In 2004, Swedish author John Ajvide Lindqvist wrote a remarkable coming-of-age story that deals with fatherlessness, alcoholism, school bullying, paedophilia, child transgenderism…and vampires*.

The book was a bestseller and 4 years later a film was made. Let the Right One In, directed by Thomas Alfredsen in 2008, was so well-made and so popular that within two years, Matt Reeves had directed a 1:1 Hollywood remake.

Surprisingly, the remake was also well-received and won fans such as Stephen King. A year later, in 2010, the stage adaptation premiered in Sweden, and in 2013 it was also adapted by the National Theatre of Scotland. Let the Right One In opened at the Apollo Theatre, London, in March 2014. Having heard plenty of positive reviews, I was keen to see how it worked on stage.

The interesting thing about the Swedish film is that it is both minimalist and still very powerful and visual – characteristics which I thought would be difficult to translate onto the stage. Firstly, the stage design was very well done. The great thing about theatre is that it provides so many different ways to portray place and emotion. In this case most of the background (an ethereal forest of silver birch trees) stayed static while parts of the set at the front changed in subtle ways to represent different locations, which were emphasised by lighting while everything else remained darker.

An interesting aspect of the show was the visual representation of emotions through the medium of dance and performance art. One character’s loneliness might be portrayed by several other members of the supporting cast dancing in the background; often mimicking the movements of the character in focus. I can’t say that performance art is normally my cup of tea, but it was still a very interesting approach and something entirely different to what you might expect.

Alongside this focus on fluidity and movement and the clever production/set design, the music played a great part in the overall effect. Most scenes were accompanied by loud, synthesised music, which set the tone and ethereal, mystifying atmosphere perfectly. The play definitely felt more like an adaption of the film rather than the book, on the basis that it omits the same passages and events from the book that were also missing in the films. Without revealing too much, something crucial about Eli’s (the vampire’s) past is explicitly explained in the book, whereas it is only hinted at in both the film and play. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing: the play is very entertaining and feels like a re-imagined remake in a new garment.

Despite the fact that the actors speak with Scottish accents, location-wise the play is still set in Sweden (although this is never really mentioned) and the characters have their original names, which are clearly Scandinavian. The acting is really great, especially by the two playing Oscar and Eli. Before watching the show, the most challenging and questionable part for me was how they would re-enact the final, dramatic scene of the film and, again, I don’t want to give anything away but it is very well visualised and a terrifyingly impressive staged representation of the scene.

Pleasingly, the play, like the film, is not afraid to get down and gory, something that’s unusual for theatre. The play is gory, beautiful, very entertaining and surprisingly cinematic (if this is possible), thanks to great design, awesome music and top-class acting. Fans of the book and films should be happy with the adaptation; and fans of dark and unusual theatre should like it as well. The play is showing at London’s Apollo Theatre until September 2014 and I would thoroughly recommend checking it out. It will bring the house down (hopefully not literally – but we all know the Apollo does have form).

*This was, of course, in the days before vampires sparkled, when they were still actually scary.

Rating: 8 out of 10 stars

This past weekend, i was lucky enough to nab myself a ticket to London Super Comic Con, at the ExCeL centre. Being a huge fan of all things comic related since the age of about 10, and even having one of my pieces about a girl falling in love with a tree published (don’t hate, it was a real tearjerker, promise), it may surprise you that i’ve never actually been to a comic book convention. With that thought in mind, i donned my Gorepress shirt, withdrew ample cash and headed off into the cold and snowy capital to see what the fuss was all about.

My Comic Con experience began even before we reached Excel centre. I’ve always struggled with the London underground, due to being colour blind, and pretty darn lazy in general, but luckily for me i was with a friend who uttered the most sagest of words: ‘Follow the cosplayers’. Never a wiser words has been spoken. As such, i can now say i know what it’s like to sit next to Wolverine on the Docklands light Railway.

We arrived in good time, to be greeted by long queues, doubled back on themselves. Luckily for us, the event was so well organised, the queue moved quickly and efficiently, and we weren’t waiting for more than 20 minutes. It’s important to mention though, that everyone in the queue was in the same environment; all looking forward to the convention, excited for their own reasons. I found it reminiscent of queuing for a movie such as Star Wars/Lord of the Rings on opening night, where everyone knows everything about it, some choose to go the extra mile and dress up, but you’re all there for the same reason, so you have a mutual respect and common ground with everyone.

