Interview with the Vampire (2022) s03e01 Episode Script
Detroit
1
Watch
"The Vampire Lestat: After Dark"
on AMC+ or wherever you
get your podcasts.
Previously on the show
formerly titled.
"Interview With the Vampire"
So, Mr. du Lac,
how long have you been dead?
The year was 1910.
Louis, let me introduce you
to Mr. Lestat de Lioncourt.
What exactly is
the nature of your relationship
with my brother,
Monsieur Lioncourt?
I can swap this life of shame,
swap it out for a dark gift.
Be my companion
for all eternity.
He had a way about him.
Preternaturally charming,
occasionally thoughtful.
He was my murderer, my mentor,
my lover, and my maker.
All of those things at once.
Claudia was everything.
The life of a vampire
has its challenges.
Can an immortal meet mortality?
Theoretically, it can be done.
But could it be done by us
to him?
Paris was an awakening
for Louis.
Paris was many things
in those days.
-Bonjour, mon amour.
-Are you schizophrenic, Louis?
I could feel the movement
of air with his movements,
his breath on the back
of my neck.
We were on trial for murder.
Love has always been
difficult for me.
My first paramour,
Nicolas de Lenfent, a violinist.
Nicky!
You led him there
so he could destroy it.
-Yes.
-You saved Louis.
Banishment.
But not her.
Who made you?
His name was Magnus.
He took me from my room in Paris
as I kicked and screamed.
The light's going out
of your blue eyes.
I've come to kill you.
I have the blood of Akasha
in me.
He didn't save you.
Lestat did.
I'm guessing you haven't heard
from my maker.
I shouldn't have left you
alone with him.
Make it up to me.
We'll do a follow-up book.
I'm companion enough
for myself now.
I'm sorry,
I don't have much time.
I'm in the middle of rehearsing.
I'm going on tour.
Just need about 50 more years
of practice.
I'm the little killer
I'm the lonely one ♪
I'm the chill
creeping up your spine ♪
Telling you to run ♪
I'm a hanging shadow
I'm a lost love ♪
I'm the past
and the future ♪
The last of the sutures,
the cooing dove ♪
We're the rock and rollers ♪
We're the good time
We're the heart
pumping blood ♪
We're the face in the mud ♪
We're this stupid rhyme ♪
-Bang, bang.
-Bang, bang ♪
-Bang, bang.
-Bang, bang ♪
Bang, bang ♪
All fall down
Burn the ground ♪
All fall down ♪
Burn the ♪
-Bang, bang.
-Bang, bang
-Bang, bang.
-Bang, bang ♪
Bang, bang, bang, bang,
bang, bang ♪
Hmm. C'est cool.
Good evening.
The house wishes to extend
its gratitude to the gathering
for your compliance with
the unorthodox prerequisites
of tonight's event.
Furthermore,
we wish to reiterate
that the anonymity
that you have granted us
will be given
to you individually
as well as to any institutions
that you are representing.
Stating the obvious,
we are not here
and neither are you.
Lot one of two,
the master recordings
of "The Complete Works of the
Vampire Lestat de Lioncourt,"
which includes
his 2025 self-titled album.
"The Vampire Lestat,"
additional session tracks
that were discarded
in the final assemblage
of the album,
original handwritten scores,
and private recordings
by the Vampire Lestat himself,
which include
a song cycle
in the classical vein
set to the poetry of Baudelaire.
Before we begin the bidding,
I perform the following action.
Are you kidding me?
Are you serious?
This is very insulting.
Shame on you.
We will begin the bidding
at 1 yuan.
Do I hear 1 yuan?
Yi yuan.
Sold to the gentlewoman
in the third row
of good spirit.
Lot number two, a music box
curated by the Vampire Lestat
himself.
A 1978 Ferdinando Meccani
Corinto sideboard.
Inside, a Rossner and Sohn
MOTT turntable
with BeoLab 90 speakers,
two temperature-controlled
wine cabinets,
one holding a bottle
of Niepoort 1863 port wine,
the other with a magnum of blood
from the curator himself.
The upper level,
a singular vinyl pressing
of "The Complete Works of the
Vampire Lestat de Lioncourt,"
previously delineated,
along with 111 albums of audio
best described
as an omniscient history
of the events of the 2025 album
and supporting tour
and the consequential
global catastrophes
that sprung from said album
and tour
as narrated
by the Vampire Lestat himself.
The collection has been named
"The Failures."
We will begin the bidding
at 50 million yuan.
