While it is beneath me to make excuses for not having posted here in several months, the mortal who provides me with this space has had the temerity to suggest that an explanation for having been so conspicuous by my absence would be appropriate. I weighed my options when he broached the subject to me. I could either rip his lungs from his chest and be done with the onus of continuing this odious obligation, or I could relate my recent activities to anyone who cares to learn how an eight-hundred and twenty-nine year old vampire spends his nights. Apart from seducing beautiful women and drinking their blood, that is.

I will preface my explanation by noting that I recently had occasion to tolerate with as much good grace as I could muster a viewing of a truly abominable film, Interview with the Vampire, based on a novel written by a particularly notorious libeler of my kind, Anne Rice. That last statement may not be altogether accurate, I must grudgingly admit. There is some truth in the basic conceit of her work, that there exists a particularly pusillanimous subspecies of my ilk whose members do gather in clans and clubs and kaffee klatches and much too often venture forth from the embrace of these collectives to wander the Earth bemoaning the emptiness of their existence. These beings disgust me, and the notion of a series of books, much less not one but two films based on their angst-ridden un-lives almost compels me to join with certain mortal factions and assist in their several destructions. They constitute a blight upon our shared condition and an embarrassment to those of us who properly revel in our wickedness. A pox upon them - an opinion not, apparently, shared by Ms Rice. While such beings do exist, I consider it extremely perverse of her to have induced so many of your kind to accept the delusion that the undead are anything other than what we are – devilish monsters who enjoy being bad, and have the skills, talents and abilities to inflict with great pleasure whatever outrage upon a helpless humanity as our capricious natures suggest.

But I digress. I did agree to explain my lapse, and so I shall. Being evil does not necessarily imply that one must avoid certain courtesies. I have of late busied myself with an alternative to Ms Rice’s blasphemies. To whit, I have been assembling material towards a memoir of my own long and varied career among the Undead. I believe I have mentioned that my host here on this blog has been acting in the capacity of my official biographer for some time. Heretofore his efforts have had more to do with those brief intervals when the course of my un-life has intersected the adventures of the mortals who comprise the essence of his writings. I have been incidental to the stories of other characters, and to be truthful, or as truthful as I am capable of being, this has rankled. I have therefore devoted my time since our last meeting to initiating a much more personal retelling of my enterprises. Having forced myself to sit through the film that is the topic for my review in this post is what inspired me to embark upon this endeavor, so you may perceive that this news is not altogether what the computer literate modern world would consider ‘off-topic’.

I did mention above that there are among my kind certain craven examples of the un-dead that are similar to the main characters in the film under consideration. That breed of vampire have on various occasions attempted to inveigle me into joining their idiotic schemes, knowing as they do that it would be better for me to assist rather than oppose them. Alas, these creatures are fairly dull, even more so than as presented in Interview with the Vampire, and their efforts almost always come to naught. If I deign to even acknowledge their attempts to involve me in their plans, I often will actively work against them, at least as long as doing so amuses me. There have been a few occasions when it was necessary to declare war upon their assemblages, for reasons I shan’t go into here except to reiterate that I generally disapprove of too great a degree of vampiric influence on the course of human history. I considered their actions during the late stages of the Renaissance, for example, when they were able to exert more influence than I thought advisable upon a certain series of elections to be more than typically foolish. As I warned them, their plot backfired spectacularly, forcing me to exert myself to a greater degree than pleased me to cleaning up after their ill-advised antics. I despise being forced into the position of engaging in activities of that nature, and my displeasure resulted in a considerable lessening of their numbers for the better part of a century.

I shall not elaborate here; you will have to wait for publication of the larger work to learn how gratuitously nefarious these simpletons have been, and of the great cost their imbecilic machinations have imposed upon the entire population of the planet, living and un-living. In anticipation of that day I have instructed my human to redouble his efforts to complete his narration of the singular episode in my history that we have agreed to call Dead Women in Love. I have granted him the boon of catering to his desire to see it finished and in print before bending his talents, such as they are, to the project I have described above.

