We consider children angels, and frequently they are. But when they aren’t we prefer not to hold them responsible for it, even if they turn out to be bloodsuckers. Which is the point behind the complex vampire saga Let Me In.
Of the two pre-pubescent protagonists, one is a vampire, and one is not: one is a victim of bullying, the other has the strength of an army. It’s a tale of pre-sexual love, an interspecies Romeo and Juliet, with Juliet on ‘roids. It’s love, without the requisite marriage thing that twists Twilight into politically dubious knots. Instead, it involves a post-feminist gender reversal, where the female protagonist not only takes care of herself, she protects the meek from the terrors of the world while she does.
And unlike the chaste denizens of Twilight, who decide to get hitched to get schtuped, Let Me In is radical in ways no marriage vow could possibly cover. The characters know how important connectivity is in a world where adults often fail at it, and are willing to commit without a guarantee of eternity. Let Me In is political, bold, heroic, and modern, in the quietest possible way.