Where the Editor totally loses it, and shakes her cane at all them young 'uns who don't know what they're missin'

WARNING: This post will be photo-heavy, probably with a fair amount of cursing, and the soapbox will be at least six feet high.

As a disclaimer, I am by no means an expert. I am merely a self-righteous appreciator of the art of animation who knows better than the people in charge of animation today. And guess what? I'm gonna tell you ALL ABOUT IT.

Mrs. Brisby looks out in caution, due to the impending diatribe.

There's something you need to know about me. I love nostalgia. I am all about it, all up in it, and sink slowly into a big pillow of it when I go to sleep. I'm that chick that has Rainbow Brite on her Amazon wishlist and is serious about it. I'm nostalgic about stuff I wasn't around for. That's how intense I'm talking. So recently, on a trip to the local thrift store I found An American Tail on VHS for a quarter and LET ME TELL YOU I about died and went to heaven. As a kid, I would make my mom check out that VHS and All Dogs Go to Heaven just about all the goddamned time. We owned The Secret of NIMH, which I probably watched enough to destroy the tape (as it is conspicuously absent in the boxes of tapes at home). After watching An American Tail, I was so enthralled by the memories and the new adult perception of the film, that I had to watch Don Bluth's other films. OH MY GOD PEOPLE.

One: if you don't get these movies for your kids, you're a terrible parent, and I'm reporting you to Social Services.
Two: Christ, today's animators should just go ahead and jump off a bridge, crunch a cyanide capsule between their teeth, or lay down on some train tracks, because nearly all of today's animation can't even hold a candle to what Bluth and his colleagues achieved on comparatively shoestring budgets.
Three: If you have no idea what the hell I'm talking about, seriously, do yourself a favor and rent, borrow, steal these movies.

The Secret of NIMH
An American Tail
The Land Before Time
All Dogs Go to Heaven
Rock-A-Doodle
Thumbelina
Anastasia
Titan A.E.

It should be noted that Bluth was the directing animator for Disney's The Rescuers, Lady and the Tramp, 101 Dalmatians (1961 film), and The Fox and the Hound, his influence stamped all over like no one's business.

It was after he left Disney that he created his own studio team, Don Bluth Productions, dedicated to returning to the old animation techniques, as well as using new, more labor intensive techniques to create the amazing artwork in the film. The Secret of NIMH was his first film on his own, and is generally considered his opus. The producing studio, Aurora Studio, bought the rights to the book, Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH and offered Bluth's team a budget of $5.7 million and 30 months to complete the film, a smaller budget and tighter schedule than Disney films at the time. Despite the time crunch and lack of funds, Bluth and his producers mortgaged their houses and put in over 100 hours a week during the final stretch of filming to make their vision come to life. If only we could see that kind of dedication to quality nowadays, I think we'd be a bit better off.

This might be a good time for me to lay something out for you all. Despite it's trailblazing history in animation, and the numerous classic films it produced, and it's towering presence in millions of childhoods, Disney has gone straight down the crapper. Some time in the mid-nineties, they started piggy-backing on the talent and innovation of Pixar, and stopped requiring that there be any actual effort put into their films. Around this time they started putting out those god-awful filmatic abortions, the straight-to-DVD sequels to their classic films. Hardly any were safe, not Cinderella, not Peter Pan, not Lady, nor the Tramp. They also threw Mickey into the murky and squalid basement, only dragging him out to dance a grotesque mockery of his former glory, holding out the little fez for your change as Disney studios cranked the hand organ. Basically, whoever was responsible (and continues to be) for the creative and business decisions of the last fifteen years has been raping Walt's antisemitic corpse and smiling for the cameras while they did it.

What gets me, is that the general public eats this garbage up. They buy their kids the half-assedly animated sequels, the Hannah Montana t-shirts and lip gloss, and blow thousands of dollars at the Magic Kingdom where you spend most of your time waiting in a line. What's worse, Disney gobbles up the rights to our childhood, and then squirrels it away from the public eye until they decide to drag it out in a fancy package (that is actually pretty damn ugly and cheaply done) and "all new features" (hint: there aren't any new features, just some crappy interactive "game") and charge you thirty bucks for it. THEY BOUGHT JIM HENSON'S MUPPETS. DISNEY OWNS THE GODDAMNED MUPPETS. If I ever meet Brian Henson, I'm going to have to kick him as hard as I can, right in the shins.

