An American Werewolf in Paris (1997)

In 1981 the horror genre got one of its most influential offerings in the form of John Landis’ dark horror comedy An American Werewolf in London, arguably containing the best werewolf transformations ever put to film, then sixteen years later we got a sequel that left us asking, “Was it worth the wait?”

The sequel centres on American tourist Andy McDermott (Tom Everett Scott) and his escapades through Paris, where he stumbles into a nightmarish world of Parisian werewolves. The film opens with Andy and his two friends, Brad (Vince Vieluf) and Chris (Phil Buckman), who are on some kind of European daredevil tour where you gain points for performing outlandish stunts. While they’re out exploring Paris, these thrill-seekers decide to bungee jump off the Eiffel Tower. It’s here that our hero, Andy, inadvertently saves a young woman named Serafine Pigot (Julie Delpy), who is also attempting to jump from the tower, but not in the extreme sport kind of way, more the “End it All” sort of way. Captivated by her mysterious demeanour, Andy becomes determined to find Serafine again, but after tracking her down, he discovers she is hiding a dark secret—she’s a werewolf.

 

Well…nobody’s perfect.

It turns out that Serafine’s affliction stems from a bloodline of cursed individuals, and she fears she may endanger those around her, particularly Andy, who seems increasingly smitten. As the story unfolds, Andy’s interest in Serafine leads him deeper into the werewolf underworld of Paris. One night, Andy and his friends are lured to an underground nightclub, “Club de la Lune,” where they are ambushed by a group of werewolves who want to increase their numbers by feasting on unsuspecting tourists. In the chaos, Andy is attacked and bitten, thereby infecting him with lycanthropy. And we must ask the question, “Can true love survive in the face of such adversity?” Sadly, I couldn’t have cared less. Instead of generating chemistry or tension, their interactions are so painfully forced that you wonder if they even like each other, let alone if there’s a cursed love story at play.

 

Beware of supernatural STDs.

What follows is standard werewolf stuff, with Andy starting to experience unusual symptoms, such as heightened senses, aggression, and uncontrollable transformations during the full moon, not to mention murdering tourists and police detectives. As he comes to grips with his new reality, he realizes he’s now part of a werewolf conspiracy involving an organized pack, that includes Serafine’s stepfather, who plans to continue transforming humans into werewolves. He also has to deal with the ghosts of American tourist Amy Finch (Julie Bowen), who wants him to kill himself so that she can stop being an undead spirit. We also have Brad’s ghost, who pops in and out of the movie to drop some new werewolf lore. The biggest addition to this is the fact that you can, apparently, cure lycanthropy by eating the heart of the werewolf that bit you. Sure, why not?

 

“Do either of you have a clue as to what’s going on?”

Stray Observations:

• The opening credits state, “Based on Characters Created by John Landis in An American Werewolf in London” but no characters from that film appear in this sequel.
• Does anybody else think bungee jumping off the top of the Eiffel Tower is an exceedingly stupid and a most likely fatal idea?
• The eyes of the werewolves in this movie have cat or fox-like vertical slit pupils. Wolves have round pupils. Come on guys, at least get your werewolf biology right.
• This sequel changes up the mythology of the werewolf from the first one; in this outing you are super-strong in human form and drink smoothies made of raw human hearts. Not to mention becoming more bipedal at times.
• Both Amy and a police detective are killed by Andy when he goes all wolf-man, but only Amy becomes a “rotting sidekick” while the detective vanishes from the movie. Why didn’t he make the cut as a spiritual advisor?
• If you want to watch a better movie that deals with a werewolf cult? Check out Howling II: Your Sister is a Werewolf. It’s gloriously bad, but also a lot of fun.

 

This film could really have used Sybil Danning.

Without a doubt, one of the film’s biggest shortcomings was its over-reliance on CGI effects, which, while innovative for the time, have not aged well. The transformations lack the visceral impact of Rick Baker’s iconic makeup and practical effects from the original, with these CGI werewolves looking almost cartoonish, stripping away the fear factor that made the original’s transformation scene so terrifying. Rather than inducing terror, these computer-generated werewolves were futile in bringing any sense of horror to the table, instead, they undercut each moment, as the cartoonish CGI failed to create any real sense of a threat.

 

Even Scooby-Doo and Shaggy wouldn’t find these things scary.

