Bad Moon Rising:

Latino Werewolves and the Fight Against Monster Stereotypes

Werewolves get a bad rap. Both in their fictional worlds and in ours, they’re suspicious figures, always on the verge of losing control.

Traditionally, the werewolf is a hyper-masculine monster: hot-blooded, heterosexual, fiercely strong, patriarchal, and hierarchical. Werewolf lore also often traffics in racist stereotypes, especially against Native Americans, coding werewolves as animalistic, primitive, savage, and out of control.

But is that the whole story? What happens when Latino representation enters the mix?

Taylor Lautner as Jacob in Twilight film series

In the Twilight film series (2008–2012), Jacob and his tribe are brown-skinned, poor, and depicted as lesser compared to the pale, wealthy vampires. Werewolfism here is hereditary, linked to specific Native populations, who are portrayed as dirty and doglike. Jacob’s immediate, hot-blooded sexuality contrasts sharply with Edward’s reserved, intellectual demeanor: instinct versus civility.

Uniquely, Twilight’s werewolves can control when they transform, which, rather than empowering them, heightens the problematic portrayal—these “savages” choose to be monstrous. Even worse, the Jacob/Renesmee plotline veers disturbingly into pedophilia territory, casting Jacob (and by extension, werewolves) as a threat to white children.

In Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1997–2003), Oz becomes a werewolf after being bitten by a toddler cousin. His transformations are tied to the full moon, causing him to lose control and memory. Over time, Oz tries to integrate his human and wolf sides, but emotional triggers cause partial transformations—making him less rational and more dangerous. Ultimately, Oz threatens the safety of Willow, a lead white female character, and must exile himself for her protection.

Remus Lupin in Harry Potter

In the Harry Potter film series (2001–2011), werewolves are treated as monstrous threats, especially to children. Remus Lupin, the first werewolf we meet, manages to live normally thanks to Dumbledore’s accommodations and Snape’s potions. But one mistake—forgetting his potion during a full moon—and Lupin becomes a deadly threat to Harry and friends. Once outed, he resigns in shame, acknowledging he’s too dangerous to be around kids. Like Oz, Lupin’s condition comes from a bite and triggers involuntary, violent transformations.

In all three cases, werewolves are sympathetic allies—up to a point. Despite fighting evil, they are ultimately rejected, sidelined, or killed. These portrayals shape how the public imagines werewolves: dangerous, tragic, and always “other.”

Now, let’s look at two Latino werewolves: Iñaki Godoy’s Juan Ruiz in Netflix’s The Imperfects (2022) and Gael García Bernal’s Jack Russell in Marvel’s Werewolf by Night (2022).

Juan Ruiz in The Imperfects

Juan challenges the werewolf myth by identifying as a chupacabra. He’s not bound to the moon but transforms under emotional stress, shifting into a monstrous version of the Mexican Hairless dog, the Xoloitzcuintli. Unlike traditional werewolves, Juan’s condition is lab-created by a white scientist. Yet even in his monstrous form, his drive is clear: protect his friends and family.

Gael García Bernal’s as Jack Russell in Marvel’s Werewolf by Night

Werewolf by Night similarly centers family and protection—but first, it leans into classic werewolf horror. The opening scene upends the usual Marvel fanfare. Instead of colorful, heroic images and music, we get black-and-white visuals, screams, deep scratches across the screen, and a haunting, operatic score. It primes us for a story that’s anxious, nostalgic, and dangerous.

Jack isn’t immediately revealed as a werewolf. Posing as a monster hunter, he enters a deadly competition to win the Bloodstone—a magical relic—while secretly aiming to free his friend/family member, Ted, a swamp monster. After rescuing Ted, Jack is captured. Normally, he only transforms during the full moon with systems in place to stay safe. But Elsa’s stepmother uses the Bloodstone to forcibly trigger Jack’s transformation, hoping he’ll kill Elsa and replace the hunted monster. Even in his wolf form, though, Jack recognizes Elsa and protects her, turning his violence only on the real threats: the other hunters.

The film’s end reinforces this theme. As “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” plays, the screen shifts from black-and-white to vibrant color. Much like The Wizard of Oz (1939), the move to color signals a transition—not into the real world, but into a hopeful fantasy. The message: a world where monsters find freedom, safety, and family isn’t the grim reality we know, but it’s something worth striving for.

So what do these Latino werewolves teach us?

Question who the “real” monster is.

• Is it the one labeled monstrous?

• Or, the one who creates or hunts monsters doing so out of fear and hatred?

Family matters.

• Strength comes from loyalty and love.

• Family (chosen or biological) is worth protecting at all costs.

You don’t have to go it alone.

• Being different doesn’t mean you have to isolate yourself.

• There’s a place for everyone, especially among those who truly care.