to the ruler and expresses its admiration. The king does not recognize the wolf as Bisclavret but admire the beast’s inherent nobility all the same. He brings the creature to his castle. But soon that gentleness turns to savagery when the knight who aided his wife comes to a celebration. The wolf attacks him and does worse to the wife, ripping off her nose.

Although the king initially thinks that he’s misjudged the wolf, an advisor points out that the beast only showed such hostility to the knight and his wife. The advisor determines that the wolf must be Bisclavret (he understands names, apparently) and after some medieval torture, the wife confesses. Once the wolf has been given clothes, and a private space to transform, it reverts to Bisclavret once more. Human again, Bisclavret gets his land and standing restored while the wife and the knight are banished, cursed to sire children all born without noses.

It’s easy to see how Eggers could render the scenes of shocking violence, and especially the noseless children of the wife and the knight. But more compelling is the story’s play with concepts of loyalty, from the duty that Bisclavret shows to his king to the infidelity of the wife and her faithless knight.

The Account of Gerald of Wales

“Do not be afraid! Do not fear! Do not worry! There is nothing to fear!” Those aren’t words we often hear in werewolf stories, especially coming from the mouth (snout?) of the wolf itself. But that’s exactly what happens in an account of Giraldus Cambrensis, or Gerald of Wales in its anglicized form. Gerald was a 12th century priest and historian who described the geography and animals of Ireland.

In Topographia Hibernica, an 1187 English study of Ireland, Gerald passed down to us the story of a priest and his servant who made camp during a journey through the Irish wilderness. Recounted as a real historical incident, the duo were startled on one fateful evening by the appearance of a wolf at their campfire. They were even more disturbed when the wolf began speaking to them, assuring them that they have no reason for fear.

The wolf explained that his people in the region of Ossory suffer under an ancient curse, which causes one man and one woman from the community to transform into a wolf every seven years and live out their days in furry exile. The wolf approached the priest because his companion was dying and needed last rites performed. The priest agrees to come with the wolf, expecting to find another human being. Instead he finds a dying female wolf who also seems to speak with a human tongue.

Despite the human sounds coming from the she-wolf, the priest could not deliver the rites until the male wolf pulled back the fur on her paw. There, the priest saw a human hand, which was enough to compel him to complete the rites and allow the female wolf to die in peace. To show his gratitude, the male wolf revealed the best route through the forest.

On one hand, the wolf in Gerald’s account goes out of its way to avoid scaring the priest, which makes it an unlikely monster for a horror movie and maybe not the best choice for a Robert Eggers film. On the other, the priest is scared enough for everyone, in part because of his religious superstition. This spiritual dread, combined with the opportunity to depict rituals, might appeal to Eggers enough to overcome a potentially inert central monster.

Otia Imperialia of Gervase of Tilbury

Written by 13th century lawyer and cleric Gervase of Tilbury, the Otia Imperialia was an index of incredible places, people, and events throughout Europe. Those people include a couple of werewolves, which Gervase’s pen hastens to assure his reader (Holy Roman Emperor Otto IV, to be specific) truly exist.

By way of evidence, Gervase—a Norman son of an English knight and a one-time member of the court of King Henry II in England—describes the plight of disgraced knight named Raimbaud de Pouget. After being rejected by his lord, de Pouget goes into the woods and loses his mind, leading to his transformation into a wolf. He stays in this condition until a woodsman cuts off his paw, which changes him back into a human, so he can go into town and testify about the experience.

Gervase also describes Chaucevaire, a man who regularly leaves his friends and families to go into the woods. In an echo of “Bisclavret,” Chaucevaire ditches his clothes and takes wolf form, traipsing about the forest until he can return to his human shape. For Gervase, the fact that Chaucevaire can explain secrets about a wolf’s behavior is reason enough to believe his claims. If it all sounds incredulous, know that Gervase wrote down for the Holy Roman emperor that “in England we have often seen men change into wolves.” 

Eggers may very well draw from these accounts, or better the pseudo-scientific way that Gervaase of Tilbury talks about them, to inform Werwulf. But the vignettes themselves are too short to offer much inspiration for adaptation beyond a single scene or moment—such as a severed wolf’s hand reverting to human form before horrified eyes.

Peter Stubbe, the Werewolf of Bedburg

Okay, the pamphlet telling the story of Peter Stubbe was published in London in 1590, long after the 13th century setting that Eggers has in mind for Werwulf. Furthermore, it is derived from the Germanic werewolf panic that swept through central Europe between the 15th and 17th centuries. However, it contains so many of the themes and fixations found in Eggers’ work that it is difficult to believe he won’t at least crib a few ideas from this relatively more recent era of werewolf lore.

Peter Stubbe (also spelled Stumpp in other less detailed accounts) was a man who lived near the 16th century village of Bedburg in what is modern day Germany. He apparently got so intoxicated with evil that he made a deal with the Devil to commit more. The Devil, always accommodating in these types of matters, gave Stubbe a magical belt which when worn would transform him to have “the likeness of a greedy, devouring wolf, strong and mighty, with eyes great and large, which in the night sparkled like fire, a mouth great and wide, with most sharp and cruel teeth, a huge body, and mighty paws.”

The pamphlet operated like a 16th century version of a True Crime podcast, pinning responsibility for numerous murders and deaths on Stubbe over a 25-year period. It leaned into gory details about Stubbe’s evil, too, including his tendency to eat his victims. After he was accused of werewolfery and tortured, Stubbe apparently confessed his wicked deeds, his taste for human flesh, and even to committing incest with his daughter. He also claimed to have lain with a succubus sent from Hell for his pleasure.

He also confessed to eating goats, neighbors’ livestock, women, and more than a dozen children, including his own son whom he claimed to devour after turning into a wolf before the boy. He was executed on Oct. 31, 1589, alongside his daughter and his mistress. All were tortured in ghastly fashion before execution (think the flayed man in Game of Thrones), although Stubbe bore the worst of it before finally being executed and having his severed head placed atop the body of a wolf and hung from a pole in a town square. It was erected to warn against future werewolves (modern historians believe the real Stubbe was probably a serial killer).

Again, Stubbe’s story occurs several centuries after Werwulf‘s setting. But given Eggers’ interest in social dynamics, fear of the unknown, and horror, it’s hard to believe the director won’t draw at least a little from the gruesome confession and the monstrous execution.

Werwulf is slated for release on Dec. 25, 2026.

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