Whew. I'm sorry, I get really upset when I talk about this stuff. Honestly, if I had one wish, it would probably be to be in charge of Disney and all children's programming, because seriously folks, they're fucking it up SO HARD.

Um, so, if you've made it this far, I did have a point to all this. I re-watched An American Tail for the first time in years, and I didn't make it past the opening credits before I started bawling like a three year old. The composers Bluth used for his films have a knack for finding those specific notes that twang my heartstrings and send the tears shooting forcefully from my ducts. What I couldn't figure out was how this never happened when I was little. These movies are terrifying, tragic, and beautiful, how is it I wasn't constantly walking around with the sniffles and puffy eyes? Being an adult, I recognize and appreciate the depth of the tragedy in these movies, and even the happy endings have a touch of sadness or morbidity. It's something totally lost on a kid, but as an adult, you better be ready.

For example, as a kid, I enjoyed this little ditty, and really only remembered the chorus. But listen a little closer:

Johnny Guarnieri - There Are No Cats In America

PAPA MOUSEKEWITZ:
Our family was traveling
Through the snow to Minsk
Suddenly Papa
Saw those huge paw prints
When I heard him screaming
I fainted dead away
And I woke up an orphan
Oy vey
But...

ALL:
But there are no cats in America
And the streets are paved with cheese
Oh there are no cats in America
So set your mind at ease

ITALIAN MOUSE:
Ma la cosa terrible
Que esiste in la patria mia
If you think things were bad in Russia
You should see things in my country:

The times were hard in Sicily
We had no provolone
The Don he was a tabby
With a taste for my brother Tony
When Mama went to plead for him
The Don said he would see her
We found her rosary on the ground
Poor Mama mia
But...

ALL:
But there are no cats in America
And the streets are paved with cheese
Oh there are no cats in America
So set your mind at ease

IRISH MOUSE:
Sure that’s sad, but sadder still...

When I was but a lad
I lost my true love fair
A calico, he caught us by surprise
In a flash of teeth and fur
Her tail was all he left of her
'Neath the heather
Is where it tirra-lirra lies
But...

ALL:
But there are no cats in America
(There are no cats in America)
And the streets are paved with cheese
Oh there are no cats in America
(And the streets are paved with cheese)
There are no cats in America
There are no cats in America
There are no cats in America
That is why, we sail, these seas

In this movie, the cats were just munching on whole mouse families, did you see those Cossack Cats in the beginning, and wholly crap Madeleine Kahn's character walks into a wake and exclaims, "There's a dead mouse on the table!" Just...wow. You have to respect Bluth's refusal to ignore death and danger, just because it's a kids' movie.

Mr. Ages is not feeling Mrs. Brisby up, they are having a tender moment, dammit, Nicodemus is dead, what kind of person are you?!?

See that red stuff right there? That's blood kids. You better get used to the sight of it, 'cause you're body is just chock full of the stuff.
It's cool, though, that guy totally had it coming, see the wavey-edged sword?

In fact, nearly all his films feature the not-so-nice and pretty plain death of one or more characters. It's a surprising realization to know that kids' movies have been softened and watered down so much that they're more ridiculous catch phrases and fart jokes than actual story.

If parents were concerned over the dogs in UP, how do you think they would have dealt with the Cossack Cats, Carface, Sharptooth, and Dragon?

If I had been a bird, I would have peed my pants, if I were the kind of bird that wore pants.

At some point American society became so terrified of damaging their precious little one's mind and psyche that everything became safe and mindless and sparkly. Quality went down the tubes, replaced by lights and computer generated special effects, and I'm wondering what the end result is going to be. If the teenagers that flounce into my place of work are any indication, I'm thinking of moving to Nova Scotia.

So most of this post has been very Debbie Downer, or rather, RAGING RACHEL, but really, I want to share my appreciation for what Don Bluth accomplished. I'd really like to find an address and mail him to let him know how much his work meant and means to me and my childhood.


*Quick plot synopsis: Recent widow Mrs. Brisby has to go to the secretive and mysterious rats of NIMH to help move her house before the farmer's plow destroys it and her son who can't be moved because of pneumonia. However, she stumbles right into a battle for power between the rats' patriarch Nicodemus and his loyal followers and clearly a bad dude, Jenner and his lackey.