If you are hearing this now,
you must be
a very privileged individual.
You could have fed
a small nation for years
while they paved
over the rubble.
You bought my box instead.
I like you already.
So let's begin in the middle,
for I could and should
have ended it there,
my tour, my hedonistic pursuit
of extremity, all of it.
And had I done so,
the regretful dead
and the traumatized still alive
would be somewhere
other than they are today.
And I am not saying
that the attempted extinction
of the Y chromosome
across the continents
was all my fault.
No, that would suggest
a level of self-importance
even I'm not comfortable with.
But upon reflection
yeah, made a contribution.
It was the spring of 2025.
A good nation was
making itself great again,
again.
And every vampire,
those converting
and those enduring,
well, they were doing
exactly as they pleased.
Ooh, ooh, ooh ♪
Wah-ahh ♪
Ooh, ooh, ooh ♪
Wah-ahh ♪
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Wah-ahh ♪
Why the long face? ♪
My pretty baby ♪
I got long fangs ♪
Come appraise me ♪
Bring your long stakes ♪
That doesn't faze me
I'm an actor ♪
In my makeup ♪
I'll get fatter ♪
When we break up ♪
What does it matter
Who I take up?
Naturally, I named the band
after myself,
and the four that backed me
played their parts
as instructed.
There was Larry,
the front man made sideman
choking his guitar neck nightly
wishing it was mine.
Brother Alex,
the more talented seedling,
straight-edged and half the fun.
Salamander, bassist, dumb.
Shockingly dumb.
And TC, the abandoned bride
of a dozen
"should have died
in art school" bands
keeping us all
in the dirty pocket.
We dropped songs
on the streams and booked
intimate venues to induce
what Gen Snooze called FOMO.
They came for cosplay,
left converted,
and I baptized them
the Beautiful Unwell.
And yet here we were
in the inn of the Stooges
and the Stripes,
30 performances notched,
and already resting
on the alps of adequacy.
Unacceptable.
I'm piano ♪
And you're forte
You're allegro ♪
I'm andante ♪
We're bolero ♪
Prostitué ♪
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Wah-ahh ♪
Another taste ♪
Hello. Welcome to Detroit.
Lovely city.
Your song sucks.
Thank you for the feedback.
Pick up the pace,
pack up the gear ♪
Gimme some face,
a souvenir ♪
Here come the gays,
here comes the fear ♪
Now we're having fun ♪
Fun ♪
Now we're having fun ♪
Ooh
Ah, ah ♪
Ooh ♪
Ah, ah ♪
Oh, yeah, we're coming ♪
Yeah, we're coming ♪
Oh, yeah, we're coming ♪
Oh, yeah, we're coming
Yeah, yeah, we're coming ♪
Oh, yeah, I'm coming ♪
Oh, yeah, oh, yeah ♪
Oh, yeah, oh, yeah ♪
Oh, yeah, oh, yeah ♪
Oh, yeah, oh ♪
-Well, that was boring.
-They seem to like it.
Harmonies on "Plastic Fiends"
were trash.
He's right.
And the front head
on your kick is shimmering.
-Tune it up a step.
-Singer's right.
And you left your tambourine
in its stand, Larry.
Yeah, well,
I was feeling the guitar.
No one is coming
to hear your guitar, Larry.
No, they come
for the Ozzy shtick.
"Dude, rage call
to the Harmony Room.
"Larry Slater's shredding it
tonight," said no one ever.
You sign the checks, singer.
-I do. I do sign the checks.
-Sign this.
The tambourine tomorrow,
as rehearsed and perfected.
-Suck it, singer!
-What am I signing?
-Your night in Corvallis.
-Ah.
You're buying the wife
early retirement
and her lawyer a lake boat.
Use the pen.
But it's funny
because it's blood,
and I'm a vampire.
Notaries in Oregon
don't notarize in red ink.
There's the band,
and there's the shell
that protects the band
from the world's envy.
Our band shell was
Christine Claire.
She hired, fired,
dictated, and castrated
with extreme prejudice.
Try your best
not to be you tonight.
-We want the car.
-No.
-We'll be good.
-Corvallis.
Who do you think?
-You.
-Her.
Me?
All right, sluts, out you go.
So I'm going into my
vampire dressing room now.
A little draining, both ways.
You'll have to guess
who gets the fangs
and who gets the vodka bottle.
And yes, it's a vodka bottle.
He did it again.
Fucking asshole.
Did I mention that I was
filming a documentary
at the time, a bootless errand
helmed by a first-time director.