Unfortunately, while the CGI may have been thin the characters themselves were even thinner. Andy is likable enough but underdeveloped, and the chemistry between him and Serafine is surface-level at best, reducing what should be a compelling supernatural romance to an awkward fling. Serafine, meanwhile, is shrouded in mystery, but instead of intrigue, she comes across as half-heartedly written, with motivations and a backstory that are too loosely connected to the plot. Despite Julie Delpy’s talent, her character feels out of place, unable to bring any true depth to the story. And while the idea of exploring werewolf lore in new contexts was interesting, the execution felt half-baked, leaving the cult subplot more distracting than compelling.

 

How is it possible to make a werewolf cult this boring?

There is also the issue of tone. Where An American Werewolf in London found the right balance of humour and horror, this entry seems uncertain of its own identity, often veering into slapstick without warning. Certain sequences try to evoke comedy through bizarre stunts and jokes, which only come off as out-of-place distractions, and it’s this inconsistency in tone that leaves you wondering if you should laugh or be frightened, achieving neither effectively. This movie has no idea what it wants to be. Is it a horror comedy? A love story? A coming-of-age tale about American bros in Europe? You can almost hear the filmmakers scratching their heads mid-production, throwing in slapstick one moment, attempting romance the next, and then suddenly expecting us to feel scared.

 

Even werewolf-on-werewolf action couldn’t save this movie.

In the end, An American Werewolf in Paris is an uninspiring sequel that failed to capture the magic of its predecessor, instead, it leaned into clichéd horror tropes resulting in a film that has few scares, little heart, and even less charm. Ultimately, this werewolf offering is an unfortunate example of a sequel that misreads what made its predecessor so memorable, offering instead a patchwork of horror and humour that never quite meshes.

An American Werewolf in London (1981) – Review

In 1981 fur would literally fly as we were treated to a pair of werewolf movies taking the genre in two distinct directions; with Joe Dante’s The Howling turning the wolf-man tale into a subtle satire of the self-help movement of the 70s, while in An American Werewolf in London, John Landis managed to be both terrifying and darkly humorous without skipping a beat. Today, we will take a look at the latter film and what makes it one of the greatest werewolf films ever made.

The story follows two American backpackers, David Kessler (David Naughton) and Jack Goodman (Griffin Dunne), who are hiking through the eerie Yorkshire moors when they’re attacked by a werewolf, after a disturbing layover at a pub called The Slaughtered Lamb. Jack is brutally killed, and David survives, only to learn that maybe surviving wasn’t the best outcome. As David recovers in a London hospital, helped by lovely nurse Alex Price (Jenny Agutter), he begins to experience strange dreams and visions, including disturbing encounters with his now-deceased friend Jack, who appears as a decaying corpse. Jack warns David that he has become a werewolf and will transform at the next full moon unless he takes his own life to break the curse. It’s from Jack that we get some nice insight into being undead.

“Have you ever talked to a corpse? It’s boring.”

David, in denial at first, tries to focus on his romantic relationship with Alex – to be fair, if I were sleeping with Jenny Agutter that would be my focus as well – but the full moon rises and he undergoes a painful, horrifying transformation into a werewolf, a moment that would stun audiences worldwide. The most shocking aspect of the scene is how tangible and real the changes to David’s body appear. His hands elongate, his spine contorts, and his face stretches into the snout of a wolf. The camera lingers on the process, capturing the slow, painful progression. Unlike many werewolf transformations in previous films, which occurred in a blink or through brief dissolves, Landis and special effects genius Rick Baker wanted the audience to feel the physical torment of bones breaking and reshaping. The sound design, with the cracking of bones and the stretching of skin, heightens the horror and makes the experience as agonizing to listen to as it is to watch.

Who needs CGI when you can have stuff like this?

What sets this transformation apart from other werewolf films is its intense focus on the pain and helplessness of the person transforming. David does not simply “become” a werewolf; he endures the transformation. His screams of agony and shock echo through the scene, making it clear that this is not a mystical or romantic metamorphosis—it is a violent and horrifying event. In many werewolf films, the transformation is depicted as a loss of humanity, but Landis emphasizes how that loss is experienced as a physical and psychological trauma. David’s humanity is literally torn apart as his body becomes something else, something he has no control over.

Rick Baker gives David a very bad day.

Landis’s decision to set the transformation in a well-lit room, with no supernatural mist or shadows, subverts the expectations of traditional werewolf lore. In earlier films, transformations often occurred off-screen, with characters slipping into the darkness and emerging fully transformed, as in 1941’s The Wolf Man. The transformation in An American Werewolf in London is the opposite: it is bright, clear, and leaves nothing to the imagination. The scene presents lycanthropy not as a supernatural curse to be feared but as a grotesque and unstoppable force of nature.