Once we actually got into the venue itself, we were greeted by a huge open area, all clearly marked and labelled, impossible to get lost in. There was enough there to keep a newbie or a hard-core comic fan entertained, and it became instantly understandable how people can spend the whole weekend here and not get bored.

In terms of the pedigree of the artists there, it really was an A-1 turnout. Granted, last year topped this year and any other year, as Stan Lee, Mr comic book himself was there. This year however, didn’t disappoint. Notable mentions go to Dan Slot, writer of The Amazing Spider-Man, Arkham Asylum: Living Hell and She-Hulk, and the current writer of superior spider-man. I queued for a fair amount of time, but managed to get one of my Spider-Man issues signed by the man himself. Other favourites included Gabriele Dell’otto (Secret War, Marvel: Ultimate Alliance, Annihilation), Kevin Maguire (Justice League, Batman Confidential, Captain America, X-Men.), George Perez (Avengers, Teen Titans, and Wonder Woman.), Neil Edwards (avengers, Fantastic Four), and watercolour master Esad Ribic (Thor, Loki, X-Men, Silver Surfer) who i was lucky enough to watch paint an incredible portrait of Thor in about 15 minutes. In short, mind = BLOWN.

Aside from the big names, a favourite area of mine was Artists Alley; a place for the up and coming artists to showcase their work, and for a very reasonable price, would draw you a personal piece. I was lucky enough to get personal favourite Emma Frost drawn for me by the exceptionally talented Dave Stokes, (Twitter: @davestokes) which was my personal highlight of the day.

There were some great personal touches which impressed me, such as the portfolio review; a place you could go where professionals would check out your artistic/storytelling skills. I would have killed to have had my work overseen by a professional back in the day, and i thought it was really a great touch. It also explains why there were about 300 people walking around with chuffing great sketchbooks/canvases.

Oh, one more thing. Did i mention there were comic books there? Yeah, just the odd few hundred thousand or more… Comics, comics, as far as the eyes can see. I must say, i fell prey to the 25p each or 5 for £1 stalls, granted most of which were Spider-Women/Emma Frost influenced, but hey, I like what I like? In all seriousness, anything you wanted, they pretty much had it. Whether it was the 5 for £1 stalls, or the single, plastic encased $10,000 comics you were looking for, they had it all. Countless collectors with illegibly constructed lists of comics they needed greeted me at every stall, but this was no chaos at Christmas Eve mentality. Everyone was polite, everyone waited their turn, and it was a testament to the kind-natured people that attend conventions.

Of course no convention, especially a comic book convention can be talked about without mention of cosplayers. Those diehard fans who go above and beyond the call of duty, put in countless time and effort to dress up as their favourite hero/heroine. In short, it didn’t disappoint. I myself spoke to, got photographed with, and generally had a blast with Wolverine, Beast, Phoenix, Hellboy, Bane, Batman, The Riddler, Two-Face, Yorick (Y:The last Man), Black Cats (so many black Cats), Psylocke, Maya and Salvador from Borderlands 2 along with their 7 year old child dressed as a Psycho Bandit; and it’s the latter that really epitomise what cosplay and indeed comic con is all about. It had something for everyone, a family event, for all ages. Many people look down on people who attend conventions as geeks or nerds, but to fully immerse yourself in the day, you quickly realise that these are some of the nicest, most approachable people you’ll ever meet. They’re there to show their passion, their hobby, and they don’t care how people perceive them, especially the narrow minded people who typecast them.

All in all, i had an absolute blast. Came back having seen some of the best artists in the world, met some new friends, and with a backpack bulging with swag. I’d highly recommend it to anyone. Leave your preconceptions at the door, there’s something here for everyone.

So, see you at the MCM Expo in May?

Yeah? Sweet deals.

The circus brings out a kind of primordial fear in me. When I see scrawny people swallowing swords, or full grown men with painted faces performing slapstick, or gymnasts dressed in spandex balancing on top of each other, my gut response is not to clap and eat popcorn but to think : Kill them. Kill them with fire.

The only time people should ever be able to fit into suitcases is with the intervention of your local serial killer.

However, when my husband informed me that I was going to see The Circus of Horrors perform in Folkestone, I was optimistic. I was looking forward to seeing something that would push boundaries, that would channel inspiration from acts such as Franko B, that would tap into that core fear of the unknown, that nightmaric carnival of absurdity and spectacle.