I've seen a rough cut
truthful and daring
with less Warren Beatty.
-Anyone see Jarda?
-Hey, Jarda, heads up.
From the land
of sky-blue waters ♪
-Ahoj.
-Missing a contact again.
Oh, sakra.
How many drinks have you had?
-1 1/2.
-Drive to the burbs.
Sit by yourself
in a booth at Applebee's.
Order the usual.
Big tip.
Meet us back in the city.
Now, you'd think
a 54-city rock tour
would be a wonderful cover
for a blood drinker.
Hide your kill, hop on the bus,
wave to the morgue reports
in the rear view mirror,
that kind of thing.
But niche celebrity is
a hunter's handicap,
and a sloppy night
in Corvallis made urgent
the need for a body double.
Ahoj!
His name was Jarda Klapek,
and the Albanian gangsters
Christine hired
to find my doppelganger
found him working construction
in the Czech Republic.
Three inches shorter than
your velvet-mouth narrator,
we fit him for lifts,
blue eye contacts, and a wig
and otherwise let him be
Neanderthal me.
I hunted this way,
and we send him that way,
and every sad photograph
uploaded to Reddit or Discord
of Jarda eating
a tuna melt by himself
only confirmed for most
what they already believed
Let's go!
That I, the Vampire Lestat,
was Daniel Molloy's
fictitious creation,
and The Vampire Lestat,
the band, was fronted
by a bricklaying
karaoke fanatic from Ostrava,
nothing but a desperate
cash grab at the end
of a cheugy vampire fad.
And I've only myself to blame
for the timing,
having locked us in an attic
for a year-plus
perfecting our sound,
a sound I hoped would counter
Mr. du Lac's portrayal of me
as a mayonnaise villain
with sociopathic tendencies.
All beside the point,
because the point was,
the point forever is
I know you're real.
Most of humanity
moved on from vampires,
and rather quickly.
Congratulations.
Now go make friends.
They lifted their heads
from their algorithmic
hand masters,
uttered a collective "huh,"
and swiped left.
I am the Vampire Lestat.
I am a god.
Gods are not swiped.
The Cuntessa.
The useful idiot.
Great show.
You left before we started.
Yeah, I figured,
Spotify some T. Rex
and drag a little O neg
from Dr. Fareed-Good here,
same diff.
I am not here.
Can we mic you?
TC punched the boom again.
Yeah. OK.
So, uh, you and Louis
talking again?
He doesn't return my texts
or my telepathy.
I hear he's back in the States.
-We good?
-We're good.
Slate.
OK.
You've been alive and undead
for 265 years.
You witnessed the French
Revolution firsthand,
the electric light, penicillin,
two World Wars, the atomic bomb,
the moon landing,
the Berlin Wall
Joey Chestnut.
What?
He eats hot dogs for a living.
He's extraordinary.
I hope to meet him one day.
Was there a question?
Having accumulated
profound wisdom and experience
through the dark gift
of immortality,
why have you chosen
to waste it singing music
no one wants to hear
in pants no one should
ever squeeze into?
You ask this question
every night.
And I get a different answer
every night.
You'll get me to repeat
myself soon enough, I am sure,
once you confront
your transformational trauma.
I don't have
transformational trauma.
Mm, that's why these
movie producers hired you,
Daniel Molloy, Vampire Slayer.
They said you requested me.
Absurd.
Oh, as absurd as a documentary
about a rock band
posing as vampires
fronted by an actual vampire?
Directed by a vampire
passing as a human.
You tell him, Fareed.
Is it true you were
a stutterer as a child?
Louis said you were.
Was he there
in 18th-century Auvergne?
He said you told him that.
Did I threaten Claudia
with rape on a train?
Was I in the room
when Donizetti wrote
"Don Pasquale"?
No, no, and impossible,
because I had
buried myself underground
for the vast majority
of the 1800s.
I wrote what he told me.
I don't have trauma,
I love being a vampire,
and can you drop
the Fledgling Speak & Spell?
The dark, dreary
industrial world
has finally submitted
to automation.
Laborers stand in their doorways
hitting their pipes
as their children half-pipe
in their drained,
empty swimming pools.
Drug stores locked up
baby formula and shaving cream
while Saks ate Barneys
and someone told everyone
that Lululemon was sexy.
Facts are irrelevant.
Feels are everything.
And the value of human life,
it has never been
more arbitrary.
David, Freddie, Prince Rogers,
they're all gone,
and the lights
on Tay Tay's eras have dimmed.
