That pentagram wards off werewolves, and Jack and David return to the moors only to be mauled by one such creature. Jack becomes a zombie, the walking dead, because the werewolf's curse was passed on--to David, who's alive and mobile and flirting with his recovery-ward nurse (Jenny Agutter, quite possibly the sexiest women this planet has ever produced), who invites him to move in with her. Jack, meanwhile, keeps showing up to urge David to commit suicide before lycanthropy seizes control of his free will.

David's first time with his new girlfriend is followed by his first night as a werewolf; Landis calls David's transformation, with its painful contortions and unwanted hair growth, a puberty metaphor, and that's pretty apt: he's a real man after a night with Jenny Agutter. And who can forget that transformation? Rick Baker's effects remain transcendent, and they're all the more impressive for having been filmed under bright conditions, which left him little room to cheat. An American Werewolf in London is just a really visceral movie that one cannot help but respond to, best demonstrated by the violently mixed public and critical reaction to its ending, a kind of swan song for seventies nihilism.

An American Werewolf in London taught me something about movies in the days before I could even begin to appreciate, say, Citizen Kane. It shows that a genre's rules are set on a case-by-case, filmmaker-by-filmmaker basis, and makes more explicit one of the things that Brian De Palma was getting at in Carrie: that comedy and modern horror are identical disciplines in their absolute reliance on timing. There is a scene late in the picture in which our hero is getting advice on how to kill himself from undead ghouls at a porno theatre (showing "See You Next Wednesday," natch (the title of an early Landis screenplay, its mention is a recurring gag in his oeuvre)), but situations are only funny in retrospect--we laugh at this absurd tableau because the japes are precise. Likewise, moments later, we know that inside the cinema there is a man becoming a werewolf. The suspense is in wondering if he will take to the streets, and so the camera remains outside for most of his metamorphosis, waiting for a bubble to burst. It's actually one of the few times in An American Werewolf in London that we explicitly know what's coming, and it's our involuntary spasm when the punchline finally arrives which affirms that the picture isn't made up of trick buzzers, but exquisitely-told jokes. Landis is one of our best comedy directors--his work in horror (see also: his prologue to Twilight Zone: The Movie) proves that.

Universal's Collector's Edition DVD of An American Werewolf in London is fun. I have yet to see PolyGram's disc, released during the format's Jurassic period, so I can't evaluate this latest version against anything except a mid-eighties VHS copy, and I assure you it betters that. Presented in 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen, the image is a bit soft for my taste, though grain is too pronounced on the occasional crisp shot. Colour is very natural and probably the strongest aspect of the transfer. Landis films never look that wonderful, anyway, so take these criticisms with a grain of salt. On the other hand, I was pleased by the remixed audio: in either of its 5.1 configurations (DTS or Dolby Digital), the soundfield is open and scary, if hardly the purist's ideal. There is a rear-speaker thunderclap in chapter 10 that bowled me over, and the moon-themed songs seem to have been rerecorded from scratch, as they're very 'warm' and aggressive.

A feature-length commentary from Naughton and Dunne, whose off-screen chemistry is no different, betrays unpretentious nostalgia. After all these years, Dunne expresses amazement that he got the part of Jack without auditioning, and that Landis began scouting Paris instead of replacing Dunne after the actor was initially denied British Equity. Dunne owns the track more or less; Naughton is the star of an included featurette, "Casting of the Hand" (10 mins.), assembled archival footage of Naughton posing his arm for Baker that proves moderately suspenseful when Naughton's fingers are still stuck in the mold long after they were supposed to come free.

Landis appears in a 17-minute interview that is edited like an episode of his HBO sitcom "Dream On"--in short, sort of annoying, and he tells a "schmuck" joke that's pure filler. (I preferred his contributions to the 1981 making-of (5 mins.).) Rick Baker's interview runs seven fewer minutes, and that's a shame--his incidental instruction is nourishing. (Did you know that the film's werewolf is actually a costumed wheelbarrow?) On what's left: watch the selection of silent outtakes (3 mins.) in its entirety, you'll be surprised; a storyboard-to-finished-product comparison reveals detailed conceptual art; a production photo montage is worth it to hear Elmer Bernstein's underutilized score; production notes (within the Amaray case insert and on the disc itself) further illuminate An American Werewolf in London; "Recommendations" features a trailer for The Wolf Man; and DVD-ROM users can access a script-to-screen option (Dunne tended to stray from the page) plus various Universal weblinks. This DVD has had a spot reserved in my collection for ages, and fills it nicely.-Bill Chambers