“Please, hand me my Special Make-Up Effects Oscar, now.”

Beneath the surface horror of the transformation lies a deeper thematic concern with alienation and the loss of identity. David is not just turning into a werewolf; he is losing himself, becoming a creature ruled by instinct and bloodlust. His body is no longer his own, and with each painful contortion, he is distanced from the person he once was. The audience watches David’s humanity being erased in real time, leaving only the monstrous behind. This taps into a primal fear of losing control over one’s own body and mind, a theme that resonates far beyond the realm of werewolf mythology. Landis and Baker redefined the werewolf mythos by turning a classic horror transformation into an experience of pain and terror that the audience can feel on a deeply visceral level. Even after more than 40 years, it remains a landmark achievement in both horror cinema and special effects, standing as a testament to the power of practical artistry in filmmaking.

 

It doesn’t get much better than this.

Stray Observations:

• In An American Werewolf in London, the full moon triggers the transformation, and no silver bullet is required to kill the beast, while in The Howling, it’s the complete opposite.
• David undergoes his transformation on two consecutive nights, but there is only one full moon during a lunar cycle.
• This film has one of my all-time favourite movie quotes: “A naked American man stole my balloons.” It’s such a brilliant and absurd moment.
• A running John Landis joke gets a larger appearance in this outing when David and Jack visit a porn theatre that is showing “See You Next Wednesday.”
• The film was scored by legendary composer Elmer Bernstein, but it’s mostly known for its ironic collection of moon-themed needle drops, including “Bad Moon Rising” and “Blue Moon,” which play against some of the film’s most intense moments.
• The British SWAT team riddled the werewolf from fifty feet away, amazingly missing Alex, who was standing in front of the wolf. That’s some fine shooting.
• The key difference between this film and countless other werewolf movies was the decision to go with a four-legged wolf and not the more typical bipedal lycanthrope.

“Lon Chaney Jr. eat your heart out.”

Landis’s film reimagines the traditional werewolf myth in several ways, injecting it with a modern sensibility. While classic werewolf films like The Wolf Man focused on the idea of lycanthropy as a tragic curse, Landis gives this theme a contemporary twist by exploring the psychological toll it takes on David. The film’s depiction of David’s transformation into a werewolf was less about the supernatural and more about the body horror of losing control over one’s own physical form. At the same time, An American Werewolf in London retains a sense of the supernatural, with Jack’s ghost serving as a link between the living and the dead. Jack’s appearances add a layer of horror to the film, as he represents the consequences of David’s actions with the idea that David is responsible for creating more victims, who will remain trapped in a kind of limbo until he dies, adding a moral dimension to the story. David is not just turning into a monster—he is creating a trail of death and suffering that he cannot escape.

Well, there’s an escape, just not a happy one.

One of the most remarkable aspects of An American Werewolf in London is how successfully it blends horror and comedy, two genres that often seem at odds with one another. Landis, who had previously directed comedies like Animal House and The Blues Brothers, brings a sharp comedic sensibility to the film without undermining its horror elements. The film’s humour is often dry and ironic, and it emerges naturally from the characters and situations rather than being forced or slapstick. For example, those interactions between David and Jack’s decomposing ghost, who appears to warn him of his fate, are laced with dark humour. Jack’s increasingly decayed state is both grotesque and funny, as he casually discusses David’s imminent transformation into a werewolf while pieces of his flesh fall off.

The make-up effects just get darker and more disturbing.

However, while the film is often humorous, it never loses its sense of dread. The opening sequence, in which David and Jack are attacked on the moors, sets a tone of foreboding that permeates the film. The eerie atmosphere of the moors, the tension-building conversations in the Slaughtered Lamb pub, and the sudden, brutal attack remind us that despite the comedic moments, the film is ultimately a horror story. Landis’s ability to oscillate between humour and terror keeps us on the edge of our seats, creating a film that is unpredictable in its tone and approach.

 

A gallery of grim but surprisingly upbeat victims.

As a whole, this is one of the great werewolf movies with that transformation scene set a new standard for horror films, inspiring countless other movies to push the boundaries of practical effects. Films like The Howling and The Thing would follow in its footsteps, using similar techniques to create grotesque, body-horror transformations. Even decades later, the scene remains unmatched in its visceral power and attention to detail. While CGI has largely replaced practical effects in modern horror, the scene’s reliance on physical, real-world materials gives it a timeless quality. It feels gritty, raw, and most importantly, real.

Even when things get a little surreal.

