True Blood Review

Alan Ball followed Six Feet Under with Charlaine Harris's novels and a premise with the joke built in: a synthetic blood invented in Japan has let vampires come out of the coffin, and the civil rights fight that follows borrows its slogans, God Hates Fangs among them, from the fight over gay rights. Anna Paquin's Sookie Stackhouse, a telepathic waitress at Merlotte's, falls for Stephen Moyer's courtly Confederate veteran Bill Compton, and Jace Everett's Bad Things plays over one of the great title sequences.

The early seasons are trashy and alive. Nelsan Ellis's Lafayette is the best character on the show, Alexander Skarsgård's Eric Northman steals it from the leads, and Denis O'Hare's vampire king of Mississippi gives the third season its high point. Paquin won a Golden Globe, and the second season premiere was HBO's most watched broadcast since the finale of The Sopranos.

Then the mythology ate the show. Werewolves, werepanthers, a maenad, fairies, witches and a vampire goddess piled up faster than the writers could use them, Tara was punished by the plot year after year, and when Ball handed over to Brian Buckner for the last two seasons the reviews soured. Taken whole, it outstayed its welcome by several years.