RECENT WATCHES: An American Werewolf in Paris (1997)

“An American Werewolf in London” told a fairly self-contained story. There was really nowhere else to go after its conclusion, what with the main characters being dead and all that. Yet a script for a sequel to John Landis' 1981 lycanthropy classic had been floating around for several years. John Landis briefly considered Paris as a back-up location for the original, should shooting in London prove difficult. I guess some screenwriter decided to run with that trivia. The 1996 release of “Scream” made horror/comedies, for however brief a moment, a hot commodity. This was, presumably, the trigger needed to get “An American Werewolf in Paris” the green-light.

College students Andy, Brad and Chris are traveling across Europe performing extreme stunts. They decide to bungee-jump off the Eiffel Tower in the middle of the night. While preparing, Andy sees a young woman attempt suicide by leaping from the landmark. He saves her life via bungee intervention, immediately smitten. He tracks the girl, Seraphine, down to her home and somehow convinces her to date him. The three guys soon end up at a night club where a society of Parisian werewolves prey on American tourists. Brad is killed, Chris is captured, and Andy is bitten. Seraphine rescues him and informs that he's now a werewolf. She knows this because Seraphine is also a werewolf, the daughter of a wolfman who visited Europe a decade earlier.

I suspect that “An American Werewolf in Paris” might have been an example of an original screenplay getting latched to an established property, in hopes of improving its commercial potential. The connection to Landis' film is tenuous. Yes, Seraphine is David Kessler and Alex Price's daughter but that information is only briefly mentioned. The werewolves see the ghosts of their victims yet these phantoms rarely affect the plot. In fact, the sequel isn't even consistent with the original's mythology. Apparently, all werewolves can see all apparitions, not just the ones of their own victims. The werewolves here don't resemble the ones from the original that much. There's certainly nothing in the first film to suggest an entire underground organization of werewolves exists. “American Werewolf in London” emphasized the hopelessness of David's situation, with suicide being his only way out. In “Paris,”  eating the heart of the werewolf that cursed you is a cure.

The sequel's lack of connection to the original is even apparent in its soundtrack. The moon-themed oldies are traded out for then-popular alt-rock, always played at deafening volumes. That's because “American Werewolf in Paris” is desperate to appeal to 1997's teenage boys. This is also seen in the sequel's comedic touches. Compared to the original's biting dark gags, the sequel double downs on high-pitched slapstick. Andy runs into walls or beams several times. A truly dumb sequence involves a convoluted series of events that ends with Andy chewing a condom like its bubblegum. Later, he leaps from a window in an exaggerated manner, racing down the street in his underwear. (I guess that's a callback to the original?) None of the jokes generate laughs, only annoyance.

Yet even this is not the biggest insult “An American Werewolf in Paris” makes against the original. How do you follow a classic horror flick that features some of the most impressive practical effects ever put to celluloid? With giant CGI hemorrhoids, of course. Yes, the werewolves here are mostly brought to life with 1997's best computer graphics. Hideously plastic-looking cartoon man-beasts bound around the various scenes. They never seem to be interacting on the same plane of reality with the flesh-and-blood actors. Worst yet, no effort was made to disguise the ugly effects, which are in full light on several occasions. The sequel's attempts at scares are largely ineffective. We get several suspense-free stalking scenes and lots of amber-tinted point-of-view shots. Also, the transformation do not seem to be as painful as they were in the original, as there's little of the cracking bones and painful screams here.

Maybe the biggest problem with the sequel is we simply do not care about any of the characters. While David and Jack were lovable guys, the boys here are horny dude-bros preoccupied with cheap thrills. The film even entertains this fantasy, when Andy uses his new werewolf abilities to get a female American tourist – another obnoxiously exaggerated character – into bed. The extreme stunt element of the script never amounts to much, being forgotten after the first act. The cast is largely awful too. Tom Everett Scott mugs furiously for the camera. In fact, most of the performances here are pitched at cartoonish levels, including those from Julie Bowen and Pierre Cosso. Julie Delphy, as Seraphine, gives a flat performance and seems largely bored. She's admitted she only took this job for the money.

“An American Werewolf in Paris” barely grossed more than its budget at the box office, suggesting there was little demand for a sequel to a totally self-contained film from sixteen years prior. “An American Werewolf in Rome” would not follow. When people discuss the sequel at all, it's usually because of the atrocious effects. Hollywood was really overconfident in CGI's abilities in the late nineties, wasn't it? I have no idea if John Landis or anyone else has seen the sequel, much less what they think of it. (Though considering John sanctioned a thankfully aborted remake from his garbage son, I don't even know if he'd be annoyed by a shitty sequel.) In truth, “An American Werewolf in Paris” is the worst kind of cash-in sequel, made with little understanding of the original and crassly attempting to capitalize on then relevant trends. [3/10]