I want to love True Blood. I really do. I want to see dark, misunderstood creatures of the night that look great in black and have a sexual magnetism that no man or woman can resist — much like myself.
But Sunday night’s True Blood left me hanging. I couldn’t get past the bad dialogue spoken with the faux Southern accents out of the middle school production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Did Jason really start flossing his teeth after that energetic session with Dawn? Was Sookie really going for a bit of self-love, or was she just trying to remember where she put her keys?
If I have to ask, not hot.
When you go to a diner, you order scrambled eggs because you know that it’s a safe bet — you can’t screw up scrambled eggs. You’d think that girls doing manual labor in short shorts on a blistering hot day would be the scrambled eggs of hot scenes.
Not so much: Sookie doesn’t even break a sweat pushing that lawnmower before Gran comes out in her house dress and a glass of lemonade.
In my world, vampires are underground, dark and foreboding. Bill the vampire said it himself: “We have to moderate our behavior now that we’re out in the open.” So they’re living in mainstream society; does that mean they are destined to make out in trailers on sofas upholstered in 1970s Salvation Army?
Call me a romantic, but that doesn’t say sexy to me.
I’m keeping my mind open. Maybe Alan Ball can change my definition of sexy. If anyone can make alcoholism and trailers hot, Alan Ball can.
So, I’m going to tune in again and see if I can’t find a little bit of sizzle because I’m not sure what else True Blood has to offer if not for a bit of medieval t&a.
Are my expectations too high? Am I missing the point? Is my view of sexy too old school? You tell me.