Let The Right One In

As this is my first real, official, wax sealed post, it's going to be a long one, and what better to begin with than the hugely intriguing and truly original Let The Right One In.

Disappointingly, this wonderfully delicate romantic chiller from Sweden has already been lined up for a swollen budget Hollywood remake, due for release in 2010. The helmer of said remake is reported to be Cloverfield's writer turned director Matt Reeves, who did well by his use of the Blair Witch-esque energy and tension of a bouncing handycam. But in watching 'Let The Right One In', when you admire the cold and cut-throat eeriness of the locked off camera and the painfully slow panning and tracking that director Tomas Alfredson uses to envoke a sense of foreboding and fragility in the snowy estate in which the film is trapped, it is impossible to think that using a style so pacey and manic as that in Cloverfield would do nothing except extinguish the story's very human heart altogether.

The story begins by following Oskar, a ghostly, pig-faced boy who lives alone with his mother in a soulless, snow-covered Scandinavian estate. When he isn't being tortured (sometimes quite literally) by his peers at school, Oskar fantasises about having his revenge, and making his enemies "squeal" with the thrust of his own small blade.

When he meets Eli, though, a chillingly abject young girl who has recently moved into the flat next to door to his and proceeded in blocking any sunlight from entering through the windows, Oskar sees in her a chance for companionship and even romance, unaware that Eli is hiding a dangerous bloodlust. As Oskar and Eli's relationship develops, Eli is forced to feed on locals, helped by her clumsy and morose "father", brilliantly played by Per Ragnar, and struggles to hide the truth of her horrifying identity. When Oskar does eventually realise, in a series of spine-tingling scenes, that Eli is a "vampyr", he has to decide, even with the strength of his love for her, whether or not the two can still associate, let alone romantically.

Such is the staggering originality of John Ajvide Lindqvist's screenplay (adapted from his own novel) and the technical brilliance of Alfredson and his surrounding crew - special mention goes to cinematographer Hoyte Van Hoytema, composer Johan Soderqvist and the film's entire sound department - that even when the first half an hour began to drag, it was impossible to take my eyes from the screen. Every frame from beginning to end is immaculately blocked -haunting, significant and beautiful - and Alfredson masters the very difficult ability of jumping between delicate, quiet drama and savage, shocking violence.

The success of this film lies in its soul, in the very human love story between two lonely children that is the backbone of the story, and means that the supernatural elements of the story, though superbly handled and thrilling (the first moment we see Eli rapidly scale the side of multi-storey building or rise from a limp neck with a blood-stained face are just as pulsating as the best of Blade or From Dusk Til Dawn, despite the film's comparatively miniscule budget), are not relied upon to satisfy the audience's own thirst for conflict and excitement. Oskar and Eli are two very modern characters, despite the gothic mysticism of Eli's vampirism, trapped in a bleak world with little prospect of escape, and they find a beautiful solace in each other that provides hope in this coldest of climates.

The movie ends with one of the most astonishing scenes that I have witnessed in some time, a poetic and gruesome finale that demonstrates just how well Alfredson and co have mastered their craft. It reflects brilliantly the wonderful balance within the film of touching humanity and gritty realism alongside bloody horror and gothic majesty, and even chucklesome slapstick humour, and it leaves, when one finally vacates one's seat, a new and exciting taste in one's mouth. I, for one, have a strong thirst for more of the same.