Set-Design Drool: True Blood

Are y'all watching True Blood on HBO? I can't get enough of this soapy, Southern-fried vampire series.

In fact, I'm a sucker -- so to speak -- for pretty much any well-done, intelligent vampire tale. Unlike seemingly half of the adult female population, though, I'm utterly immune to the supposed charms of the Twilight saga and its sparkling (non)bloodsuckers. I like my vampire fables complete with sex and blood, thank you very much. (As for what's behind our collective obsession with the undead, this recent New York Times article attempts to psychoanalyze the fang fixation.)

Anyway, there is plenty of sex and blood in Bon Temps, Louisiana -- the fictional setting for the show, which centers around clairvoyant barmaid Sookie Stackhouse; her 170-year-old vampire boyfriend, Bill Compton; Bill's newly undead "daughter," Jessica; shape-shifting roadhouse proprietor Sam; Sookie's formerly demon-possessed BFF, Tara; mysterious Maenad Maryann; vampire head honcho Eric and his tart-tongued sidekick, Pam; gay and fierce short-order cook, hustler, porn-site entrepreneur, and erstwhile drug dealer Lafayette; Sookie's dumb but sexy brother, Jason; and a collection of other odd -- and often oddly lovable -- characters.

Of course, being the design geek that I am, I'm nearly as fascinated by the physical spaces the show's characters inhabit as I am the steamy storylines they become entangled in. Let's take a little tour, shall we? (Warning: Mild spoilers ahead.)

Bill's digs -- no surprise -- are my favorite. Imbued with the sort of dark glamour and crumbling grandeur that makes me go weak in the knees, it's a fitting home for Bon Temps' resident Victorian-era vamp.

Bottom photo from True-Blood.net

Bill's home probably looks much the same as it did when he last resided here as a human in the 1860s. It's all florid, peeling wallpaper, dark-stained woodwork, fine-but-threadbare rugs, flickering gaslight, and aged, ornate furnishings. In a word: Yummy. (And yeah, I think I'd find it hard to resist in such lushly Gothic surroundings, too.)

Bill plays the piano like any well-bred Southern gentleman, and doesn't seem terribly interested in current decorating trends. But he is starting to outfit his home with modern amenities like a Wii system, with which he rather heartbreakingly plays virtual golf on a sunlight-dappled course.

Daddy is no fun at all. But his sumptuous red velvet settee is pretty sweet.

Top and bottom photos from TrueBloodNet

This is where the magic happens, people. Though if I were Sookie, I think I'd quietly remove the portrait -- presumably of Bill's Civil War-era bride -- from the mantle. It might put a bit of a damper on their frequent, torrid make-up sex, after all.

Eric the Viking vamp kicks back in Bill's bathtub. Yes, please.

Sookie's family home, by contrast, is all warm, cozy Granny style.

Photo from TrueBloodNet

And I mean that literally. Sookie lived in the pleasantly dilapidated farmhouse with her late grandmother, and from the looks of it, she hasn't made many changes since her beloved Gran was killed in the kitchen during Season One.

Still, the Stackhouse home represents warmth, family, and normalcy in a world that's gone a bit mad. It may not push any design envelopes, but it's homey and welcoming, and that is as it should be.

Eric's bar, Fangtasia, is a redneck roadhouse-turned-tawdry, over-the-top vision of vampire cool.

Blood-red walls, flocked upholstery, and faux-goth accouterments complete a look that seems geared more to satisfying the leering tourists' idea of what an undead hangout should look like than a place that (incredibly hot) thousand-year-old Nordic vampires would call home-away-from-home.

OK, I guess what really completes the look is a floor full of gore from a messily staked vampire bartender. RIP, Longshadow.

Photo by jaded*mystery

Sam's restaurant and bar is the setting for much of the show. It's where the townsfolk meet and where many of the main characters work or play.

Can you smell the beer and burgers?

I can't tell you how despondent I was when it appeared that Lafayette had met his maker in last season's cliffhanger. Love. Him. (Anna Paquin may have won a Golden Globe for her grating, overly accented Sookie, but Nelsan Ellis brings it week after week. The man was robbed, if you ask me.)

Photo from TrueBloodNet

Oh dear, it looks like a thrift store exploded in here. That said, Lafayette always does the best he can with the tools available to him. Not surprisingly, he's turned a dreary little abode furnished with garage sale castoffs into a funky, colorful crash pad with attitude. Who knew that he had a Tiki Fabulous side?

Photo from TrueBloodNet

What is that on the wall -- some sort of Santeria shrine? Oh Lafayette, you are so ... complex.

