Moonlight: No Such Thing As Vampires
By Heather Cee
Within the first three minutes we learn the basics of vampires in Moonlight’s world: coffins, crucifixes, garlic, holy water, and turning into a bat are old wives’ tales, freezers are the bed of choice, and sunlight is not deadly, but not preferable. While other vampires sip cups of blood like lattes or tap a pretty, breathing keg, Mick St. John (Alex O’Loughlin) forgoes the biting for a needle and an A+ blood supply courtesy of a vampire comrade at the coroner’s office. He doesn’t hunt women, children, or “innocents.” He sleeps alone and he keeps his “secrets hidden.” He is also redundant.
And then there’s crime, which comes quick – a college co-ed found wrapped in pink by a fountain, two clean holes in her neck. Beth Turner (Sophia Myles), intrepid BuzzWire reporter, is on the scene and already working out the vampire angle when Mick arrives to lurk and look bemused. “Do I know you?” she asks and while he downplays her recognition, she moves on to the more important matter of putting a sensational headline to the grisly scene around them. “There’s no such thing as vampires,” Mick tells her before vanishing in a way that would naturally arouse anyone’s interest, let alone an ambitious reporter who thinks she knows you from somewhere. But then a flair for the dramatic is a proven method of vampire courting and Mick is obviously smitten with Ms. Turner, which is why she is continually soft-lit like Barbara Walters whenever the two have a poignant moment.
Someone who isn’t getting mushy-faced over Beth is Josef Konstantin (Jason Dohring), whose business is hedge funds, modern architecture, and beautiful women as snack cakes. He and Mick go way back and he is most displeased – ie. slightly hysterical – over the sudden proliferation of vampire in the local media. Any publicity is bad publicity for those who rely on clueless masses to get their dinner on and Josef wants Mick to keep this in mind as he tracks down the killer.
In addition to feeding our P.I. blood fresh from the morgue (or, as Josef calls it, “retail blood”), Guillermo (Benjamín Benítez) also feeds tidbits handy for solving crimes. A quick glance and sniff of Kelly Foster’s body confirms she was not killed by a vampire, and so the mystery takes Mick to the dead girl’s apartment, where Beth is already indulging in some old-fashioned breaking and entering. And in case you’re not following the story, Mick’s voiceover is happy to give you a play-by-play of what’s happening on screen, further proving that – unless your name is Georgia Lass or Dexter Morgan – voiceovers are intrusive and pointless when not filling the gaps with insight or humor. Poor Mick’s saddled with cliché one-liners best left to the world of pulp paperbacks – and not the good ones.
Luckily, relief comes in the form of a vase smashing upside his head. Poised with mace and demanding credentials, Beth quickly decides Mick’s an asset in her quest for internet tabloid glory, and the two rifle through the room for clues. Somewhere in here Beth utters the word “gotharama,” Mick attempts smooth talk about vampires being back in style, and the viewer hopes they find something quickly. They do – a necklace bearing an Egyptian hieroglyph for a blood cult, the same symbol Beth found dangling from the rearview mirror in the victim’s car. Inside the necklace is a vial of what Mick quickly assesses is blood and while Beth is momentarily distracted by a phone call from her boyfriend, he ducks out with the necklace and a little bit of dignity.
This flirtatious tit-for-tat eventually turns into a working relationship as Beth hounds Mick for information and he reflects on a case from his past – the kidnapping of a young girl. And still Beth insists that she and Mick have met before, though she can’t place him, even when she’s holding her chin in the universal symbol for “thinking.”. And Mick just stares back with big, soft eyes meant to distract the audience from how creepy his fixation on Beth is – and, believe me, it’s Creepy with a big side of Wrong, and would be delicious if it weren’t handled with the finesse of a 13-year old virgin writing vampire porn, but I get ahead of myself.
