It’s wise to beware of remakes, especially those involving the horror genre. For every successful reworking–Zack Snyder’s 2004 Dawn of the Dead comes to mind–we’re treated to dozens of listless clones that mistake imitation for imagination. For the worst possible culprit, see Gun Van Sant’s inexplicable shot-for-shot aping of Hitchcock’s Psycho. Let Me In, the remake of the 2008 Swedish film Let the Right One In, is at the opposite end of the spectrum.
Set during a bleak winter in Los Alamos, New Mexico, the film introduces us to 12-year-old Owen (Kodi Smit-McGhee of The Road), a lonely kid who’s mercilessly bullied at school. Things aren’t much better at home, as his mother routinely bickers on the phone with her soon-to-be ex-husband and drinks herself to sleep. To pass the time, Owen chows down on candy before dinner, watches his neighbors through a bedroom telescope, and fantasizes about fighting back.
One night, while standing out in the snow-covered courtyard and thrusting a knife into a tree, he meets Abby (Chloe Moretz of Kick-Ass). Her legs and bare feet exposed to the elements, she shows no signs of discomfort while engaging Owen in a conversation. But just as he begins to warm to the girl who appears to be his own age, Abby shuts him down by announcing matter-of-factly that they cannot be friends. Owen, of course, doesn’t understand. He will soon enough.
Abby, as it turns out, is a vampire. Along with her caretaker, billed only as “The Father” (Oscar nominee Richard Jenkins), she moves from town to town in search of fresh plasma. And now she’s come to Los Alamos to feed.
What follows is a quietly melancholy tale combining elements of horror and romance within the trappings of a coming-of-age drama. Let Me In is the ultimate seduction story, with a conflicted boy on the verge of puberty being led astray by an ancient evil wearing the mask of youth.
When I first read that filmmakers were planning to make the second adaptation of John Ajvide Lindqvist’s disturbing novel “very accessible to a wider audience,” I was more than a little dubious. But this is not Rob Zombie’s take on Halloween; much of the original film (expertly helmed by Tomas Alfredson) remains, and any additions or revisions only serve to increase an already pervading sense of catastrophe.
The lion’s share of this accomplishment belongs to Matt Reeves (Cloverfield), here serving as both director and screenwriter. As in the original, he films the payoff sequences of vampirism in long shots, allowing viewers to drink in the carnage without being stifled by confusing close-ups and frenzied editing. This is especially impressive considering that his most notable cinematic work had many audience members running to the restroom thanks to manic hand-held camerawork.
A sustained look at a car crash from inside the tumbling vehicle is visually dynamic, as are the compact moments of more intimate violence. Reeves isn’t afraid the show the red stuff, either, with actors often bathed or smeared in the live-giving substance. Other effective techniques include out-of-focus characters to achieve an emotional disconnect, and the repeated uses of voyeurism to reveal information and increase the tension.
Let Me In is well-cast movie, with every performer achieving the emotional range asked of them. Richard Jenkins manages to convey everything from jealousy to weary resignation during his all-too-brief moments on the screen, while fellow character actor Elias Koteas is appropriately somber as a dutiful cop braving the cold to catch a serial killer.
But the film really belongs to the kids, and both of the young leads deliver in spades. Smit-McGhee’s Owen is a sad boy who longs for acceptance and love, while Abby is a cunning predator who turns the notion of pedophilia on its ear. Her love is the non-sexual kind, but she’s a centuries-old creature seducing males a fraction of her age. It’s enough to keep someone on the therapist’s couch for an eternity.
The corruption of innocence looms large in Let Me In, with “The Father” providing a likely blueprint for Owen’s future if he succumbs to temptation. From Ronald Regan invoking Christian values during a televised speech to his faceless mother’s obsession with religion, Owen is living in a world where good is the only acceptable course of action. Even the investigating officer worries that the recent murders may be the work of a Satanic cult, an all-too-common overreaction in ‘80s America. But evil is such a tempting taboo, especially when it comes in the form of a pretty girl with a fascination for puzzles and the doomed lovers of Shakespeare.
Let Me In is the rare remake that delivers as much, or more, than the original. It deals with complex themes, raises disturbing questions, and constantly challenges viewers to set aside their preconceived notions of what makes an effective horror film. It’s a decidedly different offering for the Twilight crowd, although many will need a parent or guardian to gain admittance.
Matt Reeves has changed a couple of very important details from the story – first he doesn’t make it clear that the vampire is actually a boy eunuch, and second he portrays the vampire as a cunning predator looking for a minder to spend his life with her (him). The original story made it clear that the vampire was 200 years old, but stuck at a mental age of 12, as well as physically. The Swedish movie got these parts right without beating the audience over the head with it.
Reeves showed the vampires minder as being there since a young boy, but in the book the minder “adopted” the vampire only a few years before the events of the story took place.
I would recommend people read the book and see the original Swedish movie.