Given the untamed bacchanalias that take place here, Maryann's stately spread is deceptively buttoned-up.

The classic architecture is accented with touches of exotica that presumably provide clues to Maryann's past and true identity. There's the fresco depicting Pan in the courtyard, for starters, as well as the tribal masks and the ancient fertility statue inside.

Come to think of it, the shape of that statue is oddly reminiscent of the horned, demonic-looking bull creature that attacked Sookie. (Get out of the house now, Sam!)

Overflowing trays of juicy, delectable food are ever-present at Maryann's. (Was that a human heart in the stew her houseboy was preparing for last week's poolside party-turned-orgy?) What is this woman up to -- and is she really a woman at all?

What other clues do you think True Blood's sets reveal about Bon Temps' residents and the town's supernatural goings-on? Any southerners out there with quibbles about how the region's architecture and interiors are depicted on the series? Most importantly, could Eric be any hotter?

If you have theories, thoughts, or opinions on the show, its set design, and/or Eric's hotness quotient, please post a comment and share them!

P.S. Tell me these opening credits aren't awesome.

That's Random: Why I Didn't Like Juno

Nick and I finally caught Juno, and we were truly excited to see it. I have to say, though, that I really didn't like it -- in a strong, well, dislike kind of way. Afterwards, we both jumped online to re-read the reviews and try to figure out why everyone on the planet is falling all over themselves about this movie. (We're still mystified, but for what it's worth we did find one critic who perfectly summed up our conflicted feelings about the film.)

It's not that I didn't get it. I like winsomely quirky indie fare about so-geeky-they're-totally-awesome teens with winsomely quirky indie soundtracks just as much as the next aging wannabe (but-never-really-was) hipster. I mean, Napoleon Dynamite is actually one of my favorite movies ever. But Juno? Stop drinking the Kool-Aid, people.

Don't get me wrong -- I love that a movie written by an ex-stripper about a smart, dorky girl has made over 100 million bucks and has people lining up at the cineplex. I'll grant you that the performances, without fail, were lovely: Ellen Page, as the titular knocked-up 11th grader, was luminous. (She's equally impressive as a barely pubescent avenging angel in the sort of disturbing Hard Candy.) Jason Bateman was perfect as the initially super-cool, ultimately sad and creepy adoptive dad who you don't know if you want to punch or, like, make out with. Jennifer Garner? Surprisingly excellent. J.K. Simmons? Wish I had a dad like that. And I'll watch Michael Cera in anything -- even in those yellow shorts.

But from the self-consciously twee music (much of it by Kimya Dawson of the Moldy Peaches and Antsy Pants -- how's that for precious?) to the equally twee illustrated opener to the absolutely ridiculous dialogue that by all rights would get you flunked out of Screenwriting 101, Juno seriously bugged me. "This is one doodle that can't be un-did, Homeskillet" -- from the guy behind the counter at the drugstore, no less, who of course is played with a generous ladling of irony by Rainn Wilson? Pardon me while I retch -- I think I have an eye-rolling-induced migraine.

To me, Juno is like a cute, smart, funny, talented guy who just tries way too hard to be cool and clever, and winds up being really annoying as a result. (Like, I don't know ... John Mayer.) And for this, the movie gets Best Screenplay, Best Director, and Best Picture Oscar nominations? Please put down the crack pipe, Academy voters.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go watch My So-Called Life on DVD.

(Thanks to Jim DeRogatis of the Chicago Sun-Times for mentioning this post in one of his own critiques of the movie. Juno-haters of the world unite!)

P.S. Speaking of annoying viewing experiences and dumb award shows, how unbearably ass-y was the Grammys last night? Even knowing that it would, as always, be totally lame -- and recording the broadcast so we could fast-forward through the whole thing in, like, half an hour -- it was painful.

The only performances that didn't have us peeking out from behind our hands in cringing horror were Feist, who seemed to be making an effort to minimize the cheese factor by keeping it stripped down; the Foo Fighters, who are always effortlessly kickass (though I thought the John Paul Jones-conducted orchestra accompanying them was sort of pointless); and Amy Winehouse, who barely seemed to know where she was, but who was sort of glorious in her smacked-out way nonetheless. (How long do you think before she's dead, or at least completely toothless? I'm taking bets over here.)

And wait -- the White Stripes win two awards, and they don't even show them? Just one minute of endearing Jack-and-Meg awkwardness would have gone a long way toward making the rest of that sad snoozefest worth watching, IMHO.

Agree? Disagree? Discuss.