Let the Right One In is the perfect synthesis between an indie art film and a gory horror movie. This Swedish chimera from director Tomas Alfredson is a love story between two lonely pre-teens, Oskar and Eli. The only problem is that Eli has been twelve for longer than she remembers, cares little for personal hygiene, and likes to snack on the occasional human. No big obstacles when romance is involved. These two find each other at the ideal time in their lives when childhood innocence is on the cusp of evaporating and hormones are starting to dictate all actions. In the haze of this transformation, they make a profound connection based on their mutual inability to fit in and strengthened on the intricacies of the Rubik’s cube and a love of dancing.
Oskar’s parents are divorced, and he lives with his mom in a small apartment complex seemingly devoid of any life. The first time we see him, in his underwear through a window, he looks so fragile. His nose and upper lip are constantly moist, suggesting a wide-eyed rabbit in need of a Kleenex. Oskar is mercilessly picked on at school by Conny and his troupe of reluctant classmates. These are the type of bullies who cry as they beat up on you and look longingly into the camera for salvation. Small, idiosyncratic touches like these make Let the Right One In a narrative watershed.
Eli lives in shame. She has a human caretaker, and possibly a former lover, who does her killing for her. When he is caught, she must finally enter the world. It is not an easy introduction. Along the way she begins to feel again. She is not dead, as so many vampire films tell us, but has been deadened by her years of relentless survival. She is far from the designer coiffed, bespoke vampire that films like Twilight trot out. Eli is exquisitely human.
When Eli floats into Oskar’s life she single-handedly ignites his adolescence. She gives him the confidence to fight back and initiates his sexual curiosity. In a scene towards the middle of the movie, Oskar visits Eli’s apartment. She closes a glass door between them and they follow each other’s hands tenderly on either side. She lets him through, and into her heart, only after he can fully accept her. She is not a girl, or even a child, but a wild creature. Surprisingly, this is one of the most genuine depictions of love I’ve seen on film all year—the type of true love we always hear about. It can only happen when you accept all of someone’s imperfections, fangs and all.
All the characters carry intense, emotional baggage, and we are drawn into their internal lives through claustrophobic close-ups. The fantastic elements are merely an outgrowth of their pinpricked psyches. In the end Oskar and Eli are just regular, befuddled pre-pubescents. They are frightened, sexually confused, and fiercely protective of each other. Their future together will be as complex as they are.
Filed under: Uncategorized