[nms:cbs moonlight,4,0]
The rest of the mystery isn’t worth dissecting – a red herring rehash involving a generically European anthropology professor who calls himself a vampire to nibble on nubile co-eds, his devoted and misguided teacher’s assistant, and a jealous, guilt-ridden best friend whose neck soon meets the end of the same sharp stick. And stupid reigns supreme as Beth finesses her way into one of the prof’s “study groups,” which takes place at 11 p.m. In a basement. After the rest of the group is sent away. You’d maybe be willing to cut the woman some slack if, after being man-handled by the professor, she didn’t run straight into the arms of the assistant for help – the assistant who has just led her to the basement. Alone. Late at night. And with less suspect help walking mere feet away. Apparently a nose for news does not equal a nose for common sense, which is why she ends up drugged and in the passenger seat of our killer’s car soon after.
Moonlight saves St. John’s more feral abilities for its last moments. Up to this point the show glides unremarkably – not eye-gougingly bad, but by no means great, or even good. But when the vampire special effects switch on, it’s all aboard the cheese train with stops at a green-tinted dash down a hallway, a dramatic landing at the bottom of the stairs, a roughing up of the stunned professor with lots of teeth-baring and sniffing – “I know she was here, man – I can smell her on you!” Oh, dear – and a side collision with a moving vehicle. Actually, the car crash isn’t so bad, and neither is Mick taking a stab to the chest, but then we fade to the flashback of that kidnapping 22 years before…
And so comes the “revelation” of Mick and Beth’s connection, and Mick’s vampire ex-wife (Shannyn Sossamon), draped in white and earnest delusions of a happy family life. Of course Mick’s not about to let the woman who changed him into a monster lay a hand on a little girl, and this climax brings the most unintentionally hilarious brawl ever to grace my television screen. Actually, it’s less a brawl than a playground slapfight with the occasional body slam, and then plunges straight to ridiculous with an attempt at edgy sexuality. The entire scene plays out in sepia like a study in first-rate poop, so great is its craptitude, and ends appropriately in fire – the better to leave on the writers’ doorsteps as you ring the bell and run away. And while all sins committed before this point could have been brushed off as mere annoyances, these spectacular few minutes serve the single greatest blow to hopes that Moonlight could once again give vampires some TV credibility – never mind a good story, good dialogue, or good acting.
But I’m a forgiving girl. I wouldn’t have made it through three seasons of Lost otherwise. More importantly, I’m an optimist, and because pilots are often awkward, fragmented things, I’ll admit it’s easy to rip this show down one side and up the other. Moonlight’s troubles have been well-documented, what with recasting of every major role but the lead, the loss of David Greenwalt (if only…!), and the misfortune of being conceived by the guy who brought us Beauty and the Beast. But I can’t quite bring myself to the proper level of indignation needed to write this show off completely. Why?
Because I like you, Alex O’Loughlin.
I have no idea why – I haven’t seen your movies, and I don’t watch The Shield (because Michael Chiklis reminds me of a very angry Cabbage Patch Kid), and it’s not because I harbor fantasies full of black satin sheets, candlelight, and recreational bloodletting – though your nipples are profoundly distracting. (Nipples are good, but I doubt they’re meant to be the point of interest – literally – when Important Conversation and Concern is afoot.) Hell, the sitdown between you and the off-camera “interviewer” that opens this episode gives me reason enough to roast you first on the spit.
But you’ve got a charm to you, Alex. Even when spouting embarrassing, ham-fisted drivel forced upon you by clueless writers, I can’t help feeling you deserve better than this mess. It helps that everyone else – with the exception of Jason Dohring, comfortable playing a more high-strung version of Logan Echolls – is worse than you.
So while the bad news is that this pilot is a load of crap, the good news is that there’s nowhere to go but up – right? Right?
Heather Cee has been writing for music sites for several years but genre media is her original fandom. She’s a History major dropout, loves music, Batman, and the color green, and thinks Laura Roslin is the most kick ass woman on television. She currently works as a website editor in Tucson, Arizona, where she lives with her husband and a ridiculous amount of CDs, records, books, and DVDs. One day she hopes to own grown-up furniture and pants other than jeans.
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“and I don’t watch The Shield (because Michael Chiklis reminds me of a very angry Cabbage Patch Kid)”
Hahaha!
I agree.