I have been told that the English, historically, do not celebrate Halloween as aggressively as do North Americans.

Of course, that all depends on how one celebrates Halloween in the first place; I tend to turn off all the lights in the house, sneak down to the basement with Kate (and the bags of candy we tell each other we buy for the neighborhood kids, even though they never show up) and watch a horror movie.

We’re spending Halloween apart this year, what with me still in London for tomorrow night’s big gala awards thingie, but I’ve found a way to honor my tradition: I’m catching the BFI’s new restoration of Hammer’s “Dracula” — the one with Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing — at a digital screening around the corner from my hotel.

I kind of hope no one else shows, for that basement-projector feeling, but I’m getting the sense that it’ll be reasonably well-attended; Roger Clarke, my fellow FIPRESCI juror, brightened visibly when I told him I was thinking of going, so we might be able to talk a few other people into coming as well, the better to collectively shriek and hiss at the good parts.

I will even offer to share my bag of candy.