Say what you will about the producers of this show, but never say they aren’t ambitious in scope. What started off as a (somewhat) insightful commentary on an insular, ostracized group of vampires in an exotic setting has turned into an orgy of batshit-crazy werebeasts and figures of lore. Over the past two seasons, True Blood has effectively served as The Wire For cryptozoologists.
The vampires are now but a cog in a silly, silly machine that cranks out plot lines regarding panther rape and such. Also, the witches aren’t even hot! What up with that?
I have never been witness to a show that manages to incorporate sex into every aspect of its production. Werewolves? Nope. Big, burly, sexy werewolves. That vampire is going to bite that guy on the neck and kill him, but they’re going to be shirtless, and they’re going to be more than a little gay about it. The sexiness in this show makes Twilight look like Ratatouille.
Fun fact about True Blood: At any given time, three characters must be chained up and shirtless. Two of them will be writhing; one with sexual pleasure, and the other in sexy pain from being eaten.
Tara Thornton, the show’s resident wet blanket, blew town at the end of last season, much to everyone’s joy. She turned up in the season premiere as a lesbian Ultimate Fighter who was also a drifter. And no one even batted an eye.
Sometimes, the show decides that the myriad characters just aren’t compelling enough in the present day, so they’ll flash back to show them as (sexy) Vikings, perhaps doing battle with Nazi werewolves. Sure, our history texts never addressed the animosity between vampire Vikings and Nazi werewolves, but leave it to True Blood to always tell the whole story.