True Blood is unabashedly about sex and violence. And occasional witty quips.
In every scene, it either circulates shock value or strokes primal needs. Or both. Our aggression, our lust, our fantasies, our dreams, all tucked into every episode of blood-splatter, sex scenes, and small-town gossiping, Americana-style. It is what we are, except about a bajillion times worse and a bajillion times sexier and a bajillion times more terrifying.
True Blood has been seen as an allegory for gays; “coming out of the coffin” is analogous to “coming out of the closet” and “death to fangs” is similar to “death to fags.” Yet, as I watch more and more of it, True Blood is not about the repression and liberation of the minority, it is about a lot of beings having a lot of sex and doing a lot of killing in the meantime while people gossip about it.
True Blood is devoid of meaning, except what you may care to offer.
That is so refreshing. Horrifyingly so.
*I do not recommend you to watch this if you dislike nudity and cursing abound. Also, if you are below age 18.