The fourth season of True Blood has concluded, and it with its conclusion it drove home the season’s main thesis: the human (alive or undead) condition and its predilection for addiction and the rather impressive amount of destruction that addiction causes. Throughout the season the addiction manifested itself in a variety of forms: addictions to people, locations, power, and in the case of Jovial Crackhead Andy, vampire blood.
The finale kicks-off with Marni all up in Lafayette’s flesh-sack, mucking up more trouble. Bitch dies, but you can’t keep a tenacious witch down. Marni’s descent into madness was directly correlated with her tasting the sweet powers of Antonia. A sad bitch of a bitch, her spiral into a power-hungry culminates with a most hilarious show down with Sookie’s haggard ass grandma.
I often question the decisions of the writers of True Blood. Out of their confusion as to how to execute a powerful female lead, their inability to discuss any of the show’s themes without using a sledgehammer. Not this time. Motherfuckers nailed it with Grandma Stackhouse and one of the most ridiculous scenes on a show of ridiculous shows.
Grammy, stuck in a night gown and her spectral corpus reeking of blown-out vaginal drip and decay fists the possessed sassy man and removes Marni’s spirit. Fucking exceptional. If I took this show seriously anymore, I may have given pause. Naw son. If we’re not just going over the top but rocketing over the fucking wall, I want more scenes like this. Keep them coming. I beg you. Rot in pieces, Marni. You’re going to the great gaping chasm in the sky with sexy Antonia and Grammy Stacky-house.
Let’s all give Nelson Ellis props for his acting performance this season. As much as I dislike the stereotypical nature of his character at this point, the show asked him to play his usual self, haggard ass Marni, and some bonkers spirit Creole lady thing. His range is commendable, and they actually let him drop a few dope lines throughout the season. Him talking about Marni puking up Antonia was a highlight of the season.
Hnng! Hnng!! Hnng!!! Let me just say that seeing Deborah Ann Woll’s boobies was a highlight of my year. Episode after episode, the continual lament: this show sucks, why can’t we see Jessica naked? Finally. Down from the Heavens came this greatest of gifts. A “Thank You for your Perseverance”. I enjoy the Jason/Jessica shipping. OTP! I’m there. There’s nothing much else I want to say. Seeing her rolling around naked and in a Little Red Riding Hood outfit was enough to burst my withering fanboy testicles. The balls. They swell. The balls. They groan. The balls. They hurt.
(Also: Steve Newlin as a vampire? Righteous.)
The finale takes place on Halloween, and the show goes out of its way to point out that the evening is the time of the year where the line between the living and the dead is its thinnest. The spectral realm barks and hollers and people do a good amount of crossing. What’s up, Renee! I miss him. Never one to speak figuratively, the show then literally begins blurring the line between the realms. The aforementioned emergence of Grandma Thundercrotch and her lackies, but they also off a few characters. Sending them into the great white fictional light. Rest in peace, Jesus.
Addiction manifests in ways outside of power, and the show takes another character into the grave through their addiction. Farewell Miss Tara. I know I’m making a stretch – a gorgeous sexy lycra-clad stretch by correlating the two. But Tara was addicted to Bon Temps. Call it love, for Sookie and Lafayette and whatever. I’d argue there’s a thin line. Her inability to escape the call of her hometown ultimately let her catch a thick-ass blast of shotgun bullet to the dome-piece. Good for her.
By the middle of the season it was evident the writers had no fucking clue with what to do with Tara. She was an MMA fighter, a lesbian, a witch sympathizer. She was the most directionless character since Kim fucking Bauer. The writers wised up and did just what they did on 24 – wrote her the fuck out of dodge.
After ample opportunities to leave her festering stink hole of a town behind, her love for Sookie and her addiction-dedication-obsession with her town finally did her in. A solid dead, sacrificing grey matter for the Infernal Jack-o-Lantern grill.
Yeah, we can’t go a column without mentioning the lamentable Eric-Sookie-Bill storyline. Talk about a love triangle propped up by posturing and a strange addiction to misery. I cannot understand why any of these characters love one another. Has there been any genuine relationship-building since season one? Rather they seem intoxicated to Sookie’s essence. At one point literally consuming her blood in a scene that tips a rather accurate hand to what their relationships stand for.
Other than a lot of blathering, and crying. Stomping. Sacrificing.
The most enjoyable moment of the episode featuring them is when Nan Flanagan rolls into the King Crybaby’s compound and wants Billy Boy and his Nordic Sidekick to help start an insurrection. Drugs, locations, power. Nan’s desire to seize control sends her to a rather awesome True Death while Eric played Detatch Head with as he called them, her gay stormtroopers. I laughed at that line.
The thin line between the dead and the living evaporates by the end of the episode, but not before taking with it Tara, Jesus, Marni, and Nana. Addictions and obsession claimed lives, Eric and Bill whupped some ass, Sookie cried and I wanted to vomit directly into her awful lacrymal face and some other bullshit happened. If the point of a season finale is to wrap-up storylines and set-up interest for the next season I’d argue True Blood fucking succeeded.
Yeah, didn’t think I’d say that, did you?
Till next season. (Or if you’re here for the Dexter recaps, see you in a month.)