"Let The Right One In"

“Let The Right One In” is one of the most bizarre movies I’ve seen in a long time, but it’s also one of the best. It consists of equal parts gory horror and enchanting romance, so it’s not entirely clear what kind of film director Tomas Alfredson set out to make in his adaptation of Swedish author John Ajvide Lindqvist’s novel of the same name. And yet, judging by the accolades the film has already won, including the Founders Award for Best Narrative Feature at the 2008 Tribeca Film Festival, Alfredson’s dark fairy tale is capturing the hearts and minds of its viewers—and for good reason.

The film, which takes place in a suburb of Stockholm, follows a 12-year-old boy named Oskar who is constantly and brutally bullied in school. A mysterious young girl named Eli moves next door with an older man presumed to be her father, and a rash of brutal murders coincides with her arrival. As Oskar and Eli grow closer every night, he begins to suspect that she may be a vampire. Despite this dark knowledge, Oskar falls in love with Eli, and the relationship that develops between the two changes those around them in profound ways.

The acting in this film is simply extraordinary. Both children give incredibly honest, natural performances, and their romance is filled with just the right amount of curiosity, playfulness, and awkwardness as to make it relatable. The moment that the title refers to, when a curious Oskar wonders what will happen if Eli enters his home without an invitation, is a particularly touching example of the very human quality of their relationship, even if it is rather violent.

Moments such as this form the heart of the film. It’s nothing short of remarkable that Alfredson manages to make the audience feel for Eli even when her face is covered with blood. The brutal nature of the violence is a perfect counterpoint to the innocent quality of the love between two children, and when these two elements are set against each other, as they so often are, the film fires on all cylinders.

The film would have been almost perfect had Alfredson chosen to focus solely on the romance at its center. As it is, there are needless sub-plots—most of them focusing on the adult inhabitants of Eli and Oskar’s world—which are somewhat distracting. Early in the film, the focus is shared between the children and a group of adults, many of whom later become the victims of Eli and her “father.” These portions of the film seem to exist solely to add more horror to the story; in one particularly gruesome instance, a woman who has been bitten but not killed by Eli opens the blinds of her hospital room, and the results are not pretty. The woman’s story seems designed primarily to lead to the horrific payoff, which is discouraging considering that the moment in the hospital has almost no impact whatsoever on the relationship between the two youths.

This complaint, however, is relatively minor when one considers the impact that the majority of the film attains. The cinematography perfectly showcases the cold, stark isolation of the film’s wintry setting, while the meticulous framing of Oskar and Eli, isolated side-by-side in the windows of their neighboring apartments, highlights the duality of their respective natures. There are also a few purposefully understated moments which lend the film some surprising subtexts, one of which revolves around gender and is sure to have audiences talking after the film ends.

“Let the Right One In” is a difficult film that defies genre conventions and disallows any allegorizing. It’s also incredibly heartfelt and deeply moving. The popularity of Stephenie Meyer’s book series, “Twilight,” which also revolves around the relationship between a human and a vampire, has proven that the market for this type of story is strong. Those who are interested in seeing the film adaptation of Meyer’s book this month also owe it to themselves to see this extraordinary Swedish import—it’s difficult to imagine how this story could be told any better.

—Staff writer Bram A. Strochlic can be reached at bstrochl@fas.harvard.edu.