In conclusion, An American Werewolf in London is not just a great horror film—it is a masterclass in genre filmmaking, blending practical effects, psychological depth, and dark humour to create a film that is both terrifying and poignant. Its legacy is one of innovation and influence, and it remains a cornerstone of 1980s horror cinema.

Eaten Alive (1976) – Review

I’m betting Tobe Hooper has never been offered a spot on the Texas Tourism Board. Following the success of his groundbreaking The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, he would attempt to capitalize on the burgeoning popularity of slasher films by once again delving into the realm of Southern Gothic Horror with his film, Eaten Alive.

Who knew that refusing anal sex could be fatal? This rather distinct conflict is what kicks off Tobe Hooper’s Eaten Alive, where we are introduced to a naïve prostitute named Clara Wood (Roberta Collins) who is not too keen on Buck (Robert Englund), a crass and boorish John who desires this particular sex act. This refusal results in the owner of the brothel, Miss Hattie (Carolyn Jones), kicking the poor girl out on her proverbial ass. Before you can say “Deliverance,” Clara finds herself taking up residence at the decrepit Starlight Hotel, located deep in the remote swampland, which is owned and operated by Judd (Neville Brand), a psychotic individual who has a distinct love/hate relationship with women he thinks are immorally pure.

 

You can cut the tension with a scythe.

As more guests arrive, they quickly become victims of Judd’s psychotic behaviour. One by one, they are dispatched in gruesome ways, either by Judd’s own hands or by the hungry crocodile lurking in the nearby waters. First, we have a fractious couple, the well-dressed, pill-popping Faye (Marilyn Burns) and her disturbed husband Roy (William Finley) and their little girl Angie (Kyle Richards). Later, Harvey Wood (Mel Ferrer) and his daughter Libby (Crystin Sinclaire) also arrive at the Starlight Hotel, seeking information on Clara, who is now deceased, having rebuffed Judd’s advances and found herself pitchforked to death and fed to the Nile Crocodile that lives in a pen next to the hotel. Basically, it’s like a twisted game of ‘Hotel Roulette,’ where the only prize is a one-way ticket to the croc’s belly, as one after another, they find themselves at the wrong end of Judd’s ever-growing psychosis.

 

Filmed in Death Vision.

But what Eaten Alive lacks in plot intricacies, it makes up for in sheer audacity. Hooper throws everything but the kitchen sink into this swampy stew of horror and humour. From Judd’s unhinged rants to the downright ridiculous death scenes, it’s a buffet of B-movie delights that’ll leave you simultaneously scratching your head and wondering if it’s ever going to end. On the downside, even at 90 minutes in length, the film tends to drag, and while the deaths are gruesome, they aren’t particularly creative or interesting. The much-heralded croc has very little screen time and is more of a garbage disposable unit than an actual threat to our protagonists – that’s if any of the people in this movie could be called protagonists – and the crocodile in this movie is less than convincing and would probably be more at home at Pee-Wee’s Playhouse.

 

“Today’s secret word is Phoney.”

Stray Observations:

• Horror icon Robert Englund has provided us with plenty of memorable lines over the years as Freddy Krueger, but can any of them top “Name’s Buck… and I’m raring to fuck.”
• Why would the kindly maid at Miss Hattie’s give the distraught Clara some money to get away, but then suggest that she stay at the rundown Starlight Hotel, whose owner is clearly psychotic?
• A little girl is traumatized by seeing her dog get eaten by a crocodile, but instead of packing her back in their car and driving away, as a normal person would do, her parents decide to get a room at the scene of the crime. This is not a sign of good parenting or even common sense.
• Mel Ferrer would go on to appear in another film titled Eaten Alive, just four years later, which is a weird sort of typecasting.

 

Getting eaten is definitely a weird career choice.

One of the film’s primary weaknesses lies in its narrative coherence, while the premise of a crazed hotelier using a crocodile to get rid of victims holds some promise of a chilling exploration of madness and depravity, the execution is marred by disjointed storytelling and underdeveloped characters. The pacing is uneven, with sluggish stretches punctuated by sudden bursts of violence, failing to sustain tension or build suspense effectively. If you think spending a lot of time with a little girl crawling around under a crappy hotel is suspenseful then you may get some entertainment value out of Eaten Alive. It goes on forever and without even that good of a resolution.

 

An ironic death does not equal a satisfying one.

