True Crudby Albert Burr / 02.10.2009
Some TV shows are so bad they’re brilliant, like Baywatch. But some shows are just lame, with each new act of ill-conceived motivation draining it of credibility at the crawling speed of smell. Now I know many people are going to freak out about now, but the show I’m referring to is True Blood.
HBO usually knows what they’re doing, but True Blood is truly a load of old sweaty bollocks. Sweaty, because it’s all hot and bothered down south in Louisiana. Bollocks because that’s what it has for brains: the promise of buff nudity in all its bronzed, glistening, cleavage-happy glory. It’s girl-porn.
The turn-on, I’m told by a reliable female source, is the notion that a tortured, ancient being just oozing quiet charisma is suddenly (and inexplicably, I might add) so taken with our heroine that he gives her long, meaningful stares that speak of repressed urges and hint at hidden depths. But of course he’ll never drink her blood, because she’s special. In fact, she’s so special she’s the only virgin over 18 in the entire state (if not the country). And he respects that. He only wants to be with her. It must be a relief for her to trust that he’s not going to take his Johnson out at some inopportune moment hoping for a bit of spit and polish. He’s just here to protect her, because he feels a strange, supernatural connection.
But of course Anna Paquin is special. She can read minds. And what she reads is the usual monologues of hatred and resentment and yearning that clutter our minds. No wonder she’s still a virgin – she can see right through all the pretty-boy personas of prospective suitors.
This is fiction, of course. But when fiction gets pushed too far, it starts feeling like a Grade 5 teacher telling the class a story that she’s making up as she goes along. For example, we’re meant to just accept that Paquin’s character can read minds. But then we’re supposed to indulge the fact that she can’t read the mind of her boss who’s been acting pretty strange lately and, it turns out, is a fucken shapeshifter (uh, spoiler alert, should’ve mentioned that, sorry). Hmm, didn’t see that coming – because she conveniently couldn’t read his mind.
And isn’t it somewhat predictable, along the jagged fault lines of the virgin/whore split, that it’s the women with Duracell-bunny libidos that get murdered all over the place? Mmm, no wonder Paquin is so protective of her petticoat. Just look what happens to the sluts. Yup, they get strangled – that’ll teach them to have screaming orgasms.
But the best part of the plotting is the clever twist in the premise: vampires don’t drink human blood anymore (they seem content with some synthetic blood from Japanese laboratories, which makes it a good thing they’re immortal). Instead it has become de rigueur among deviant humans to drink vampire blood… And if you OD on it you’ll get the hardest erection, like, ever! Which will be really funny!
I can just image the stoned geniuses who first came up with this show (I don’t know their names, because I couldn’t be bothered to look it up). Seemed like utter brilliance at the time, hey guys? But then you’re supposed to sober up long enough to realise your dumb-ass ideas don’t hold any water in the light of day. You’re supposed to save your stoned ramblings and light-bulb moments for the dustbin, so that you don’t go and make a TV show that lowers society’s ever-diminishing IQ even further.
Of course, the joke’s on me, because they didn’t do that. They made a TV series and, with it, a dumpster full of dirty cash. So they’re not geniuses, I think we’ve established that. But it doesn’t take a genius to realise that the TV-addicted public will fall for any old moronic shit these days. If it were up to me, I would have them (the creators, not the viewing public) pay penance. I would make them watch Bram Stoker’s Dracula by Francis Ford Coppola while tripping on a head full of acid. I’ve done it, and can attest with absolute authority that vampires are nothing like emo goths who hang out in biker bars. After centuries of life, they’ve found better things to do than stand around clutching ‘blood’ beers and checking each other out under an arbitrary heavy metal soundtrack.
One thing’s guaranteed: if there are vampires in the world (and there aren’t), then they’re sure as shit not watching the wet panty of a wooden show called True Blood.