I do intend to seek wide publication of my memoir, and in order to hasten its appearance by facilitating my biographer's previously agreed upon project so he will be in a position to exert himself upon my own, much more important one, I have begun the process of locating for us what is referred to as a literary agent. I have not yet approached one, although my mortal has solicited several without any success to date, but I have investigated the process by which an author acquires representation. I have not been pleased by what I have so far learned. It seems that there are vast numbers of mortals contesting against us for the attentions of a limited number of agents. It would be convenient if you would all be so considerate as to gather together in one place, so that I might obliterate our competition en masse with my characteristic élan and finesse, but you have not thus far been so obliging. I have therefore made plans to attend several genre-specific gatherings known as ‘cons’ over the course of the next few months, so you may expect some winnowing of your numbers, but in the meantime my human has taken to urging me to invest in what promises to be a rather ingenious volume of advice related to our needs instead of recruiting an agent through my preferred programme of locating one and forcing her to my will through the expedient of inflicting a small bite upon her neck and therefore taking control of her will. I say her, because I prefer female victims. You will of course excuse my non-politically correct attitude. To that end, I am considering obtaining this work and putting it to its intended use, at least until I can dispose of considerable numbers of our fellow aspiring authors.
One of the great pleasures of my long un-life, one that I credit with preventing me from sinking into the sad, existential despair that characterizes those of my kind whom Ms Rice has chosen to select, inaccurately, as representative of vampires as a species, is the amusement I get from observing the antics of mortals such as the author of the book under consideration, Agent Demystified.

In support of her efforts to educate her fellow authors, she has had created for her a rather amusing video, which you may view here: http://www.authoresspress.com/ Other pertinent details may also be located at that website. I'm certain you will agree that the book trailer is a nicely done example of what, if I have the vernacular correct, is called viral advertising. The cleverness of you mortals in concocting such delights is the very element of your natures that lends my existence so much joy, and adds to my determination that we vampires not intrude too much upon your delusion that you control your destinies, rather than myself and others like me.

Not that I am in any way suggesting that anyone else besides myself purchase this product. I dislike competition, as either a vampire or a writer, so if you aspire to attain publication, do not feel compelled to follow my example in obtaining this book. It will do you no good anyway, as I intend to wipe you and anyone else standing between myself and literary success out of existence at my first opportunity.

As for the film that was the inspiration for needing the advice contained in Agent Demystified, there are so many things wrong with it I can hardly tell where to begin. The protagonist, Louis, is a whiny, puling thing unworthy of being called a vampire. He prefers to sustain himself upon rats than humans. Absolutely appalling! Then, he states during the titular interview that he enjoys looking upon crosses! Why is it that so many of your mortal writers insist upon reducing our kind to something less than the magnificent beings we are? You strip away not only our strengths but also our weaknesses, those very characteristics that make us such interesting creatures. A vampire not repelled by holy symbols cannot correctly be called a vampire, any more than can one who does not drink blood, or is not destroyed by sunlight, or who casts a reflection or has the ability to cross running water. Or cries and moans ad nauseam about how lonely and wasted is his dolorous existence.

The other major character, Lestat, is marginally better. He has all the callous ruthlessness of our kind, but none of the calculating intelligence. The inhabitants of the Parisian theater of the second half of the film are little better, in that they allowed themselves to be decimated by a single member of their tribe, a being possessed of none of the powers that made my own destruction of so many of that breed possible on the occasion referenced above. I did feel some small sympathy for the little girl turned to save her life (of all the ridiculous things!) and therefore condemned to never attain the adult womanhood intended by her creator, but she was ultimately so annoying I quickly lost interest in her dilemma. And in the entire endeavor. My mortal assistant has expressed his opinion that the sequel, Queen of the Damned, is of equally dreadful quality. I have chosen to accept his word on that score.

I have also reluctantly but graciously acceded to his request to allow him to point out that the opinions expressed in this space are my own, and do not necessarily reflect his feelings upon any matter discussed here. On the other hand, he is very much looking forward to reading Agent Demystified, and on that topic we are in agreement. I do not, however, agree with him that we have stooped to, as he dared call it, 'shilling' the young lady's work, since I have made no effort to convince others to follow my example. Quite the contrary, I feel sure that I have been quite clear that other would-be authors pursue their literary aspirations at their own peril.

If I bothered to associate with other vampires (most of whom, if the truth be known, are extremely tiresome creatures), I would commend to them the film The Lost Boys. Aside from the one serious flaw in the filmmakers' handling of the transformation from mortal to undead and a minor quibble detailed below, I found virtually nothing to complain about in this film. In addition, it contains one important lesson every vampire should remember: Hubris is the vampire's worst enemy.

A newly divorced mother moves with her two sons to a small but overly festive town in search of a new life with her crotchety father. Every vertical outdoor surface is littered with missing persons posters. Also, none of the myriad mortals slain during the course of the film return from their demise. I was pleased no end to see that the cineastes gave some thought to one of the primary dilemmas of predation: preventing the risen predators from outnumbering the prey (see my previous reviews for more on this important topic). Apparently, the victims are permanently disposed of, although the means of disposal is never explained. No matter. It is done somehow, and the number of vampires never exceeds the handful called for in the scenario. I find this a most gratifying conceit on the part of the filmmakers.