Moreover, the characterization in Eaten Alive are disappointingly shallow. Neville Brand’s Judd is a one-dimensional villain whose motivations remain largely unexplored beyond his penchant for sadism. The other characters, including the hapless guests who stumble upon Judd’s establishment, are similarly underwritten, lacking depth or complexity. They are nothing more than cannon fodder for the film’s required gruesome deaths. As a result, it becomes difficult for us to invest in their fates or feel genuine fear for their safety. Despite these shortcomings, Eaten Alive does have some redeeming qualities. Hooper’s direction occasionally shines through in moments of macabre imagery and kinetic energy, showcasing his flair for crafting memorable horror set pieces. The film’s gritty, exploitation aesthetic may also hold appeal for fans of cult cinema, who may appreciate its unapologetically lurid sensibilities.

 

Fifty Shades of Creepy.

In conclusion, Eaten Alive occupies a curious place in Tobe Hooper’s filmography, sandwiched between the monumental success of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre and his later work in mainstream horror. While it demonstrates flashes of the director’s talent and a willingness to push boundaries, particularly in its depiction of graphic violence, it ultimately falls short due to its lack of narrative cohesion, underdeveloped characters, and technical limitations. While it may hold nostalgic value for some aficionados of exploitation cinema, it remains a flawed and ultimately forgettable entry in the horror genre.

The Last Unicorn (1982) – Review

Rankin/Bass Productions were never going to topple the Disney company when it came to creating animated classics. Still, in 1982, with a delightful adaptation of Peter S. Beagle’s The Last Unicorn, they gave it their best shot. And while this film didn’t set the box office on fire at the time, it has generated a lot of love and respect over the years.

The story begins in an enchanted forest, where a unicorn (Mia Farrow) lives in peaceful solitude and protected by her magical abilities. One day, she overhears two hunters discussing the absence of unicorns in the world, and she starts to wonder about the possibility of her being the last of her kind. Concerned and curious, the unicorn decides to leave the safety of her forest, and upon learning from a butterfly that a malevolent entity called the Red Bull has herded unicorns to the ends of the earth, she embarks on a journey to find out what happened to the other unicorns.

 

“Are there Trip Advisors for heroic journeys?”

As the unicorn travels through the human world, she is captured by a witch named Mommy Fortuna (Angela Lansbury), who runs a travelling carnival called the Midnight Carnival. Fortuna uses dark magic to disguise ordinary animals as mythical creatures to attract customers, and she recognizes the unicorn for what she truly is and traps her in an iron cage. At the carnival, the unicorn meets a melancholy harpy named Celaeno and a bumbling magician named Schmendrick (Alan Arkin). Schmendrick, who longs to be a great wizard, he sees the unicorn’s true nature and helps her escape. An endeavour that results in the death of Mommy Fortuna at the claws of the harpy.

 

“At least I’m not going to be transformed into a teapot.”

Grateful for his help, the unicorn allows Schmendrick to accompany her on her quest and along the way, they are joined by Molly Grue (Tammy Grimes), the kind-hearted but world-weary wife of a Captain Cully (Keenan Wynn), who is the leader of a bunch of Merry Men wannabes. Molly has dreamed of seeing a unicorn her whole life and she is both heartbroken and overjoyed to finally meet one, lamenting that the unicorn did not come to her when she was young. The group learns that the unicorns have been driven away by a fearsome creature known as the Red Bull, who serves the evil King Haggard (Christopher Lee). It turns out that the Red Bull has chased the unicorns into the sea, where they have disappeared. Determined to confront the Red Bull and free her kin, the unicorn and her companions head towards King Haggard’s castle and, needless to say, things get off to a rocky start.

 

This Red Bull will not give you wings.

To protect her from this terrifying beast, Schmendrick uses his magic to transform the unicorn into a human woman, whom they name Lady Amalthea. The transformation confuses the Red Bull, who loses interest and retreats. However, this change brings about an unforeseen complication. Lady Amalthea, the unicorn, begins to forget her true nature and starts to feel human emotions, including love. She and Prince Lír (Jeff Bridges), King Haggard’s adopted son, develop a romantic bond. But despite her growing feelings for Lír, Amalthea is tormented by the fading memory of her true self and the fate of the other unicorns. With time running out, Schmendrick and Molly encourage her to remember her mission. They confront King Haggard, who reveals that he knows Amalthea’s true identity and had indeed used the Red Bull to drive the unicorns into the sea, imprisoning them there so he could gaze upon them and feel joy in his otherwise empty life.

 

“I’m voiced by Christopher Lee, what did you expect?”