The Secret of NIMH really is a masterpiece, one that stands up to today's fancy computer technology and shows that hand-drawn animation can be just as, if not more, effective an outlet for storytelling. The amount of work spent on this film is vibrantly apparent in every lovingly crafted cel, and the attention to detail is incredible. They studied animal movement and behavior, and one animator kept crutches by his table to mimic the movement of Mr. Ages. What I find the most impressive is that each voice chosen for the characters completely MATCHES AND EMBODIES that character, so much that you see the character, not the person voicing the character. Elizabeth Hartman's voice quivers and quakes and squeaks as the timid Mrs. Brisby who is forced by circumstances to be much braver than her nature would normally allow.

Glowing eyes and a Fu-Manchu mustache equals WISDOM.

John Carradine's voice booms and echoes as the looming, yet wise Owl, terrifying but also, somehow, reassuring. They are all pitch-perfect casting, mostly of people I've never heard of, but who create the characters so completely, you couldn't imagine anyone else doing it.

I also found the subtle animal rights vs. science to be an interesting conundrum.

Stupid meat sacks and their needles.

As an adult, we know that without animal testing, most of our vaccines and medicines wouldn't be as effective as they are. But from the point of view of the animals, one wonders just how necessary a lot of testing is. Though on the other hand, without the experimentation of the humans, the rats would not be as smart or able to build such a magnificent society. But yet again, the rats seems to hold their intelligence as somewhat of a burden, a secret that can't be revealed to anyone, lest everyone be endangered. It's a big windy road of twine that is making my head hurt in a good way.

And my god. The art is just...astounding.

The booklet sez: This scene required about 96 layers of cels. Dems a lotta layers!

Multiple color palettes were used for characters to fit in different lighting situations, from daylight, to night, to warm environments to underwater. Mrs. Brisby had 46 different lighting situations, so there were 46 different color palettes for her.







Bluth's animation team used multiple passes on the camera to achieve transparent shadows, and backlit animation, where animated mattes are shot with light shining through color gels to create glowing, artificial light and fire.

Remember what I said about glowy eyes and the 'stache? PROOF.

Messiah Mouse!

I seriously choke up during this part, I don't know if it's the fact that her children are suffocating, or the intensity of her desire to save them, or all those solar flares shooting off her body, but it's intense and I'm crying my eyes out.

Fun Fact: Mrs. Brisby was originally Mrs. Frisby, as in the title of the book. The creators of the toy "Frisbee" refused to waive the use of the similar sounding name, so the film team had to go back and change each instance of "Frisby" to "Brisby" by fudging the sound or pulling a "B" sound from somewhere else in the character's dialogue. Though it's a silly situation, I like Brisby better.

So, I hope you don't hate me too much for this. I just really like my classic animation. And Dom DeLuise.

"Courage of the heart is very rare.
The Stone has a power when it's there."

The Brothers Bloom blows me away

Writer/director Rian Johnson has joined the ranks of the unappreciated filmatic geniuses along with Christopher Nolan, Jean-Pierre Jeunet, and Michel Gondry (I was trying to think of a female director to round this out, but of course, I couldn't think of any off the top of my head. But I think it's safe to say that all female directors are underappreciated.) If you missed his debut film Brick, you need to stop reading this, run down to Blockbuster or your best film-obsessed friend, and get your hands on that movie. You need to watch it, then come back and finish reading this.

It's okay, I'll wait.





All done? Good. What did you think? Pretty effin' good, right? Detective noir set in a high school with some of the snappiest dialogue since Snatch? Yes. A thousand times yes. Now, to The Brothers Bloom.



Brothers is a more lighthearted film than Brick, and, though set in the present, has whispers of decades past thanks to brilliant costuming by Beatrix Aruna Pasztor (Costume designer for Æon Flux and Vanity Fair) and filming in Montenegro (I smell a new vacation destination). The characters are quirky, and if you know anything about me, I love quirky characters. Mark Ruffalo and Adrien Brody star as brothers who, after a hilarious childhood montage narrated in poetic rhyming prose, become gentlemen thieves, the classiest of con artists, fellows one wouldn't mind being swindled by. Ruffalo is Stephen, the elder brother and mastermind of the cons, which he writes like Russians write novels.



Brody is the younger, more brooding and anxiety-ridden, brother, the lonely protagonist in Stephen's plots who wants out of the conning game, but can't find the strength to leave his brother and the only life he's ever known. Joining them in their exploits is Bang Bang (Rinko Kikuchi), the sexy, mute Japanese demolitions expert.



Let me just say that while watching this film, keep an eye on Kikuchi. Though she has very few lines, her mannerisms and interactions with the brothers are HILARIOUS, but not over the top. She also has a lovely moment of karaoke featuring her real voice, because, you know. JAPANESE.

