An American Werewolf in Paris

with Tom Everett Scott, Julie Delpy, Vince Dieluf
Directed by Anthony Waller
Written by Tim Burns, Tom Stern, and Anthony Waller
by Scott Hefflon

Seeing as An American Werewolf in Paris is only “based on characters created by” John Landis’ ’81 classic An American Werewolf in London, and the simple fact that Scream told us the magician’s secrets of the horror movie, then Scream 2 showed us in Bernstein Bears tradition how not to make a sequel, this movie must be judged using a new set of rules. Honestly, I’ll cut it more slack than it deserves simply because this was the first movie I listened to after reconnecting my VCR to the stereo. Bush’s “Mouth” or “Swallow” or whatever current oral fixation they’re infiltrating our consciousness with has never sounded so good. Dark, kinda cheesy-looking beasts and scenery blends perfectly with the dark, kinda cheesy-sounding music. Paris just ain’t on par with London, and while that’s more nostalgia than clear perception; fuck it, that’s the way it is. London was goofy and quirky and seemed unselfconscious, Paris is intentionally funny, and while it elicits many chuckles and snorts, they were resented in retrospect. I never caught the American’s names (isn’t that always the way), but Serafine (Delpy) is, almost literally, to die for. Without looking like a supermodel, she is one, simply because her beauty drives one to leap off rather tall buildings after her. Whatever-his-name-was (T.E. Scott) is a whitebread sap to an almost nauseating degree (think Holden in Chasing Amy or the putz in Swingers, then add a modicum of offbeat charm and relax the grip around his throat), but after seeing That Thing You Do, I had to like him. A bit. This guy’s a shoe-in if anyone ever has a lapse in judgment and decides to redo Bosom Buddies for the big screen – Tom Hanks-lite, if you will.

While I’m always interested in how a writer will breathe new life into a beaten-to-death idea such as lycanthopy, some new and improved (and poorly explained) “moonlight serum” was just kind of a let-down. But the blendered heart-shakes were cool. While, technically, the beasts were probably impressive, both Aliens and Cujo were more frightening and believable. Probably what saves the movie is the ghosts. Dealing with the sarcasm and tauntings of rotting, half-mutilated corpses might be enough to drive a good werewolf batty. But not when “true love” is involved. I’d’ve rented The Princess Bride if I’d wanted a clever, amusing faux fairy tale. So there it is, An American Werewolf in Paris wants to be all movies to all people, and have a killer soundtrack to boot. Do I recommend it? Sure, just don’t expect a helluva lot.