The group discover the secret lair of the Red Bull and soon find themselves once again facing its terrifying visage. Realizing that she must fulfill her quest, Lady Amalthea is transformed back into her unicorn form, despite her love for Lír, but with his help, and by that I mean he sacrifices himself in an attempt to protect her, the unicorn finds the courage to fight back. She leads the Red Bull into the ocean, where the unicorns trapped beneath the waves rise up in a powerful stampede, driving the Red Bull away and reclaiming their freedom. As they rush out of the sea, they flood Haggard’s kingdom, causing his castle to crumble and ultimately destroying him.

 

Beware, Unicorn Crossing.

Stray Observations:

• The opening credit montage does a great job of illustrating how Arthur Rankin, Jr. and Jules Bass were inspired by the old medieval tapestries for their art direction, with “The Unicorn at Fountain” being openly referenced.
• If a passing butterfly gives you a riddle, is it a good idea to take it seriously? I could see listening to a talking cat or a talking pig, but I draw the line at taking a butterfly at their word.
• The unicorn design from this movie was later used in the 80s cartoon series Thundercats, which was also produced by Rankin-Bass Animated Entertainment.
• The dragon that Prince Lir faces incorporates the same roars originally used in the older Godzilla movies.
• Haggard claims to have four “Men at Arms” and while they do appear in the book, no hide nor hair of them is seen in this movie.

 

“Blasted budget cuts in animation!”

While this film didn’t have the budget of your average Disney production, what we do find here has an almost ethereal quality, blending traditional animation techniques with an artistic style that draws heavily from the book’s illustrations, and its distinct animation style stands apart from the Disney-dominated era of the time. The hand-drawn visuals, with their soft, flowing lines and pastel colour palette, create a dreamlike atmosphere that complements the film’s fantastical narrative. The film’s art style has a storybook feel to it, capturing the essence of a magical realm that is both beautiful and melancholy. This adaptation is also quite faithful to the source material, with the book’s author writing the screenplay, but there are some drastic changes from book to screen. While some of these are clearly made due to the time constraints of an animated film, others are stranger and problematic.

 

I certainly don’t remember this from the book.

The soundtrack, featuring songs by the folk-rock band America, is both a highlight and a source of contention. The music adds an ethereal, almost melancholic quality to the film, perfectly complementing its tone and themes – the main theme, “The Last Unicorn” is hauntingly beautiful and captures the film’s sense of wonder and loss – however, there are times when the songs come across as a little intrusive and harm the pacing of the movie. That said, the music, combined with the film’s melancholic tone, does elevate the narrative into something almost mythic, enhancing the sense of wonder and loss that pervades the story.

 

“I told you we should have cut one or two songs for the sake of pacing.”

The voice acting is also a highlight, with Mia Farrow bringing a delicate vulnerability to the unicorn, Tammy Grimes bringing a bittersweet and heartfelt performance to the character of Molly Grue, and Christopher Lee perfectly cast as the menacing King Haggard, providing the film with his iconic, commanding voice, imbuing the character with a sense of both brooding menace and unchecked sadness. Unfortunately, in the case of Alan Arkin and Jeff Bridges, even the most generous critic could, at best, call their performances serviceable. Even author Peter S. Beagle found Arkin’s approach to the magician to be rather “too flat” and uninspired.

 

“How dare he? What does an author know of Acting?”

Beneath its fantastical surface, The Last Unicorn deals with profound themes such as the inevitability of change, the loss of innocence, and the pursuit of identity. The unicorn’s journey is as much about self-discovery as it is about finding her kind. The film doesn’t shy away from exploring ideas of mortality, the passage of time, and the loss of innocence. There is a bittersweet quality to the narrative that is both deeply moving and refreshingly complex, especially for an animated film. It’s a fairy tale that doesn’t guarantee a “happily ever after,” instead presenting a more nuanced and realistic view of life and love. Well, as realistic a view as you're going to get in a fantasy epic.

 

These days, we don’t have to fight dragons to prove our love.

In conclusion, The Last Unicorn is a timeless classic that continues to enchant viewers with its unique blend of fantasy, heart, and artistry. It is a film that appeals to both children and adults, offering a layered narrative that rewards repeated viewings. For anyone who loves a good fairy tale with a touch of melancholy and a lot of heart, while not achieving the heights of some of the Disney classics, it remains one of the most enduring and beloved animated films of the 1980s, a true testament to the power of storytelling and imagination.

Reptilicus (1961) – Review

Oh, Reptilicus, where do we even begin? Imagine if someone took a Godzilla movie, stripped away any semblance of quality, and then sprinkled it with just enough 1960s charm to make it hilariously bad. This is the movie that dares to ask the question, “What if a giant rubber dragon, fresh from a 50% off sale at the local toy store, terrorized Copenhagen with all the ferocity of a slightly agitated cat?”

