For the uninitiated, the impeccably titled Swedish vampire romp Låt den rätte komma in (“Let The Right One In”) was released in 2008 to the delight of horror aficionados. The English-language remake, then, struck fear into the hearts of many – would John Ajvide Lindqvist’s lonely child protagonist become a backwards-baseball-cap-wearing cretin who high-fives vampire cheerleaders while performing a nosegrind at the half-pipe? Thankfully, this is not the case, as Let Me In is a remake of the highest quality, even if this means sticking particularly closely to its predecessor.

The story – set in snow-smothered New Mexico, 1983 – revolves around troubled 12-year-old Owen (Kodi Smit-McPhee), whose social schedule is dominated by bouts of schoolyard bullying, brooding over his parents’ divorce and practising threatening his tormenters at knifepoint in the mirror like a pint-sized Travis Bickle. That is, until he befriends elusive new neighbour Abby (Chloë Moretz, of Kick-Ass fame), a barefooted vampire sprog cursed with a bloodlust sated nightly by her faux-father/amateur serial killer (Richard Jenkins), whose resultant trail of carnage soon attracts the attention of a local police detective (Elias Koteas).

Perhaps the film’s chief problem is the fact that those familiar with its Scandinavian forerunner will struggle to shake the innate feeling of déjà vu which surrounds Let Me In, the supposed ‘Americanisation’ amounting here to little more than a language switch and proceedings being draped in the moralistic trapp­ings of Reaganite America. The result is hardly in the league of Gus van Sant’s shot-for-shot remake of Psycho (spits on floor), but one can’t help shaking a vague, woozy feeling of pointlessness.

Granted, there are some minor changes – director Matthew Reeves both streamlines and invigorates by omitting some peripheral characters and reshuffling certain scenes, even if making the film’s opening sequence an event which happens an hour into the running time slightly undermines the film’s steady escalation of dread. Addit­ionally, the film’s standout set-piece – a backseat POV shot of an especially animated car accident – is impress­ive but ultimately little more than window dressing.

However, those coming to this film unencumbered by any know­ledge of the original will probably be impressed. Doing away with the preening, zeitgeist-hogging bloodsuckers of recent times, Let Me In provides a subtle, sincere child’s-eye view of the wonderful word of vampirism, working as both a conventional horror movie (the claret runs satisfyingly freely in the film’s occasional spasms of violence) and a decidedly unconventional picture of childhood friendship culminating in a gloriously deplorable denouément.

Likewise, the film is carried by its invariably excellent cast, particularly the two young leads. Smit-McPhee excels in capturing the nuances of an unhappy childhood, with Moretz – unrecognisable sans purple wig and potty mouth – also delivering a note-perfect performance as a girl who’s “been 12 for a really long time”, imbuing her character with both world-weariness and a feral danger. Able support is provided by both Elias Koteas (seemingly giving his best Robert Duvall impression) and Richard Jenkins.

In sum, Let Me In is a remake that matches the original in almost every way but never strives to surpass it, and only in this respect disappoints. That said, newcomers will no doubt be entranced by its jet black depiction of fear, fangs and friendship, and thus the film comes highly recommended; it may lack the sucker-punch originality of its predecessor, but retains both its trademark heart and gall.