AMC’s lavish and loving retelling will thrill fans of original books

Sam Reid and Jacob Anderson bring Anne Rice’s iconic supernatural heroes to life again. (Photo courtesy AMC)

JOHN PAUL KING  |  Washington Blade
Courtesy of National LGBT Media Association

Today, sexy vampires are a staple of pop culture, but it hasn’t always been that way. Up until the last few decades, vampires have been mostly interpreted as a metaphor for the dangers of an uncontrolled libido and were accordingly depicted in horror fiction as monsters to be resisted and destroyed, no matter how alluring they might seem.

Anne Rice changed all that.

Before True Blood or Twilight or any of the other popular vampire fantasy sagas that have played on the more seductive aspects of the vampire mythos, Rice’s 1976 debut novel Interview with the Vampire paved the way by forcing readers to identify with its “evil” narrator. Suddenly, the monster was the hero of his own story instead of the villain in someone else’s, allowing us to embrace our vicarious participation in his sensual pleasures and face a fact we all suspect in our hearts to be true: Given the chance, each and every one of us would probably choose to be a vampire.

That can be a disturbing revelation for some, and Rice’s book wasn’t an instant hit; reviews from critics, who weren’t ready to see the ocean of counter-cultural nuance beneath the shocking and gory details of the plot, were mostly dismissive.

Readers, however, were more responsive, and Rice’s fan base grew enough to make the book’s first sequel (1985’s The Vampire Lestat) into a bestseller. The author — who passed away last December at the age of 80 — would eventually pen a total of 13 books in a series that became known as The Vampire Chronicles, and her fans have remained loyal — some might even say obsessive — to this day.

That, of course, means that AMC’s new series adapting of Rice’s seminal book, which premiered on the cable network with its first two episodes on Oct. 2,– is guaranteed a sizable built-in audience. It also means that the series must live up to a very high standard if it wants to keep those fans watching.

So far, despite a few notable divergences from the source material, things look promising.

Like Rice’s novel, the series centers on Louis de Pointe du Lac (Jacob Anderson), a vampire who — for his own inscrutable reasons — decides to tell his life story to a young reporter. In the re-imagined scenario constructed by show creator Rolin Jones, however, there have been some updates. Fifty years later, Louis feels he was not ready to be completely honest during that original interview in the 1970s, and he has endeavored to bring the same reporter — now a seasoned veteran journalist battling Parkinson’s disease (Eric Bogosian) — to his sumptuous headquarters in Dubai so that he can set the record straight.

The tale he tells — beginning with his mortal life as the scion of a wealthy Louisiana family and his transformation by the amoral yet charismatic vampire Lestat (Sam Reid), to whom he then becomes lover and companion — remains largely the same, in broad swaths. The updated premise, however, allows for some not-so-minor changes in the details, not the least of which is making its protagonist a person of color, a successful New Orleans businessman of Creole descent instead of a wealthy white plantation owner with slaves, which refreshes its relevance for a 21st century audience while expanding the scope of the themes enfolded within the gothic architecture of its plot.

Besides bringing America’s troubled relationship with race into the forefront of the story, the show’s “faithful with license to adapt” approach allows it to unequivocally express the queerness that made the book and its sequels a touchstone for countless LGBTQ readers across the years.

Though later installments in the chronicle were more directly candid about the nature of Louis’ relationship with Lestat, the original book never quite allowed its conflicted hero to fully own his sexuality. Jones’ show corrects for that, cementing the connection between Rice’s brooding, sexually fluid vampires and the millions of queer fans that have seen themselves reflected in the pages of Rice’s books all along.

Such bold efforts to reinvent the story for a new era might well raise hackles among Rice’s fans, some of whom may decry the changes as unnecessary capitulations to a modern “woke” sensibility that seems far away from the unapologetically hedonistic worldview at the core of Rice’s books. Yet even the most hardcore Rice lovers will find themselves hard-pressed to complain about the way the series leans hard into the power of Rice’s literary gifts.

Blessed by its episodic long-form narrative with the ability to take its time, the show gives us lengthy, rapturous sequences in which the author’s lushly romantic, searing and passionate prose — or language inspired by it — becomes the main attraction. It’s here where the qualities that made Rice’s vampire books speak so thrillingly to its readers are allowed to work their magic on viewing audiences, too.

Though the story’s more concrete elements — the meticulous evocation of its period setting, the lurid abandon of its sexuality, the merciless savagery of its horrors — all do their part in bringing us to the table, it’s these florid, rapturous stretches of narration accompanying the visuals, spoken with mellifluous and impassioned conviction by Anderson, that allow us to partake of the feast being served there. In the poetry of these passages, we are drawn into the vampire’s world, and we are transformed without even having to be bitten.

That’s not to say the show’s imagery is not compelling in its own right — the climactic scene of episode one, a grand Guignol style symphony of gore that culminates in one of the most brazenly erotic moments in recent television memory, is alone enough not only to satisfy those who have come for the horror, but to make all but the most adamant Rice purists jump on board.

Likewise, the acting defies disappointment. Anderson, at once earthier and more deeply sensitive than his role in Game of Thrones gave us reason to expect, delivers a Louis that commands our attention, our respect, and our compassion. And though Reid’s shining Lestat remains just as much in his lover’s shadow as required by their roles in the narrative, he leaves no doubt of his ability to project the rock-star flamboyance and “rebel angel” fire required of his character in later installments of the chronicle.

Rounding out the trio of main players (at least those we’ve seen so far), Bogosian’s world-weary, satchel-faced reporter makes a far more suitable stand-in for a 2022 audience than the naive youth of the book; cynical, mistrustful, yet somehow longing to be impressed, he’s heard this tale before, but something inside him needs to hear it again.

That feeling is something with which Anne Rice fans should be well familiar; they’ve been waiting decades for these beloved books to be adapted for the screen in a way that would do them justice. If the first two episodes of AMC’s lavish and loving retelling of them are any indication — and trust us when we tell you that they are — they might finally be getting what they want.

We should all be grateful for that. After all, it’s Halloween season, and sexy vampires are always welcome.