I watched a dwarf lift weights with his turgid cock.

Perhaps it is my own fault for expecting too much. In reality, what I witnessed was not so much a circus of horrors, but the bastard love child of Repo the Genetic Opera and Jackass. If this sounds like your idea of bliss, then I can promise you that you will love this show. If this sounds like your idea of hell, well, join the club. I sat through the entire performance with my coat done up to avoid paying out for a rain mac – “You will get covered with bodily fluids” comes the warning – and grimaced as the opening gambit included the very tired “This show will contain language likely to offend, and if you don’t like it, we kindly ask that you FUCK OFF”. Risqué? Maybe in the nineties. Now it just seems prepubescent. Rude words and phalluses, blood and bodices. I can find more offensive material just by typing any random word into google image.

Perhaps I am being too harsh – a very talented turn by The Masked Wrestler aka The Priest aka The Man With The Chains Who Does Some Spinning In A Container Of Water Dyed Red To Look Like Blood – caused me to involuntarily draw breath, and I found myself clapping in approval. However, where the show really falls down flat is the plot. Or vast gaping lack of it.

There is no fault in simply having a showcase of talents, a spectrum of acts. The fault lies in trying to pretend there is an over-arcing plot tying them all together, bridging performances with seemingly random songs with indecipherable lyrics. The best I can surmise is this: They were in a mental ward, in France, and someone died, or perhaps got cut in two, so they went to Mexico to bring them back to life, where someone took a white potion as an excuse for an incredibly drawn out UV lit dance scene, reminiscent of Austin Powers. Then, erm… Some other things happen, and they sing about it. A dwarf sticks a light in his bottom, and it glows, and this means he can stick back together a man who was cut in two. Then we have some more gymnastics, a few more songs, have a break, eat some maltesers, quietly wonder what the hell that was all about, before being launched back into the fray.

The second half sees a woman’s throat cut with surprisingly dramatic effects – red blooms out in a gasp, caught in the spotlight.

Then, she gets up, puts some rollerboots on, and spins about. A lot. Quite fast.

We see sword swallowing, we see a dwarf lift weights with his penis, we see playing cards stapled to his face, we see him stick a hoover to his penis, and we hear songs. There seems to be some kind of conclusion – rather hastily, and out of nowhere, the circus master is accused of murder, taken up to be hung, the noose is tightened, the body falls, and… spoiler ahoy…

The ringmaster is dead! Or is he…? Here’s the switcharoo. Would you believe that the previously buff looking masked wrestler from earlier on is now revealed to be the ringmaster? Who would have guessed? Well, probably all the people with eyes. Firstly, because the dummy they hung was so unconvincing, and the switch rather ham fisted. Secondly, it’s also rather easy to spot the big reveal when the Masked Wrestler changes height, has grey hair sticking out of his mask, and a wealth of grey chest hair on display.

As for the body fluids they warn against? You occasionally get splashed with water (seemingly only to justify them asking for money for rainmacs) but in the second half some lucky soul gets phlegm from a swallowed sword flung onto them. The performers are very, very lucky it wasn’t me. Rainmac, no rainmac, I could be wearing a giant condom or a biohazard suit for all it matters, if someone lobs thready spittle on me I will destroy everything in a twenty metre radius, and not stop until my blood lust is satiated. Not edgy, not dark, just grim.

Anyway, another song, some dancing. A bizarre giant inflatable vacuum cleaner, for no better reason than they can.

FIN.

Would I recommend this show? Depends how much I like you, I suppose. Genuinely talented performers suffer from a set up that has lost its shock factor, and from hastily cobbled together framing for disparate acts. Scenes run too long, meaning what would have been, in passing, shocking, soon fades into tedium. The presentation of a man with a split tongue, or “free floating” ribs, or many tattoos is no longer a spectacle – my local pub offers much of the same. The direction fails to take into account those in the side seats, meaning that the interval heralded a scrabble to take up the vacant spaces in the central row. The Circus of Horrors has been running since 1995, and was something of a legend when I was a teenager. I can’t help but think it needs something new – a fresh take, a fresh direction, or perhaps just an influx of new blood, to carry it into 2010.

Conclusion : Moments of brilliance lost in a tired, confused setting.