While I personally find the concept of a society of the undead, no matter how small it may be, distasteful, I do know of certain of my fellow creatures of the night who choose to gather in family groups. The one presented in The Lost Boys is reasonably managed. Aside from dining on human viands (including garlic! How gauche! Also impossible under any conditions of which I am aware) and recruiting new members by a suspect method, there is almost nothing in the depiction of the living dead in this movie to arouse my disdain. I am willing to grant some artistic license as regards the characters' feeding habits for the sake of the overall important message to my kind the film includes.

That being that the wise vampire pays attention to his surroundings. There are two characters who advertise themselves on the back of a comic book as being vampire hunters for hire. How did this fact escape the leader of the clan, or its membership? Regardless of how ineffectual vampire vigilantes might seem to be, it was remiss on the part of the 'head' vampire to allow two mortals to openly flaunt their knowledge of his kind and their intention of murdering him and his family. These young gentlemen should have been quietly disposed of long before the events of the film. Arrogance has its place, but it should also have its limits.

In all other respects, my kind are presented as well in The Lost Boys as could be hoped for. Would that it were so in most of the other vampire movies inflicted upon the public.

Better, but imperfect

Since my last missive to this site, I have devoted some considerable time to searching through recordings of the films about my kind, hoping to find one accurate representation of vampirism. I have yet to locate a single movie that is without flaw, but I am pleased to report that I have had one provided to me by my mortal minions that is not completely off base.

Vamp was produced in 1986, and concerns a trio of college students in search of a stripper for a fraternity party. They find themselves in a nightclub owned and operated by the undead. Having spent some time running my own, similar business, I found that I generally approved of the methods employed by this group of vampires. They located their establishment in an area of the city not willingly frequented by the representatives of local law enforcement, and catered to a degenerate clientele who would not be missed once consumed by the employees. The drained bodies are then disposed of appropriately, for the most part. A sound business plan, in my opinion, and one that takes advantage of the sensual nature of our kind.

The necessary complication arises when one of the students is brought to the owner of the club for her personal feeding. The minion who provided the meal did not realize that the young man had companions who would bring the attention of the authorities to bear on the sanguinary goings-on. This minion was suitably disposed of. Brava to Grace Jones' Katrina for appropriate ruthlessness.

My only complaints about her performance regard her actions while seducing the young man. The sexual act is not fulfilled, a fallacy common to many depictions of vampirism. I have dire plans for whichever of your scribes it was who first imagined that vampires are eunuchs. We are not. Katrina not only fails to consummate the affair, she rips open the boy's throat. As noted in my last review, indiscriminate rending open of the neck is wasteful, in that too much blood winds up on the sheets instead of flowing into the vampire's body. Worse, she missed out on the pleasures of the flesh she was entitled to as the local apex predator.

Then, there is the 'beast face' she presented prior to her attack on the doomed collegian. As far as I have been able to determine, Vamp is the origin of that odious conceit of mortal filmmakers. Although I am capable of assuming a variety of bestial visages, I never do so while feeding upon someone I'm in the process of seducing. When done properly, the victim should be so enraptured by the good and proper rogering she's receiving that such displays are wasted on her. While terrorizing the meal before feeding does increase the flavor by dumping adrenaline into the bloodstream, the midst of a seduction is not the proper time and place. Save your adrenaline-laden meals for less intimate attacks, as when picking off inconvenient stalkers or incompetent minions. One should have some respect for the sexual act and its inherent beauty.

These are minor quibbles compared the one major flaw in the film. When the hero and his lady friend are fleeing the wrath of Katrina and her chief subordinates, they stumble upon the lair containing the coffins of the majority of the club's employees just as those vampires are retiring for the day. His reaction to his peril is to tip over a drum of some flammable liquid located at the entrance to the lair and set the contents afire, thus destroying the club and all its undead denizens. What self-respecting vampire keeps a container of kerosene in its bedchamber? The presence of that barrel is ludicrous, a plot device conjured up by a screenwriter evidently bankrupt of ideas. I was sorely disappointed in his solution to the problem he set his characters. Given the opportunity, I fully intend to express my displeasure in a manner likely to prove exceedingly painful to him.

Other than this one glaring error and Katrina's unwarranted celibacy, I found Vamp enjoyable. Would that the rest of the cinematic exploits of the undead were so.

Stupid and Wasteful

Shakespeare was spot-on when he put these words into the mouth of Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream: “Lord, what fools these mortals be!”

(I am only able to type that because Puck was not addressing his remarks to the deity some of you mortals credit as being your creator, but rather the fairy king, Oberon. I’ve met Oberon. A bit of a stiff, but not an altogether unpleasant sort.

I, on the other hand, am an altogether unpleasant sort.)