For the brothers' last con, they take shut-in millionairess Penelope (Rachel Weisz) on a whirlwind adventure in antique smuggling. Penelope is reminiscent of Evey from The Mummy, but is different enough that the two characters stand apart. Penelope is more awkward, more excitable, and so goddamned precious you're going to be waving your fists in front of you going, "Eeeeee!" for a good portion of her screen time. Oh, and by the way, that card trick she does while talking to Brody's character about her childhood? Yeah, Weisz spent a month learning that trick for the continuous shot of her hands. She also learned skateboarding and rapping from Brody while shooting for the montage of Penelope's hobbies. BAM.

Besides the acting, which is superb, the writing, which is inspired, the story, which is fresh take on an age-old genre, and how achingly adorable the characters are, MEN PAY ATTENTION NOW, this movie makes me reevaluate my wardrobe. I know, guys, I know, CLOTHES ::SNORE::, but look, everyone in this movie looks AWESOME, especially the men. Pinstripes, vests, bowler and porkpie hats, cravats, driving gloves, black, white, and dark grey, OH MY GOD YOU MEN NEED TO DRESS LIKE THIS ALWAYS.







ALWAYS.

It's really hard to talk about this movie without giving too much away; now, in my perusal of the internets for pictures, I've come across some reviews that were decidedly in the negative vein. Some nonsense about this film being "ostentatiously quirky," and being "over the top." These people clearly haven't seen Twilight, so they don't really have a proper frame of reference of what constitutes a bad movie. Someone else drew an unfair comparison, saying that Johnson was ripping off Wes Anderson; while they both have an eye for cinematography and color and costume, Anderson's characters tend to be disconnected from their emotions, while Johnson's experience the strata of mood and actually demonstrate that outwardly. Anderson's movies also tend to slowly saunter towards their conclusions, whereas Johnson's are fairly active and quick-paced at times. This is nothing against Anderson; I do enjoy Wes Anderson films, but personally I think there is a definite separation between the two directors.
So, you know, me and those guys, we can't go to the same Olive Garden anymore.

I saw this movie twice, and I enjoyed it just as much on the second viewing as I did the first. This absolutely will be going into my DVD collection, and I've pretty much hassled everyone I know to go see this film immediately.
As my mother said when we went to see this, "I was so disappointed when it ended; I was like, wait, I can't just live in this movie forever?"


ps. Check out the cameos of Brick players Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Noah Segan, and Nora Zehetner.

I really need to see those "Tammy" movies in their entirety

Occasionally, I find myself a bit bored and desirous of some nice background noise while I read one of the million books on my bookshelf that haven't been read yet. So I found myself yesterday.

I looked over my DVDs to see what would be a proper "don't really have to pay attention" light and sound show (we don't have cable, and the VCR is on the fritz), and my eyes alighted on a recent addition to the collection, thanks to the Manfriend's mom.

Gidget, starring Miss Sandra Dee.



Now, up to this point, my exposure to Sandra Dee was limited to twenty minutes of Tammy and the Doctor and Rizzo's "Look at Me, I'm Sandra Dee!" in Grease. I suppose I could have caught Beyond the Sea, about her marriage to Bobby Darin, but my knee-jerk distaste for Kate Bosworth nipped that one in the bud. However, I do feel that being familiar with the lyrics to "Look at Me..." is a fantastic introduction to this film.

"Look at me, I'm Sandra Dee
Lousy with virginity"

Amazingly, the entirety of Gidget is an examination of this barely seventeen year-old's struggle with overcoming her tom boyish nature and the pressure to "become a woman." The inuendo is almost too much for me to handle.

From the start of the film, a good chunk of the screen time is dedicated to snaring 30-something year-old overly-tanned fellows who much prefer the company of their equally tanned surfer buddies lazing on the beach than the females skipping and bouncing through the sand. Flat-chested Gidget is coaxed by her middle-aged friends to put down the books and the cello and come out to "the manhunt." Whoo boy. From those first few scenes, I knew that I was in for a real cinematic treat. These friends, with boobs out to the moon and one sporting a giant granny-panty white bikini bottom (only technically a bikini because it's not connected to the top piece an inch and a half above it), are so busy trying to attract the attention of the sexist horndog surfer dudes (who are actually really engrossed in their bromances, and only take a break to whistle and hoot at some passing babes, you know, just so we know they're not gay) that they don't actually enjoy being at the beach AT ALL. When their cleverly masked ploys for attention fail, they leave in a huff, because clearly there isn't anything better to do at the beach than have a guy oggle your goods.