Our tale begins when some hapless Danish miner (Bent Mejding) stumbles upon a frozen chunk of flesh while drilling for copper deep in the earth. And while you’d think they’d just leave well enough alone and continue looking for copper and forget the bloody discovery, but no—because who doesn’t want to thaw out this discovery and see what happens? Spoiler alert: Nothing good. A section of its tail is flown to Denmark’s Aquarium in Copenhagen, where it is to be kept frozen and preserved in a cold room for scientific study. Stupidly, they left Mr. Petersen (Dirch Passer), a discount Lenny from “Of Mice and Men,” to keep watch. But while he was off doing “Lenny” things, Professor Peter Dalby (Povl Wøldike) nods off at his desk, with the door to the freezer left open and this results in the specimen accidentally being thawed out. Unfortunately, instead of being spoiled, the sample seems to be regenerating.

 

“This completely ruins my plans for a prehistoric barbeque!”

Professor Otto Martens (Asbjørn Andersen), who is in charge of the aquarium, dubs the reptilian species “Reptilicus,” and he compares the creature’s regeneration abilities to those of other animals like flatworms and starfish. Along with him is his team of questionable character tropes, we have the aforementioned Professor Dalby, whose nodding off started this mess, and then there is Otto’s attractive daughter Lise Martens (Ann Smyrner), who provides some nice Danish eye candy but not much else. Next is reporter/scientist Connie Miller (Marlies Behrens in the American version and Bodil Miller in the Danish one) who is around for exposition purposes and to provide a possible love interest – not that we have much time for that – and finally there is Brigadier General Mark Grayson (Carl Ottosen) who hasn’t a clue as to why he had been summoned to Denmark in the first place. Maybe the Danish government have a precog on hand as the need for military advice is soon required.

 

“Can we feed this idiot to the monster?”

During an electrical storm, which knocks out the power and phone lines, Reptilicus has a major growth spurt, and it breaks free of the lab so that it can get a jump on its rampaging. While this is going on, Petersen is off alerting the authorities only to later discover that Reptilicus has killed/swallowed poor Professor Dalby and thus our intrepid group of scientists are down a man and up one giant monster. With help from local military liaison Captain Brandt (Ole Wisborg), it falls to our remaining heroes to come up with a way to halt this prehistoric menace before Denmark becomes the next favourite stomping ground for wandering kaiju, one that looks like it’s two parts dinosaur to one part dragon.

 

Prehistoric or mythological, you be the judge.

The monster — which is capable of spitting a green acidic substance if you are watching the American version — attacks villages, destroys buildings, and devours livestock. The military tries everything from tanks to flamethrowers to stop the beast, but Reptilicus is virtually indestructible. As the monster moves closer to Copenhagen, the situation grows dire, the city’s residents are evacuated, and the military is put on high alert. Dr. Martens and his team work frantically to find a way to stop the creature once and for all. When the creature flees into the depths of the ocean, General Grayson orders depth charges to be used, but Connie quickly points out that using such explosive weaponry would only exacerbate the problem by creating more regenerating monsters.

 

“Have you even been paying attention to the plot?”

As Reptilicus slithers its way across Denmark, wreaking havoc at the speed of a leisurely stroll, the Danish military springs into action, armed with the world’s least effective anti-monster strategy: shooting at it repeatedly while the creature gently nibbles on model buildings. The special effects are the kind that would make even the most devoted Ed Wood fan cringe as we watch in amazement as Reptilicus lumbers across the screen like a drunk uncle after five hours at an open bar – but the real “achievement” was in seeing the blend of stock footage and a surprising amount of rented out Danish military used to depict the titanic struggle. As with any self-respecting giant monster movie, we will be treated to some citywide destruction, and Reptilicus does the best it can do on its meagre budget.

 

“Excuse me, could someone point out any national monuments I could destroy?”

The film concludes in a typical fashion, with the army unable to halt the dragon and General Grayson deciding that bombing it is their only option, that is until Connie once again points out this will only cause the creature to be blown to bits and then those bits in turn becoming thousands of more rampaging dragons. How did Grayson forget this bit of information? Was he hit on the head by the giant sock puppet? Anyway, an offhand remark about drugging the beast is jumped upon, and soon our heroes are concocting a cocktail to launch into the mouth of Reptilicus so that they can put it to sleep and then safely destroy the beast. But as with any decent monster movie, the film ends on a suspenseful note, with the scientists and military officials breathing a sigh of relief, a final shot reveals a small piece of Reptilicus sitting on the ocean floor and growing, hinting that the monster might return.

