Anyone who goes into Let Me In having seen Let the Right One In will be hard-pressed not to make comparisons. And that’s more than fair. Let Me In, directed by Matt Reeves (Cloverfield), is so similar to Tomas Alfredson‘s original adaptation that it’s nearly impossible not to be critical. It’s not a shot-by-shot remake by any means, but heavily influenced in nearly every foreseeable way.
That said, on its own merit, this is a strong film. Very strong. Reeves’ followup is a huge leap from Cloverfield both thematically and emotionally. Cloverfield was great fun, but lacked legitimate characters and legitimate emotional investment. It was hard to care about what was going on. Here, you care completely.
Reeves doesn’t pull his punches, especially when it comes to the relationship between Owen (Kodi Smit-McPhee) and Abby (Chloe Moretz). There’s something wrong with Owen – undeniably. But it doesn’t come off unbelievable. Smit-McPhee sells Owen, and his perversions, well. This is a boy with uninvolved parents, no friends and the only other kids you see him interact with are vicious bullies, who would give the psychopathic Kung Fu kids from The Karate Kid a run for their money.
So when he falls in love with the vampire Abby, it makes sense. Abby and Owen don’t feel different at all, outside of Abby being ageless and a vampire, of course. They’re both full of loneliness and harbor a violence that feels painfully attune to today’s youth. Reeves goes far to convey the dark side of these kids. They can be cruel, and Reeves takes that to the next level without ever getting mean or judgmental. There’s definitely goodness in them, even the lead bully has a moment that understandably explains his actions, but they’re lacking in moral stability and all make bad decisions.
Speaking of villains, there are none here. There’s no clear antagonist and Reeves never paints in broad strokes. If anyone has true evil in them here, it’s Abby and Owen. Abby shows practically no remorse in her bloodshed and Owen seems to condone it out of love. (Spoiler Alert) When you see Abby kill The Policeman (he’s never given a proper name, but is played excellently by Elias Koteas) you see the monster that she is.
She does kill innocent people brutally beforehand, but when she takes out the cop, a man of warmth and good intentions, Abby almost falls complete into evil. Thankfully, Reeves, who also wrote the script, is talented enough to accent her motivation: she’s killing her religious counterpoint. It’s a crime of origin, of necessity. (Spoiler Over)
There’s a sweetness between the young couple present during their courtship, which still manages to be endearing even as more and more people die. Reeves emerges as an actor’s director. Case in point, Richard Jenkins‘ performance as The Father. Whether he offers a brief moment of happiness or a frustrated moment of anger, his childish nature is always presents, adding depth to his character. His love for Abby is strong, as well as his disdain towards her new relationship with Owen. It’s a twisted love tale within a twisted love tale.
Where the film truly comes short is some spotty CG moments that nearly take you out of the film completely. A computer-generated Abby isn’t a tenth as interesting as the vulnerable Abby we see interact with Owen. Whenever it gets to those attack moments you just can’t wait to get back to Owen and Abby’s more subtle moments. And shockingly, Michael Giacchino’s score doesn’t work as well as it should. Giacchino nails the character moments, but faults when it comes to tension. It becomes too bombastic where it’s more of a distraction.
Even with those two fairly glaring problems, Let Me In is a very good film that comes incredibly close to greatness. It shows that Reeves is a true talent to behold behind the camera, both visually and thematically. This re-adaptation isn’t as completely pointless as some were expecting it to be, and as some are still claiming it to be. There’s plenty here to warrant its existence.