Hey! You there. You who may or may not be over the age of 30. Remember when Vampires were BAMFs who didn’t fucking sparkle and that was the way we liked it damn it! Also, do you remember when we had to walk 20 miles up hill both ways and sell our souls for high quality images on the net?
Yeah, Me either, cause I’m not like old or anything.
Awwww… my original OT3!
Looking back, I realize now that I shipped Nick/Lacroix fiercely (god, Nat, just GO AWAY). And Janette was so unspeakably gorgeous that I had no idea what to do with myself.
Aw, I liked Natalie! Totally fucked up ending though. Sobbed forever.
Sniff. I miss this damn show!
I thought Nat was fantastic, early on. But by the end she was getting pretty demanding and creepily obsessed with fixing the vampire thing. Which might’ve been interesting, if they’d acknowledged it was less than healthy (which would’ve been fine; what isn’t kind of obsessive and unhealthy about vampires?) , but.
The ending was pure jackassery. I mean whut? They spend this much time and effort attempting to fix the whole vampire problem, make amazing headway and then suddenly, “Fuck it, I want to be a vampire.”
“Wellllll, I’m not sure that’s wise…oh hell, sure, why not?”
And then the rest of it, and I just sat there thinking, “Is this a joke? Because that just made no sense.” It was kind of like if James Bond had thrown everything over and run off to San Francisco with Felix Leiter to become a gay New Wave eco-hippy.
Oh my GOD, though. I rewatched a couple of episodes on Hulu a while back and I don’t think I had ever entirely registered the incredible levels of self-indulgent whiny emo in that show. No wonder Lacroix was always so pissed off. He had to listen to Nick doing that for 800 years. Apparently, vampire puberty goes on forever.
Still. Better than Louis. I’m not really sure we’ve got any room to complain about Twilight. It’s not really any stupider or more overwrought than the vampire fiction of generations past (well, okay, other than the sparkling; that was…special). And you could claim with some justification that spending 100 years in high school simply did permanent damage to Edward’s mind.
(On another note, I’m terrified to know what’s going on with Lacroix’s wardrobe here. Is that a really baggy shiny faux-leather trenchcoat? Or is he wearing iridescent black rapper pants?)