Thankfully, Gidget, at the time known as Francie, is determined to have fun rather than manhunt and goes snorkeling. However, despite growing up in California, she's an appalling swimmer, a fact that is demonstrated more than once. Maybe it's her teeny frame (and jeez, it's itsy bitsy, one wonders if Sandra's anorexia was in full swing at this point), but it turns out that kelp is her mortal enemy. So of course, like a GIRL, she ends up distressed and has to be rescued by one of the not-a-gay surfers, Moondoggie. Yeah. You read that right.

She of course falls for her rescuer, as well as becoming addicted to the adrenaline rush from the slow, small-waved surf back to the shore. What better way to spend her summer than combine two of her new favorite things--currying favor with "Girls are icky" Moondoggie and joining the guys gang of surfers?

Oh lord a' mercy, so it begins. The film is chock full of indirect references to Gidget's virginity and lack of woman-hood ("Gidget" is her surfer nickname, a mash-up of "girl" and "midget") and the uncomfortable half-hearted advances of the surfer dudes, who all look to be thirty and up, despite claims of being college-aged. Gidget's parents are blissfully ignorant of their young daughter gallivanting around with middle-aged beach bums, and any argument they have between themselves is immediately apologized for and ends in hugs. Even when she's dragged in by the police for breaking curfew (I know, what the hell 1950's?), her parents are just oh so happy that she's safe and sound. The best part, and by best I mean most cringingly uncomfortable, is when in an effort to make Moondoggie jealous, Gidget invites herself into Kahuna's shack o'love and offers up her maidenhead to the scruffy, greasy, sweaty Korean War vet. I guess all that staying out past curfew at a beach make-out party and drinking beer was enough to make her say "Fuck it, I wanna get laid!"

Kahuna, of course, reminding himself of the statutory rape laws, kicks her out before they can do the nasty, but not before some creepy whispering and caressing. With a bruised ego, Gidget flees into the night, gets a flat tire, and is interrogated by the cops who pull over. Despite the reputation-tarnishing evening, all is forgiven, the only consequence is that her father is really going to push that date with his colleague's son. SPOILER ALERT: turns out his colleague's son is Moondoggie!

Everything ends well: Kahuna gives up being a beach bum and gets a real job, Moondoggie goes back to college, and Gidget gets Moondoggie's pin! Oh rapture! Though I'm still trying to figure out how you go from an overly-candid conversation (for the 50s) with your mom about wanting to lose your virginity to losing your shit over being pinned.

I'm convinced that this movie makes for a fantastic drinking game, the rules for which I have just made up:

Drink any time...

• there is a thinly-veiled reference to Gidget's virginity or lack of boobage
• Kahuna's facial hair looks like a greasy smear, and not stubble
• a surfer dude does or says something incredibly sexist
• Moondoggie inexplicably breaks into song
• the surfer dudes are more interested in their bromance than much else
• the word "manhunt" is used
• Gidget puts on a fluffy cardigan
• Kahuna is not wearing shoes
• Kahuna shows up in an unbuttoned shirt with torn sleeves
• a fight with Gidget's parents is amicably resolved
• Gidget's parents are far too understanding
• dykey-McShorthair shows up and really has little purpose in the scene
• there are greenscreened surf scenes
• Gidget fiddles with her hair

Warning: you may get alcohol poisoning.

Your first kiss was smothered in blood? Man, we've all been there!

Imagine, dear reader, that you are chained in a dungeon. The grimy prison guard in all-too-small leather underpants is steadily whipping your slightly numb, yet still stinging back. His flabby arms undulate and his glistening belly heaves as his hand brings down the braid over and over. You weep rock salt and perhaps you wish for death. Yet all around you, the other prisoners beam beatifically at their torturers, writhing in ecstasy though they receive the same beating as you. You are perplexed, but can only assume that the others have snapped and believe that the painful and degrading is pleasant and enjoyable.

Dear reader, that is what it was like to watch Twilight.

Now, imagine then that your torture suddenly ends and you fall into a cooling bath of aloe, and a Heroes-era David Bowie is sponging your wounds while Kate Winslet feeds you Italian pastries. That is what it was like to watch Let the Right One In.



