The idea of Julie Delpy as a werewolf sounds kinky enough on paper, but this anemic, in-name-only sequel to John Landis's An American Werewolf in London (1981) turns the humane French actress into a bit player. In what amounts to a cameo, Delpy plays a suicidal lycanthrope who's saved from jumping off the Eiffel Tower by Andy (Tom Everett Scott), the least offensive of three American meatheads in Paris. He considers her "the woman of my dreams," but she proves moody by moonlight and powerless to prevent his own initiation into wolfdom. Before long, he's eating rare steak with his hands and she's whipping up heart-juice cocktails.

Meaning to put its tongue in cheek, this Werewolf bites it off instead: the humor isn't funny, the horror isn't scary, and the digital wolf f/x look cheap. The hack-like Landis at least delivered on the romantic side of his boy-meets-girl, boy-becomes-wolf tale, but this film's love story pales beside such freakish caricatures as the werewolf/monk/performance artist who crucifies unwitting Americans, and the undead bimbo who spurts blood out her cheek when she tries to whistle. Yeccch. Director Anthony Waller started his career by aping Brian De Palma in Mute Witness; now he's wolfing down warmed-over John Landis -- a monstrous transformation if there ever was one.