Okay, now that was bad.
A week after True Blood started showing a little life, along comes a subplot that takes a lame Viagra joke and stretches it to nearly half the episode. You could almost see Jay Leno offscreen, ready to come in for the kill. To the surprise of no one who follows the show, dumb sex machine Jason downed the whole vial of vampire blood and discovered in the most wince-inducing possible way why only a drop or two is required for human men to get their proverbial motors running. You know the ad that says, “If an erection lasts longer than four hours, call your doctor.”? This is like that times a hundred.
To cut him the tiniest bit of slack, Jason was in the back of a police car, under arrest for his alleged involvement in the murder of yet another girlfriend of his within a one-week period. He definitely didn’t need a second charge brought against him for holding illegal vamp blood. But was downing it the best solution? Granted, this is a character not known for his wisdom, so maybe his decision was regrettable merely for how it derails a large chunk of the episode with broad, oooky comedy.
Before Jason even steps into the police car, we’re treated to a family of onlookers that are about as grotesque a stereotype of Southerners this side of a Jeff Foxworthy routine. “Maybe it was just her time,” one of them says, in reference to Dawn’s body be dragged out (sloppily) by the coroner. “I feel like a cat on a hot tin roof,” says another. “That’s from a play.” And then there’s a third, who worked alongside Dawn at Merlotte’s, who wants beer and ice and paper doilies, for that extra-sophisticated touch. It would have been nice if Alan Ball and company had defied such stereotypes, as he suggested he would in my interview with him. (“I certainly don't want to belittle the South and do the typical Hollywood ‘Look at those clowns and idiots,’ or give the women silly hats and big flowery dresses.” Oh really, Alan?)
Back at the police station, Jason protests his innocence to Larry (of Larry, Darryl, and Darryl) from Newhart and Frank Sobotka of The Wire, but just as they’re speculating how he might get aroused by killing women, up comes the unbeatable erection. Given the proliferation of male genitalia in movies lately—Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Walk Hard, and Sex And The City, just off the top of my head—I’m grateful that the eggplant penis stayed offscreen, but enough was suggested to turn the stomach anyway. I’m not sure what was more disturbing: Jason with a blister on his inner thumb from nonstop masturbating or the doctor readying the syringe to drain his erection of blood. Either way, there was nothing fun for me about this subplot.