An American Werewolf in London

My memory is fine. It’s my sanity I’m beginning to worry about.

All right, hear me out. Here’s what I knew about An American Werewolf in London before randomly choosing to watch it this afternoon:

-Griffin Dunne’s on the cover, I loved him in After Hours, and haven’t seen nearly enough of his filmography. 

-John Landis directed, whom I know zilch about save for my recent (also very random) Trading Places viewing, which was … fine. 

That about sums it up, folks. So I turn this on, picking it over Peter Weir’s Mosquito Coast, Ron Howard’s The Paper, and Once Upon a Time in the West. And I’m glad I did cause this was an outta left field treat. 

Haven’t confirmed for sure yet, but I’d bet a trillion dollars that Edgar Wright went bananas for this back in the day. Opening scene felt like a bar in The World’s End, not to mention the entire aesthetic. Can’t imagine any Wright fan not loving Werewolf too, especially if seen later in life. 

What can I say? An American Werewolf in London’s hilarious. The title’s hilarious, for crying out loud. It works. Haven’t laughed out loud this many times in a good span while also being utterly fascinated by the horror angle. The moon centric track drops, interrupting pleas for the poor normie to off himself, British propriety in the face of doom, and the absurd dialogue come together to form a uniquely entertaining experience. Leagues zanier than I expected, and clever, too. 

BEWARE THE MOON!