Prior to An American Werewolf In London, writer-director John Landis was known for his knockabout comedies: The Blues Brothers, Animal House, Kentucky Fried Movie. There are laughs in American Werewolf too, of course, but it’s an altogether deeper experience. First and foremost, it’s a love letter to classic horror – and to werewolf movies in general, full of references, in-jokes, and a jukebox soundtrack of songs about the moon. But it’s modern, too: the scares are more startling and visceral than anything from the ‘40s or the ‘60s, the sex more explicit, and the still-incredible central transformation scene were at the cutting edge of what was achievable practically. It’s a story about friends (David Naughton and Griffin Dunne), loss, and doomed romance (with Jenny Agutter). But it also has a group of zombies watching porn in a cinema, and a kid who gets the line, “a naked American man stole my balloons”. It ought to be all over the place, but somehow it’s cohesive and coherent, funny and scary and sad all at once. It’s hard to imagine a better werewolf movie… or many better movies, full stop.
Read Empire’s review of An American Werewolf In London.
