Let The Right One In__Whitenesses

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Kare Hedebrant
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The color white with its associated hues and permutations seems to be a primary physical indicator in the Swedish vampire film, Let the Right One In—and a ravishing white it is. The opening sequence introduces us to Oskar, the film’s major protagonist, while he plays some solitary psychic game in his bedroom: a singular monologue reminiscent of the boys’ chants in Lord of the Flies; in fact, the Swedish story has more than a passing association with William Golding’s influential novel of the 1950’s. On first encounter, we view Oskar in reflection from his window which opens onto the dark night, making it a perfect ghost-like image of contrasting high-lights. We are spying on him as he acts out some unusual personal theater during which he unsheathes a scabbarded knife almost reverentially as if prefacing some sacrificial rite. “Squeal, let me hear you squeal,” he orders some imaginary victim of his passionless exercise. His shirt is off, and though the winter night outside the pane of glass is freezing, the room’s well-heated effect seems more in keeping with precious hothouse orchids than a typical schoolboy’s messy bedroom. His naked chest in reflection is certainly pale and bloodless, but something more than that, something sexual and yet clinical at the same time. I’m reminded somehow of those elegant large photographs of Robert Mapplethorpe’s calla lilies, captured almost perversely in their attention to detail. The whiteness not only delineates the form, it becomes the entire language to express the flower’s objective: that being its offering of associations and multiplicity of meanings, it’s artistic breath.

Oscar’s world is a dualistic one, and though the movie’s color cinematography is altogether painterly in what we might view as traditional Swedish imagery, yet the camera documents an integral polarity featuring nature’s rugged allure and beauty at odds with it’s personal isolation, its famous history of suicides amid Socialism’s seeming success. And if one of Sweden’s iconic images might be snow, so too Oscar’s milky Nordic skin and his flaxen, pageboy hair appear chaste and serene, yet belie a horrible ability for violence and retribution to those who would threaten him. But I’m not quite getting to the point I want to make, which is the impression that Oskar’s physical presence made on the screen: he was the white lab rat tipped topsy-turvy into becoming the victim and the experimenter, a solitary bully who prods the defenseless with gleaming instruments, at least when alone in the dreamscape of his bedroom. At school, Oscar is the object of cruel intimidation by class toughs, and though certainly intelligent and gifted, his isolation has begun to transmogrify into obsessions such as keeping a journal of press clippings featuring violent crimes, and his reliance on the aforementioned knife. Kare Hedebrant, in the role of Oskar, utilizes a quiet, reflective acting ability, amazing in its aptness. Here’s a character whose physical characteristics blend with the winter landscape as well as the interior landscape. A vague opaque quality informs him, whereby we don’t watch large gestures or statements, but instead the boy’s character is delivered in a series of quirks, facial twists, weird though slight ruminations that manifest in the muscles around his mouth and cheeks. He’s one who’s trained himself to escape notice by limiting his physical presence, appearing almost camouflaged like a wild rabbit on a snowy plain in a field of hunters. Oddly the isolation he uses as protection from a dangerous environment hinders his ability to learn how people actually work, instead he builds a psychological view of humans as sadists, serial killers, and even vampires—with the real world giving ample corroborating evidence at every turn.

His salvation arrives in the form of a 12 year old girl named Eli who moves into an adjoining apartment with her father. It’s their friendship turned love which offers Oskar a reprieve from rejection at school; an abatement from loneliness for his estranged father; a lessening of fear and humiliation as a daily reality. All this occurs within the close confines of a small suburban town whose buildings feature maximum utility though at the cost of style, and if these aren’t the faceless architectural apartment buildings of Soviet Block countries during the 1980’s, still there is little room for personal expression or freedom. This background proves appropriate for the eventual revolt that Oskar wages (within his quiet means) with the aid of Eli and her special skills. Of course Eli is a vampire, however she’s a source of compassion and strength to Oskar, star-crossed at best, but in love nonetheless. I’m not very interested in divulging any more of the story, I suggest that everyone rent or buy the dvd and watch it. Sadly, one unfortunate ramification of good foreign movies which fall into the horror genre is that American or British interests immediately make plans for a remake in English. Not a sequel, but a remake with Hollywood's stamp of casting and marketing. Such is the case with Let The Right One In. Similar to the Japanese and Korean horror movies which were re-produced with American stars in the leads during the last decade, it seems we can expect an English version. It’s difficult to imagine a new version being anywhere as compelling as the original Swedish movie. Surely, the performances of Kare Hedebrant and Lina Leandersson as the 12 year old leads will be impossible to best. Yet another unfortunate example of consumerism’s muscular reach for the cash.

Of course, one of the wonderful by-products of featuring the color white—in Oskar’s body and the snowy expanses of Northern European winter—is it’s lovely contrast to blood, and there’s quit a bit of the messy red stuff. What with the violence of a serial killer on the loose, the feeding habits of Eli, the spotty damage caused among the schoolyard’s bullies, and the sacrificial knife’s eventual uses, there’s plenty of splatter. Odd then that this isn’t really a suspense-laden series of genre tropes whose ambition rests on coaxing audiences to squirm in their seats awaiting the next scream. The splatter isn’t really of much importance, it’s merely the dripping nutrition that keeps Eli alive, or that keeps the vengeful rowdies at bay. The color schemes seem more a function of the subtexts-- reading into each major character as symbolic of social or psychological investigations, an opening into a well of ideas not usually associated with horror films.

Let The Right One In was helmed by journeyman director Tomas Alfredsson from a novel and screenplay written by John Ajvide Lindqvist. The work is thoughtful and the decisions throughout seem less interested in shock or cinematic thrills, but always focus upon the character development in Oscar and an unusual unveiling of warmth from Eli, our erstwhile monster. See it. If my impression was any indicator, it will give you that afterglow that a good novel leaves behind, wherein ideas keep presenting themselves as the result of the completed work--a catalyst, a stimulant, a good movie.


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