Let Me In: The House Review

Let Me In, Matt Reeves' adaptation of both the Swedish novel Lat Den Ratte Komma In and its film version of the same name, was not really expected to bring forth the same kind of emotional intensity and character-driven horror as its Swedish counterparts. Fans all over the world simply hated the idea, actually, myself very much included. Having seen and read (sadly) the Twilight novels, I knew that us Americans would surely find a way to fuck it up in a way inconceivable to the rest of the art world. We would fuck up John Ajvide Lindqvist's masterpiece of vampire horror, and we would do it without even the slightest care in the world, because, quite frankly, us Americans totally suck at horror films.

(I mean honestly, I can see you nodding right now. They're that bad. If Wes Craven doesn't go into retirement soon, we should call it quits. The fact they're making a Scream 4 says it all.)

But let me tell you something, that Matt Reeves? The Cloverfield director of JJ Abrams viral marketing fame? Yeah, HE TOTALLY FUCKING NAILED IT. A movie hasn't freaked me out this badly since the American adaptation of Japan's The Ring. The directing here was superb, and never once relied on the typical scare-tactics. The angst-ridden and lonely tone was set perfectly, and mirrored the book exactly. The final product was precisely what I wanted when I went into that theater, and I got just the reaction I wanted from my girlfriend when it was over: "I'm never letting you take me to a movie ever again. That was fucking sick."

I'm glad you thought so, babe.

It was about time someone like Matt Reeves reminded us what vampires are supposed to be like. They don't glitter when caught in sunlight, they burst into flames. They don't have brooding existential crises. They don't "pounce," "leer," "have venom," or give a fuck if they have a soul. They, like Abby (or Eli), lure men into worlds of resentment and self-loathing and betrayals of the human condition with their Lolita-like charms, and then discard them without even the slightest bit of a conscience.

They devour.

They maim.

They kill.

We are the children of love, spurned on by God's mercy.

They have no mercy, and are the children of death.

(I mean what the fuck, Stephanie Meyer? Why glitter?)

But all that aside, the aspects of the film that really sealed the deal for me, so to speak, was the cinematography. An important aspect of any film, effective cinematography is especially important in the horror genre, and here Reeves executed it beautifully.

Owen's mother, for example, (or Oskar's mother in the novel) was never completely shown to the audience, only in fuzzy focus, and distance or obscured shots. Taking into account her apparent absence and indifference to Owen's development, she, essentially, becomes the Mother Who Was Never There, the mother who was either too far away, or so close, but so far. Upon even further examining Owen's mother, we find that she is often associated with religious overtones, such as saying Grace at dinner, watching televangelists, and displaying Christian iconography throughout their home. This is significant because not only does it tap into the movie's delving into the dichotomy of good and evil, it also expresses it was not just Owen's mother who was never there, but that his God was never there as well.

The way Abby's physicality was portrayed was also exceedingly well done, blending actual effects with CG modeling for a totally believable creature. There was a special attention payed to the way she climbed, I noticed, and how animalistic she could be when hunting, attacking, and spying on potential victims, especially when in the presence of blood. Never once did I consider her a Meyer vampire, and the entire time the audience was constantly aware that, in fact, Abby was an Evil entity, with a capital E, and not some love-sick, overly (emo)tional man-child. That having been said, however, I feel that Abby did possess some remnant of humanity, as fading and fleeting as it may have been. After all, she did seek and find some kind of odd, if not parasitic, companionship in both Owen and his ill-fated predecessor, Abby's "father."

There was also that sweet swimming pool scene at the end.

Oh yeah.

That swimming pool scene.

Probably one of the most metal things I've seen in a while, the swimming pool scene was so well done I can't bring myself to spoil it for you. But, for those of you who have already seen it, you know what I'm talking about. It was easily one of the greatest examples of showing something without showing it at all that I have ever witnessed, and easily the best reason for paying the ten bucks or however much to go see this movie. It's that good.

Moving on to critical analysis, I have to say that there's something to be said in this film about cycles. In many ways, we know the story of Abby's "father" in that we are experiencing the story of Owen. By the end of the film, we feel as though Owen will end up doing what her "father" has always done for her, especially after seeing the old photo-booth reel in her apartment. As the audience, we have no idea how long exactly this cycle, her practice, has been going on, but theoretically it could have been going on for ages. In fact, I think the frequent mentioning of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet serves to date her as someone from that particular period, the 1560s - 1610s, as opposed to just paralleling that tragic love story to that of Abby and Owen, but that's just me.

In any case, regardless of her age, does this ultimately make Abby Evil with a capital E, as I have expressed before?

Yes and no.

(And I'm fucking giddy with excitement that it's ambiguous, because ambiguity is what we Humanities majors specialize in.)

You see, I'm glad that Abby is complicated (to say the least), and I'm glad that we, the audience, is forced to think about her. Is she evil, or is she not? Well, she's evil in that she continues the cycle of drawing in young, disillusioned and alienated males to do her killing for her, but honestly, why can't she just do this killing herself? We know that she is perfectly capable, and yet, she asks less-capable people to do it.

Ultimately, I think its because she both uses and needs their humanity.

She then in essence becomes human by proxy, and rather interestingly, she becomes a vampire in a different way: not only does she drain prey victims of their blood, she also drains cycle victims of their humanity. Once that humanity has been depleted, she discards them, or they, as in the case of her father, discard themselves.

Genius.

Mr. Lindqvist, I may not know how to pronounce your name or congratulate you in your native language, but you sir, are seriously fucking awesome.

All international praises of awesomeness aside however, we must still ask ourselves if we believe that Abby's feelings for Owen are sincere, if indeed there are any feelings at all. On one hand, I would love to believe that she does indeed have feelings for Owen, if not only because as a member of the audience I have invested so much time into caring about Owen's story. The thing is though, in the end, Owen still feels like a means to an end, a puppet of Abby, if you will, almost begging the question of who the films and the novels are really about.

I mean you have to wonder, is this Owen's story, or is it Abby's?

Is Owen the Protagonist, and is Abby the Antagonist like traditionally thought?

Or are they both the Protagonists? Or both the Antagonists?

Could Abby be the Protagonist, perhaps? And Owen be the Anti-Hero?

One could easily write pages and pages on any of these ideas, maybe even novels, so I'll leave it up to you, along with the film's litany of other interpretations. Regardless, I hope you actually go see this film and enjoy it as much as I did, especially in light (in spite?) of the hugely popular Twilight series and it's legion of tweenager fans.

Because honestly, if Twilight is the vampire romance story of the Victorian era strung out on ecstasy, then Let Me In is the vampire romance story of the Post Modern age hyped up on PCP and a string of reckless one-night stands.

Overall, I would give Matt Reeves' adaptation of Lindqvist's Lat Den Ratte Komma In 10 out of 10 Natural 20s, the highest recommendation I can give. The direction was superb, the cinematography flawless, and the casting beyond the standard definitions of excellent. Chloe Moretz of Hit-Girl and Kick-Ass fame once again delivers a well-acted and well-defined character portrait, this time as the immortal Abby, and her co-star, Kodi Smit-McPhee, totally sells the twisted yet innocent Owen. You would have to be totally fucking retarded not to go see this movie. Absolutely fucking retarded.

Oh, and don't forget to read the book. :)