An American Werewolf in London (1981)
“A naked American man stole my balloons.” – Little Boy
This is the ultimate werewolf movie. This is the ultimate horror-comedy. John Landis captures the balance between bone-chilling scares and morbid humour perfectly in a movie that is both ambitious and unconventional.
An American Werewolf in London received a lot of attention when it was first released for its incredible werewolf transformation special effect. In fact, it was in large part because of this movie that The Academy of Motion Pictures began to recognize the contributions of makeup and special effect artists in the annual awards. The effects still look great. Sure, you can see where the trick is in a couple of shots, but I would still take the scene, as it is, over a computer-generated version. You get the sense that a lot of ingenuity and a lot of time went into each excruciating limb and jaw elongation, and this sense creates a very satisfying final product. David Naughton’s fine performance also helps, as he screams and writhes around in visible pain.
There is so much that is great about this film. Griffin Dunne, who plays David’s friend, Jack, is hysterical as the deceased psychopomp who tries to convince David that he must kill himself to prevent from turning into a monster during the next full moon. Jack always turns up at the most awkward places, like in a bathroom right after David has sex, or in a porno theatre, and his state of decay grossly exacerbates throughout the movie. He speaks to David with the same sarcasm and reprehension he displayed while he was alive, yet now loose pieces of rotted flesh jiggle around his torn throat. Somehow we still giggle.
And the car crash at the end is fabulous: it’s just an onslaught of vehicular cacophony and destruction, as the beast roams Piccadilly Circus. I have heard people complain about the film’s sudden and unexpected ending. I love it. Concluding right after this intense multi-car pile-up, my adrenaline is already at the maximum; my movie-going experience is satisfied. And come on, what kind of happy ending were you expecting anyway?
What I really like is how the music really builds the mood of particular scenes, or, in a few instances, it can even act dissonantly to great effect. We hear three different versions of “Blue Moon” throughout An American Werewolf in London, and each time it plays, the song carries new emotion. It plays during the opening scene, which depicts two friends backpacking across the Scottish Moors. It’s the classic Bobby Vinton version: slow, comforting, and familiar. These friends are clearly having a great time, not a care in the world. The second time we hear “Blue Moon” is during the werewolf transformation scene. This time it’s the Sam Cooke version: looser, more free-styled, and with a faster-tempo. This moment is clearly done as a comedic counter to the horror of David’s brutal transformation, but there are subtle differences in this version of the song that make it an ideal fit for this violent moment. The final version of the song plays over the closing credits. I love how this more upbeat, lively, doo-wop version comes out of nowhere to shock you from your stunned disbelief over the film’s abrupt finale. Somehow, this last incarnation of the song makes it easier to forgive Landis’ hasty ending.
This is the ultimate werewolf movie. This is the ultimate horror-comedy. John Landis captures the balance between bone-chilling scares and morbid humour perfectly in a movie that is both ambitious and unconventional.
An American Werewolf in London received a lot of attention when it was first released for its incredible werewolf transformation special effect. In fact, it was in large part because of this movie that The Academy of Motion Pictures began to recognize the contributions of makeup and special effect artists in the annual awards. The effects still look great. Sure, you can see where the trick is in a couple of shots, but I would still take the scene, as it is, over a computer-generated version. You get the sense that a lot of ingenuity and a lot of time went into each excruciating limb and jaw elongation, and this sense creates a very satisfying final product. David Naughton’s fine performance also helps, as he screams and writhes around in visible pain.
There is so much that is great about this film. Griffin Dunne, who plays David’s friend, Jack, is hysterical as the deceased psychopomp who tries to convince David that he must kill himself to prevent from turning into a monster during the next full moon. Jack always turns up at the most awkward places, like in a bathroom right after David has sex, or in a porno theatre, and his state of decay grossly exacerbates throughout the movie. He speaks to David with the same sarcasm and reprehension he displayed while he was alive, yet now loose pieces of rotted flesh jiggle around his torn throat. Somehow we still giggle.
And the car crash at the end is fabulous: it’s just an onslaught of vehicular cacophony and destruction, as the beast roams Piccadilly Circus. I have heard people complain about the film’s sudden and unexpected ending. I love it. Concluding right after this intense multi-car pile-up, my adrenaline is already at the maximum; my movie-going experience is satisfied. And come on, what kind of happy ending were you expecting anyway?
What I really like is how the music really builds the mood of particular scenes, or, in a few instances, it can even act dissonantly to great effect. We hear three different versions of “Blue Moon” throughout An American Werewolf in London, and each time it plays, the song carries new emotion. It plays during the opening scene, which depicts two friends backpacking across the Scottish Moors. It’s the classic Bobby Vinton version: slow, comforting, and familiar. These friends are clearly having a great time, not a care in the world. The second time we hear “Blue Moon” is during the werewolf transformation scene. This time it’s the Sam Cooke version: looser, more free-styled, and with a faster-tempo. This moment is clearly done as a comedic counter to the horror of David’s brutal transformation, but there are subtle differences in this version of the song that make it an ideal fit for this violent moment. The final version of the song plays over the closing credits. I love how this more upbeat, lively, doo-wop version comes out of nowhere to shock you from your stunned disbelief over the film’s abrupt finale. Somehow, this last incarnation of the song makes it easier to forgive Landis’ hasty ending.
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