HERE COMES A LOVE BITE: Sookie (Anna Paquin) and Bill (Stephen Moyer) size each other up.
As a culture, we probably pay too much attention to box office gross, as if the $100 million dollars other people doled out to see Angelina Jolie make bullets curve in “Wanted” is reason enough for us to add to the pile (it's not). Still, that last weekend represented the lowest box office gross in seven years probably says something about the movies released.
So rather than mourn the ever-downward-spiraling career of Nicholas Cage, who's currently starring as a forlorn assassin in “Bangkok Danger-ous,” how 'bout a review of HBO's new series “True Blood”? It has, at least, cinematic aspirations.
It also has vampires, which the entertainment magazines tell us are hot right now, thanks in large part to the teen-age fervor over the “Twilight” novels, which utilize the tried-and-true vampires as sexual repression and teen-age angst metaphor.
“True Blood” (Sundays, 8 p.m., HBO) casts its nets broader. In the muddled first episode, creator Alan Ball (“Six Feet Under,” “American Beauty”) seems overwhelmed with all the metaphoric potential. Are vampires, recently out in society thanks to the Japanese invention of syn-thetic blood, a stand-in for the gay community? See a shot of religious protest in the title sequence — incidentally the most compelling part of the show — of a road sign that says “God hates fangs,” and “coming out of the coffin,” the common parlance for vamps joining polite society.
Or maybe, since the show's set in the Deep South of northern Louisiana, where Spanish moss covers everything and no one wears sleeves, vampires-as-African-Americans works better? Early in the episode, in fairly graphic fashion, we're introduced to “fang bangers,” women who seek out vampires, who're rumored to be sexually ferocious, and the corresponding worries that come from parents and brothers and boyfriends, who fret over miscegenation.
Also, we're sure to be confronted with vampires-as-forbidden-love, as wide-eyed waitress Sookie Stackhouse (Anna Paquin) considers a relationship with the new vampire in town, Bill (Stephen Moyer).
That Ball can't get over the elastic potential of his vampires and focus is a problem, but the show's got bigger ones. Based on Magnolia na-tive Charlaine Harris' Southern vampire series of novels, the show is a trash novel come to life. Characters are caricatures of old Southern types: The fiery barmaid. The oversexed ne'er do-well.
The meth-y depraved. Their motivations often only seem to exist to advance the plot. Graphic sex, like that not seen, even on pay cable, for some time, promises to figure in often. Oh yeah, the lead character, Sookie, is inexpli-cably a telepath.
All that may improve or at least evolve. Trash can transcend. But I can see myself fading quickly if a few characters don't get eaten soon. There's plenty of room for error when a non-Southerner with a big budget and a faraway location takes on a Southern project outside of the South. But Alan Ball is from Atlanta. Most of “True Blood” is shot in Louisiana. So why the hell is Michael Raymond-James, a method-trained actor from Michigan, playing a Creole named Rene? His accent was laughably bad. Really, my living room erupted when he spoke. He seemed peripheral, so there may be hope, but Rutina Wesley, who's from Las Vegas and plays Sookie's best friend Tara with an accent seem-ingly culled from watching old episodes of “Beverly Hillbillies,” seems to be around for the long haul.
I'll keep watching, at least for a couple of weeks, if only to have a little “Mystery Theater 3000” fun.
If anyone was skeptical of the Little Rock Film Festival's move away from a cineplex in Riverdale to downtown Little Rock and North Little Rock, surely their doubts were assuaged after this year's fest.
After a couple of years of local and rising national acts playing in the Stickyz Music Tent underneath the Broadway Bridge, the venue-within-a-venue will make a move east this year from the tent to an outdoor stage near the Clinton Presidential Center.
If anyone was skeptical of the Little Rock Film Festival's move away from a cineplex in Riverdale to downtown Little Rock and North Little Rock, surely their doubts were assuaged after this year's fest.
Before last Friday night, the saddest, most "depressing" Depression-era story I had read was Horace McCoy's "They Shoot Horses, Don't They?" However, after watching The Arkansas Repertory Theatre's opening performance of William Inge's "A Loss of Roses," I can attest that this play is as rough and unflinching as that Depression-era tale, or any other.
Our news partner Channel 4 has a news story that deserves repetition in full. More national headlines for the small people of Arkansas should follow directly.
Perhaps U.S. Rep. Tim Griffin might want to reconsider his earlier decision not to include Republican Rep. Loy Mauch on the list of Republican candidates he'd asked not to use his campaign contributions, having read some of what they'd written.