I miss subtlety. I miss allusion, hints, intimation and mere suggestions. This is not a moment of wistfulness that is unfamiliar to me, but what brought about this latest attack of longing for a light touch was watching the trailer for Let Me In , the American version of Let The Right One In . The Swedish original is so perfect that I did for a while rant about the ridiculousness of Hollywood always having to remake something that's already good, just because there might be subtitles involved (don't even get me started on The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo series). And I wasn't alone - criticism about this boneheaded move abounded, until Let Me In came out and several critics whose opinion I trust retracted their rants. Sure, they still thought the first one was perfection, but said that the American version had, for once, respected the original and although reinterpreted it slightly, retained all its beauty, innocence and creepiness. Admittedly, I'm not sure creep...