Many love this show. Many hate it.  Many liked it right up until some vague period between Season 2 and Season 3 at which point they logged onto Twitter or their website of choice and loudly declared it was a washout.   I suspect there might be a strong correlation between that sentiment and the public outing of Stephen Moyer (Vampire Bill Compton) and Anna Paquin (Sookie Stackhouse) as a real life couple.  It can be problematic for your audience to lust over the writhing vampiric sex of the leads, as Alan Ball intended, when you know they go home to enjoy a more vanilla version. 

Personally, I think the show remains strong.  I suspect people are disappointed they’ve dispensed with the heavy handed metaphor (“God hates fangs.” Get it? Get it?), but I’m glad.  Political analogy is at odds with the campy nature of the show, and we’re just not far enough as a country that we can treat civil rights with a whimsical hand.  I think the show’s gay characters probably do more for the cause than Sookie loudly proclaiming vampires should be able to marry whomever they want.

For me, the show is just an enjoyable Gothic ride. It betrayed its true nature when Sookie ran outside in her virginal bridal nightgown to throw herself into Bill Compton’s arms.  Anyone who thought the show was going to be more — something deep and metaphysical about the nature of … what? Humanity? Freedom? I don’t know — missed the Hammer Horror reference.  I’m glad the show isn’t thoughtful.  I like the sex, the visible stickiness of the humidity, the werewolves, the shapeshifters, the voodoo, and the Vikings.   I love its strings-heavy love theme, hooker-turned-vampire Pam and her fabulous wardrobe, and its keen awareness of pop culture. (Credit for that goes to Charlaine Harris, who wrote her series with a gratuitous amount of namedropping. These are vampires who not only know about Anne Rice, they’re are such fans of her that they deliberately set up in New Orleans.)

Most of all, I love that True Blood also loves these things. The show takes joy in what it is, which is refreshing.   The majority of vampire stories are all about self-loathing, brooding, and hiding their barbaric natures from the innocent.   This is a universe where vampires live openly (though not popularly) and could give a damn about what their existence means to the greater scheme. With Twilight and Team Boy Beefcakes invading every level of our cultural discourse, I’m glad to have a similar mythology that mocks the vampire obsessions (Season 3 has been quite a wink and a nod to the abuses of Twilight) even as it feeds off its free marketing. 
 
Plus, it gave us this Rolling Stone cover. I haven’t gotten sick of gazing at Moyer’s ass yet. Boobs for the guys, pecs for the ladies.  I think we are beginning to be equal!