I have come to this conclusion after centuries of watching, sometimes with amusement, more often with disgust, your attempts to depict my kind in folklore, books, film, television and stage plays. We are shown either as genteel sensualists, angst-ridden existentialists or mindless savages. I must admit that, while there are varieties of my species who display one or more of these traits to some degree, overall we are much more complex, and at the same time much simpler beings. We just want your blood. How we go about getting it is a reflection of our personal style, and therein lie the variations on the theme that have you so confused. Not that it’s difficult to confuse you. You are a remarkably gullible race.

I propose in this space to explain to you fools just how far off your depictions of us in your media are. I only hope there are enough gigabytes in the universe to encompass the enormity of your misconceptions.

I wish to address my remarks on this occasion to a film I recently viewed, 30 Days of Night. Overall, I don't suppose it was a completely worthless cinematic exercise, but I am not here to discuss the various technical aspects of the filmmaker's craft. I am only interested in how my kind are portrayed, and on that subject I find several problems that incline me to wish all manner of painful accidents would befall the creators of this movie.

The basic concept is rather intriguing. A small town at the very northernmost part of Alaska, an area that experiences a month-long period without exposure to the sun during the deepest part of winter, is invaded by a band of, as near as I can tell, a dozen or so vampires. The population of Barrow, Alaska during the thirty days of night is roughly ten times the number of vampires, which isn't a totally ludicrous ratio of apex predator to prey, as long as they are careful to prevent any further vampires from being created. There is an attempt to do so at first, but enough victims escape the final death to complicate matters for the mortal survivors and increase the vampires' competition for a rapidly decreasing food supply. This is just sloppy work. I expected more from them, based on the relative soundness of their means of infiltration.

The vampires send in one of their mortal pets to complete the isolation of the town and remove the few protections it might have. Up to this point, I don't disapprove too strenuously. Their scheme is not completely idiotic, but their subsequent actions don't support the notion that they have sufficient brains to plan such an elaborate set-up. Frankly, once inside the town, they act like morons.

Allow me to reflect upon my statement above regarding the ratio of prey to predator. Among the lesser creatures of jungle and plain, a ten-to-one proportion is serviceable, as long as the numbers remain more-or-less consistent. This requires restraint on the part of the predator.

The vampires in 30 Days of Night display no such restraint. They descend upon the town at the moment the long night begins, and rampage through Barrow in a paroxysm of wasteful violence that reduces their food supply well below any semblance of a tolerable level. Within moments, no more than a handful of mortal survivors huddle in attics and crawlspaces. What do these imbecilic vampires expect to feed upon for the remaining twenty-nine days? Raw hamburger? Spam? Bran flakes?

Their table manners also leave a great deal to be desired. Apparently, the filmmakers were possessed of huge amounts of synthetic blood they were contractually obligated to spew indiscriminately. Each kill was accompanied by vast spurts of blood as the vampires sprang from victim to victim, rending open jugulars and carotids in a most slovenly manner. Most of the victims' blood, the source of unlife to these incompetent predators, wound up decorating the snow instead of flowing into the vampires' bodies. Each drop of blood is precious, and yet the vampires of 30 Days of Night allowed the bulk of their sustenance to spatter unconsumed. They gobbled when their purposes would have been better served by sipping.

And what is you mortals' fascination with our so-called language? There is no vampire tongue, common to all the undead. We speak whatever language we learned in life, and any we pick up through the centuries. I plan to address this issue more fully in my dissection of the abominable Blade films.

My last major objection is the whole notion of vampirism as a communicable disease. Three characters in this film turn without dying from vampiric exsanguinations, or any other of the recommended means of attaining post-life animation. There is no vampire germ, spread through the bite of blood of the undead. You have to die to come back as the living dead. I find it highly objectionable when your so-called creative minds reduce my condition to the same status as the common cold or influenza. The Blade films must also answer for this inaccuracy, upon the occasion of their own dissection.

Apart from the half-hearted and ultimately ineffectual attempt to restrict the creation of new vampires, I did find one aspect of the vampires' modus operandi laudable. The disposal of the pet who enabled them to establish themselves in Barrow was handled sensitively and accurately. I have had thousands of occasions to end my association with a mortal servant once his or, more usually, her usefulness was at an end. When the time came in the film for the unnamed stranger to meet his fate, I found the actions of the vampire leader admirable. Evil is not always unkind, and the actor demonstrated a most appropriate level of sympathy for his doomed pet. In these two respects alone, I approve of 30 Days of Night.

In all other respects, however, I am appalled. In symbolic protest, I plan to feed upon two of your fellow humans this evening, rather than one. Let that additional death be on the heads of every mortal involved in the production of this abomination.

Yours truly, Valdemar Soltiescu, Vampire