rated R

When word spread that director Matt Reeves, the fellow who sprung the frenzied nouveau Godzilla quakycamapalooza “Cloverfield” on the world, would be at the reins of an Americanized version of the understated and heartbreaking Swedish vampire insta-classic “Let the Right One In,” movie fans the world over—horror geeks and independent film snobs alike—shook their heads and breathed out a sad moan of dispirited hopelessness. The Swedish version, released not even two years ago, was by most critical accounts (including greatandsecret's ) an absolute triumph. A serious and brilliantly realized tale of isolation, confusion and adolescent rage seamlessly melded with traditional vampire motifs, no film before had ever been made quite like it. An original vision in every way, the very notion of chucking such a diamond onto the heap of other recent, dumbed-down, cheap knock-off travesties like "The Grudge" and "The Ring" felt like the last nail in the coffin of American creativity.

And it kind of is.

 rated PG-13

Apparently they don’t call Lucifer “The Fallen One” for nothing. Having spent the halcyon days of his career sewing black seeds of rebellion and distrust in the hearts of the royal family of God’s own first children, he apparently skulks around nowadays amongst petty scoundrels, common thugs and general miscreants, scratching out what little mischief he can by punking unwitting citizens in second-rate high-rises.

His unfathomable capacity to topple empires and plague the Earth has demonstrably dwindled to an anemic little X-power which generates a field of ambient, low density misfortune. When he’s near, so the film “Devil” professes, you may be slightly more apt to slip on a banana peel or find your toast has landed jelly-side-down. If you’re unlucky enough to step into an elevator with him, you may apparently expect to be stuck between floors for an hour and 20 minutes, and possibly miss your job interview. The lights may flicker out, which would also be bad luck, because The Lord of Flies himself might just seize the opportunity to give you a nasty pinch, raising a little welt on your back. Poor ol’ Hob. Look on his works Ye Mighty, and sigh.