 

We’re still waiting for the sequel.

Stray Observations:

• The film begins in the frozen mountains of Lapland, high above the Arctic Circle. However, we see no snow in the first scene, in fact, the miners appear to be in a tropical jungle instead.
• Upon finding bloody flesh on the drill bit, the miner declares that is “fossil bone” as well, which is odd as you can’t have bloody meat and skin surrounding fossilized bone.
• Why is there a paleontologist working at a Danish aquarium? Doesn’t Denmark have museums or universities for this guy to get a job at?
• If the film The Thing from Another World taught us anything, it’s that a frozen creature is never going to stay frozen for long.
• At the twenty-seven-minute mark, the plot stops cold so we can have a Denmark travelogue segment, with Connie showing General Grayson all the famous tourist attractions.
• For some reason Svend Viltorft rejoins the plot when Reptilicus begins his rampage, having been absent since dropping off the sample at the aquarium, and I’m not sure why he’s back helping the army track the monster. Are Danish miners known for their monster-hunting skills?
• A few scenes in the Danish version where Reptilicus was shown flying were cut from the U.S. version because the producers thought that they looked “unconvincing.” This leaves me to ask, “Did they think everything else looked convincing?”

 

And they considered this realistic?

This film had a rather weird production as it was actually two pictures shot simultaneously, one directed by Danish director Poul Bang and filmed in the Danish language, the other directed by American producer-director Sidney Pink and filmed in the English language with an almost identical cast. Pink and Bang would take turns throughout each shooting day with Pink directing and filming a shot in English, after which Bang would direct and film the same shot in Danish. Unfortunately, American International Pictures deemed Pink’s as virtually unreleasable and it had to be extensively reworked by the film’s Danish-American screenwriter, Ib Melchior – this is when footage showing Reptilicus vomiting acid saliva was added – and while this angered Pink to such a degree that he filed a lawsuit against AIP it was eventually dropped and Reptilicus was released upon an unsuspecting America in 1962.

 

Monster of Party Beach.

Of course, Reptilicus itself is the true star of this disaster, with the creature’s movements being gloriously awkward and with all the grace of a wind-up toy after too many drinks. And then there’s the infamous scene where Reptilicus spits green goo, which looks more like someone squeezed a bottle of dish soap across the screen. This was supposed to be terrifying, but instead, it’s more like the monster is having a bad case of indigestion. You’ll be left wondering if the filmmakers were trying to make a horror movie or were just trolling the audience. That two versions exist and yet both are equally terrible is not surprising considering they didn’t bother to hammer out a proper script before going into production, that the end result was something closer to what you’d find a port-o-potty than a good movie was almost a foregone conclusion.

 

“Son, do you smell something?”

As for the cast of humans, things aren’t much better. The cast delivers their lines with all the enthusiasm of someone reading a grocery list, which is probably a blessing considering the dialogue found in this script would give any seasoned actor trouble as it was filled with pseudo-scientific mumbo jumbo that’s about as convincing as the monster itself, but as this film was populated by what I assume were outcasts from dinner theatre we weren’t going to find any great moments of thespian brilliance no matter how good or bad the script was. Worse was the attempt to bring comedy to the proceedings in the form of Petersen’s character, who comes across as a low-rent Lou Costello and not remotely funny; the fact that he isn’t devoured by Reptilicus is only one of many failings this film has to offer.

 

“Hey Abbott, this script sucks!”

But let’s be honest, even with all the bad acting and failed comedy on display, Reptilicus has one thing going for it, it’s still one of those movies that’s so bad it’s…well, still pretty bad, but also a lot of fun if you’re in the right mindset. It’s a relic from a time when giant monster movies were churned out like hotcakes, and it stands as a prime example of what happens when budget constraints meet creative ambition head-on—and lose. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a cheesy, oversized souvenir you buy on vacation—totally unnecessary, but impossible to resist. If you can’t love a movie with a wonky puppet waving its head around while hordes of extras run in terror – or laughter if you look at the crowd shots more carefully – then this isn’t your kind of movie, but goofy monsters are your jam. there is much enjoyment to be found here.

 

“Oh, the humanity!”

In conclusion, Reptilicus is a delightful disaster —a movie so bad that it loops back around to become a kind of kitschy masterpiece. If you’re in the mood for some unintentional comedy, terrible special effects, and a plot that makes less sense than a Danish pastry recipe written in Latin, then this is the movie for you. Denmark, you deserved better, but at least you gave us a monster that we’ll never forget—no matter how hard we try.