An American Werewolf in Paris, Anthony Waller's sequel to 1981's An American Werewolf in London, should have been sent directly to the guys at Mystery Science Theater. I'm sure they could do something with it. On its own, the movie's not funny enough or scary enough, only dumb enough. John Landis' original managed to mix all three of those ingredients into a hilariously frightening blood feast that included one of the most stunning special-effects sequences--a man erupting into a wolf--of the pre-digital era. Waller has a zillion gigabytes at his disposal but no feeling for horror or comedy. So he revs up the soundtrack and hopes nobody'll notice.
Tom Everett Scott is the American in Paris. Seeking a thrill, he bungee-jumps off the Eiffel Tower late at night and grabs a woman who is attempting to commit suicide (Julie Delpy) on the way down. Did I say "woman"? She's actually a werewolf, and so is Scott before long. Except this time, there are good werewolves and bad werewolves. The good ones are looking for a cure. The bad ones are looking for a meal. (Oh, and they're skinheads.) The movie's about sex, of course. Whenever Scott starts to get lucky, Delpy suddenly adds two new sets of nipples, a snout, claws and a thick coating of fragrant fur. Meanwhile, the Eiffel Tower looms in the background, like a giant...well, I don't want to spoil it for you.