Let The Wrong One In (2022) Review

A raucous, boozy hen party in Transylvania, complete with de rigeur inflatable penis, takes a turn for the worse when the bride-to-be Sheila (Mary Murray) heads into the shadows to escape an annoyed bouncer – well, Sheila did hit him with said penis – only to run straight into a vampire who helps himself to a free drink.

Cut to Dublin and the ordinary life of young supermarket employee Matt (Karl Rice) who is about to grab his packed lunch and head off to work when his ne’er do well brother Deco (Eoin Duffy) shows up, needing a place to hide out and displaying an unfortunate tendency to smoulder in the sunlight. Deco’s latest night on town has led him to a chance encounter with Sheila and now he is also a creature of the night. What are the siblings to do? Keep him hidden from their disapproving Ma (Hilda Fay), for starters…

Writer/director Conor McMahon’s freewheeling, unashamedly Irish comedy horror provides the viewer with just enough in terms of familiar vampire lore to get the party started but is more concerned with piling on the gory slapstick than getting too bogged down with the mythological details.

Yes, you can’t see the bloodsuckers in a mirror, as in the norm, but a handily deployed umbrella will also give protection from the ravages of full-on daylight when necessary. For the vamp hunter, the local chippy may provide salvation in terms of its garlic sauce.

As Deco’s bloodlust increases and he becomes increasingly difficult to control, Matt faces the grim prospect of offing his bro, a suggestion wholeheartedly endorsed by taxi driver Henry (Buffy TV series alumnus Anthony Head), a local taxi driver turned vampire hunter whose connection to Sheila adds another bonkers layer to the plot. Meanwhile, the ghastly extended hen do from Hell is planning the grand opening of a nightclub where unsuspecting punters may end up as a human optic.

All of this may prove just too silly for some but Let The Wrong One In’s strength is taking its preposterous plot and running with it to ever dafter lengths while still managing to strike the odd note of pathos with its tale of sibling rivalry and unconditional – well, almost unconditional – familial love.

Mostly, though, it’s gleefully, snigger-inducingly crude in its humour and awash with the red stuff as Matt attempts to channel his inner slayer and save the day for the good clubgoers of Ireland’s capital.

The decision not to tone down the accents of its main players is a fine one and if the odd gag falls by the wayside because of its regionality that’s more than made up for it by the tone of genuine warmth and authenticity although the predictably gruesome, though brief and ridiculous, demise of a neighbour’s pet might prove an occasional step too far even in a movie this deliberately OTT.

The central double act is constantly entertaining, Karl Rice playing the perfect straight man to Eoin Duffy’s feckless, increasingly feral Deco. In a supporting role, Anthony Head is an absolute delight, having fun with a character that may not be a million miles from Rupert Giles but confounding audience expectations as a complicated character with an unexpectedly vicious streak who also takes time out from his vigilante mission to talk train timetables.

In a film where much of the main action is centred on the blokes, it’s interesting that the longest shadows are cast by the female characters. Their influence is inescapable, whether it’s Sheila’s romantic hold over Henry and her somewhat less than romantic hold over Deco or the boys’ Ma, laying down the law of the house and constantly warning Matt to stay on the straight and narrow lest he turn out like his ne’er do well brother.

The action sequences have a certain early Raimi-esque quality to them as characters wreck entire residences and are smacked around with various household objects in ever more cartoony bursts of violence, culminating in an amusingly bloody face off and a hilariously memorable moment of redemption for one of our protagonists. Do you want weird CGI that you won’t get out of your head for a while? You’ve got it.

Let The Wrong One In may not offer anything drastically different in its mix of claret and chuckles but its heart – and all of the other places to which its pumps blood – is in the right place. In the comedy horror stakes, McMahon’s script leans heavily into the former but the terror tropes of the creature feature are observed clearly, resulting in the occasional moment which is oddly unnerving and utterly ludicrous at the same time.

There are points at which the tale loses momentum and there’s possibly a case to be made for trimming a few minutes from the runtime but Let The Wrong One In always rallies with either a cracking one-liner, a gory sight gag, or both. It’s undemanding, good natured, crowd pleasing fun with an ending that’s satisfying but also appropriately messy enough to match its imperfect family dynamic. Give this one a whirl, I think you’ll fang me for it.

Not apologising.

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