The genre of vampire movies, though large, is woefully lacking in truly excellent films. No matter how strong these films may be in one area, they are almost universally flailing in one or more key aspects. Francis Ford Coppola’s Bram Stoker’s Dracula starred the man of a thousand faces, Gary Oldman, as the erotic, tragic, and monstrous Dracula. The film is luscious in its use of color, scenery, and music. You get to watch Anthony Hopkins go a little off his nut and Tom Waits fall straight out of the oak tree. How could you lose? Oh, that’s right, asking Winona Ryder and Keanu Reeves to do British accents. Even watching topless vampire ladies unfold out of the bed and give ol’ Keanu a nip and a BJ wasn’t enough of a distraction from the ridiculous affectation.

I took the time to ask the internet what it thought the greatest vampire movies were, and I was greeted with the likes of Underworld, Blade, Queen of the Damned, Van Helsing, and Dracula 2000. ::facepalm:: Going by the choices, the genre is dominated by action flicks, erotica (thank you Alyssa Milano), or camp. The camp can be a lot of fun (Buffy the Vampire Slayer), and a good ol’ fashioned survival or monster movie is thrilling and scary, but very few films actually dissect what it would be like to be or encounter a vampire in the real world. In this respect, Let the Right One In stands out as the new golden standard for vampire films.



It figures that the Swedish would be the ones to make a film that is, at its core, about two lonely individuals who are persecuted by society. Set in a land of silence and snow with only a few precious hours of blazing sunlight, this film is subtle if nothing else. The music doesn’t lead the viewer’s emotions or suddenly screech as a violent attack takes place. It’s haunting and beautiful, perfectly reflecting the quiet hamlet the main character inhabits. The loneliness felt by Oskar, an eleven year old boy, and his new vampire neighbor Eli is evident in the use of natural sounds: breathing, sniffles, heartbeats, the crunch of snow, quiet taps on the wall, as well as silence. This is something that isn’t done as much as it should. American filmgoers have been perfectly trained to be led by music playing through the entirety of the film, being told what to feel and how to react to what’s onscreen, instead of letting the action affect them. The silence isn’t boring; it’s poignant, and it makes the film’s impact felt that much harder.

Did I forget to tell you what the film is about? Sorry, my lady boner for this movie can sometimes be a distraction. The overall plot is simple: Young boy, bullied by school mates, ignored by divorced parents, and woefully small and frail, makes a new friend when the androgynous and mysterious girl who doesn’t feel the cold moves in next door. After some time, he realizes that her strange behavior stems from her vampiric nature. The confusion over having the first person he’s cared about turn out to be a hungry predator is understandably painful for young Oskar. However, being a small weakling with dreams of blood and revenge, he finds strength through her to stand up to the local bully. Despite how dangerous and obsessive their attraction is, they fit together because they are the only ones who understand each other. Bizarre though it is, my favorite scene besides the underwater pool scene is at the end where Oskar is traveling by train with Eli in a trunk beside him, and they tap out “Kiss” in morse code on the box.



I have to say that I was truly impressed with how the film was handled; everything was understated, subtle, and most of all, disturbing. The viewer isn’t inundated with gore and violence and fighting and explosions; instead we get soft guttural growls, short, dark, and faraway shots of Eli leaping onto her victims, and a conservative use of blood. Surprisingly, the ascetic style makes the film feel more realistic. It makes the characters flesh and blood and heartbreakingly sympathetic. The lack of explosions (save one combustible patient in the hospital) and action does slow down the pace of the film; however, (unless you are an action junkie) this doesn’t make the film slow or painfully drawn out. It’s a character study that touches on several themes and moral dilemmas, and is well-worth your time.

Interesting notes:
I checked up on Wikipedia, and this film is based on the 2004 novel Låt den rätte komma in by Sweidsh author John Ajvide Lindqvist, who also wrote the screenplay for the film. Naturally, the book goes further into the backstory of several characters and is more violent and gory. An interesting twist is that Eli is an androgynous boy who was castrated two hundred years ago. The film gives this informative tidbit a nod with a brief flash of Eli changing and we see her not-quite-normal, possibly-scarred privates.

The title refers to a bonus track on Morrissey’s Viva Hate called “Let the Right One Slip In,” as well as vampire lore that proposes that vampires cannot enter a home unless invited. It was a high point in the film when Oskar forces Eli to come into his apartment without being asked and what happens to her as a result.

In typical douchebag American fashion, English publishers changed the title to Let Me In, citing that the original title was too long. Thankfully, due to the success of the film, the original title has been restored.

Now, I know that there are some vampire movies of note that are pretty excellent. I'll address these the best I can next time, so stay tuned. Same bat time, same bat channel!