We're defined in a very small way by the stories we love. Like, that line would be a lot funnier to me if she hadn't said "Shut up!" when she met Bill, or if Buffy hadn't said, "Get out!" in the same intonation on the night she met Dracula. Still, it's good. It's Sookie to a T, the Sookie she's becoming, and I like that. Or how, in the movie, Lafayette likes Georgia's story best: the starlet-turned-slut-turned-star. He's old-school and he loves his vicious bitches; he loves to see the goddess in women because while he loves the women in them, he doesn't have a use for them. His highest forms of compliment are in likening them to himself: Hooker, Skank, Tramp. He loves the old bitches because they give voice to something wonderful and angry and beautiful inside him; because they are beloved in a way he can only find in corners and nooks and secret places. For my part, I like the director's story. Making a movie about shapeshifters -- okay? -- they realize something very important, something that we've been talking about since the first episode. They do a spell:
And what scares the human race more than any other single thing?
Of course. And why? Because the dark has a life of its own. In the dark, all sorts of things come alive.
Now, what'll we put on the screen that'll make the backs of their necks crawl?
Two eyes shining in the dark.
A dog frightened, growling, showing its fangs.
A bird, its neck broken, feathers torn from its throat.
A little girl screaming, claw marks down her cheeks:
Miss Jeanette lays out a bunch of stuff, tools of the trade: sweetgrass and sage, knives; she shakes out a little cloth baggie and Tara asks what it's for. "Give me your hand," Jeanette says. The sun is coming up. Tara asks her why, and Miss Jeanette gets harsh: "'Why, why, why. Why's it have to be in the woods? Why's it have to be before dawn? Why 799.95?"" Tara rolls her eyes. "Why, why, why. You think knowing the answers will save you?" Yes. That's the problem here. "Shut up and give me your hand." She spits in Tara's palm and she recoils. "Oh, you nasty bitch!" Miss Jeanette doesn't even crack a smile: "That's cleaner than anything you've ever touched." Tara grunts, but settles. "Hold it over the fire. Keep it there." She throws herbs into the fire; sparks fly up: