There is a common trope in every love story that begins with a seemingly insurmountable obstacle that actually is, in the end, insurmountable (though many a fabled romance would like to pretend otherwise for the sake of audience satiation). That trope being, of course, that love will save you. “Conquer all,” as it were. That every Beauty and the Beast narrative is sure to ultimately redeem “the beast” in some way–said beast also being, occasionally, an emblem of the average untamable lecher called a man at any age.
Alas, this cannot be the case for David Kessler (David Naughton) in 1981’s An American Werewolf in London (the film, incidentally, that would incite Michael Jackson to ask Landis to direct the video for “Thriller”). Setting out on a backpacking trip in England with his best friend, Jack Goodman (Griffin Dunne), the two begin in Yorkshire, planning eventually to make their way down to Rome where, as Jack keeps mentioning, Debbie Klein, a high school acquaintance, is sure to meet up and have sex with him. David can only laugh at his absurd fantasy. Much the same way Jack’s ghost will come to laugh at him for believing he can go on living after being turned into a werewolf.
As writer-director John Landis’ fifth movie, the eventual auteur had mastered the art of how to strike a note that was of a darker comedic tinge than his previous outings, including Animal House and The Blues Brothers. Most notably, the constant urging by Jack for David to just kill himself and spare everyone else the same treacherous fate as either of them. Appearing to him multiple times, in fact, to reiterate, “Kill yourself, David, before you kill others.” But David, with the help of the nurse, Alex Price (Jenny Agutter), in the London hospital where he ends up, convinces himself that his visions of Jack were merely part of a fevered nightmare. As well as a reaction to the trauma of losing his best friend on the moors to the attack of what authorities claim was an escaped lunatic (deep down, of course, David knows better). Alex, indeed, becomes so attentive to our Jewish hero (a point brought up when Alex tells another nurse, “Chart says he’s from New York,” to which Alex’s co-worker replies, “I think he’s a Jew”–ultimately doubly confirmed when Alex has sex with him), that she invites him to stay with her after he’s released from the hospital. So much for the myth of English women being cold.
After Alex shows him around the apartment, she quickly admits her feelings and goes to bed with him. It isn’t until night falls that Jack appears again, getting David alone long enough to insist, once more, “You’ll kill and make others like me! I’m not having a nice time, David. Don’t allow this to happen again! You must take your own life!” Ah, the classic existential question of: to be or not to be? Unfortunately for everyone else in London, David very much wants to be. Especially since he can’t deny that he, too, is developing strong feelings for Alex. And, as tends to be the classic coping mechanism of the human condition, David figures if he ignores his “hallucinations” of Jack, the problem will eventually be forced to go away. But, of course, much like Americans trying to pray away coronavirus, the issue at hand is not to be wished into submission.
It is while Alex is at work the following day that David’s iconic transformation scene takes place (the special effects, considering the era, still very much hold up), foreshadowed by his mocking statement beforehand, “Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman.” And oh, how he does, as the carnage he inflicts that night in the London Underground, among other locations, results in the death of six people.
Waking up in the London Zoo the following morning in the same cage as the other wolves, David gradually comes to accept that his fate was just as Jack forewarned him. Particularly after riding in a cab when he meets up with Alex again, who has, once again, convinced him that everything is fine (bitch clearly wants to keep this steady dick going for all the times she’s dissuaded him from the truth), only for the driver to tell them about the murders from the previous night. Horrified and finally refusing to be talked out of the reality of the situation, David flees from the car toward Trafalgar Square, trying to get himself arrested by an officer. When his initial attempts fail, he finally screams, “Queen Elizabeth is a man! Prince Charles is a faggot! Winston Churchill was full of shit!” hoping that cultural offense will do the trick. It doesn’t.
After running away from Alex for her own good, David wanders the streets of London in a daze, calling his family back in New York to say goodbye, only managing to reach his younger sister as his parents are out. Seeing Jack one last time outside of an adult movie theater, David follows him in for a final conference… and, this time, Jack brought the company of the other victims of David’s “carnivorous lunar activities.” Before David can heed any of the victims’ advice on how to kill himself (“a gun is good”), he turns again, tearing up the theater and everyone in it before being unleashed into the streets.
It is during this grand denouement that Alex, one more time, tries to reason with him as though he’s human, as though it would be as easy for her as it was for Belle and all she need do is declare her love and David’s humanity would outshine the werewolf that has taken hold of his body. Yet, it cannot be. For as comedic as Landis’ style is (and remains through the duration of the film), he cannot bring himself to light-heartedly tell the lie that love saves the day when, as would also be highlighted in MJ’s “Thriller” ripoff of the movie, all it seems to do is lend an added layer of taint to an already ill-fated scenario (Michael himself serving as an overt instance of that taint thanks to his predilections, spurred by an ultimately uncontrollable carnality for a specific breed).
David’s trajectory, to boot, is an undeniable allegory for the libidinous American male (a category Landis clearly specializes in based on the subjects of his oeuvre)–presaged by Jack’s own talk of needing to have sex with Debbie Klein (“She has no choice really”) at the beginning of the movie–constantly getting in the way of himself, securing his own downfall (though, as we’ve seen, plenty of men go on to work in high positions of government despite their libidos wreaking havoc (see: Brett Kavanaugh, Donald Trump, Joe Biden, to name some more current examples among the robust retinue).