Fire coming down the hill,
water moving in on Nantucket.
No more safe spaces.
It's my era now.
Post Malone and Jelly Roll
playing there tonight.
60,000 for Face Tattoo Palooza.
You played an 800-seat venue.
How is it your era?
I'm vain and shallow
and fear an empty seat.
Ask me an easy one.
Is it true your band was
formed on Halloween?
You are listening
to "The Failures"
Album 2, Side B.
What do you think?
It's nice.
-Nice?
-Yeah. It's nice.
I don't I don't see
Beyoncé covering it.
But it's nice.
Nice is nothing.
-Oh, it it's nice
-Nice is a balloon.
That you're back writing music.
A flower box is nice.
It's nice that you
got yourself a nice place.
It's a nice word,
and it says everything
I wanted to express.
Don't be a bitch about it.
You should come visit.
I have a space above the bed
in one of the guest rooms
I can't find a painting for.
Oh, the guest room.
You want me to come
and see your guest room.
It's an affluent neighborhood.
Old money, young professionals,
a smattering
of criss-de-trust-fund-bébé.
Mmm, good eating.
Same potholes,
but no hurricanes,
no witches.
And everyone mangles French
just like you do.
Come to me.
Montreal.
I am he, and he is me.
Less baggage here.
I get it. I get it.
Besides, there's an Olmsted
park nearby if I get homesick,
and there's a garage band
rehearsing across the street
who call themselves,
of all things, Satan
They call themselves
Of All Things Satan?
Satan's Night Ou
Sat Satan's Night Owl?
Out. Satan's Night Out.
OK. Makes sense.
Louis, do you know someone
called Daniel Molloy?
Uh
I burned his laptop!
I didn't know he had it
saved in the cloud.
I only found out
it was coming out a month ago.
You've known for a month?
And you talk about me in it
to a mortal?
Well, yeah.
Yeah, kind of but, you know
No, I don't know, Louis.
Please explain yourself.
It's gonna be here and gone
in a minute.
No one reads anymore.
Mm.
Oh.
No, thank you!
Oh.
Oh, I know
what infinitesimal means!
It was raining.
No!
No.
Never fucking
Liar!
I'm not a harlequin.
Your sources are your sherpas.
Your editor is your priest.
Don't go to the F.
G sus out.
Why must you complicate it?
Mm.
All: Trick or treat.
Candy, please.
Hello.
Bon Halloween.
Oh, I wanted the full-size bar.
Is that it?
-Thank you.
-Oh.
Your camera is not
period correct.
I have a peanut allergy.
Well, allergies are delusional.
I'll take the Mounds.
You'll take whatever I give you!
That guy was mean.
Not not the F!
Come on, Larry!
Yeah!
Dude, what the fuck?
G minor sus out!
This isn't 1979.
Bela Lugosi is not dead.
You don't need to finger her
for five bars.
You're hurting her.
-Is that our neighbor?
-Um, yeah.
Apologies for the Squier.
My man Arturo will come
in the morning
with a replacement
and a new front door.
More frequent showers.
Thank you.
What was the question again?
Why music?
Hey. Hey.
Why now?
Dude, that was sick.
What are we doing here?
We're doing a rewrite.
So this whole tour
is just some Byronic reaction
to my book?
Who better to refute the book
than the man who wrote the book?
Mm, well,
the songs are my story,
your documentary
the liner notes.
Liner notes?
I won two Pulitzers.
I'm taking this thing
to Cannes, OK?
I'm gonna be slapping Chris Rock
and stroking my Oscar.
The brat sings, the brat dies.
The Great Laws
are clear on this.
More exposure for us,
more risk for us.
He sings for himself.
Make more!
Only a coven leader
can make more.
The Great Laws
are clear on that.
First the book, now the singer.
This is chaos uncaged.
My little heart's
reflection ♪
You've got a confession ♪
You used to find ♪
I caught a real live one ♪
Didn't blink ♪
Didn't try to run ♪
I caught a real live one ♪
Sucking on the sun ♪
No time for glowing up ♪
No time for throwing up ♪
No time for vibing out ♪
Your phone is blowing up ♪
I caught a real live one ♪
No time for
"I ride my stepbrother ♪
Till he come" ♪
Doo, doo, doo,
dah, dah, dah ♪
Don't wanna smash
your Slack ♪
Or be your morning star ♪
Don't wanna learn
another TikTok dance ♪
Wanna stay in bed ♪
Eating black licorice ♪
Ooh ♪
Beef House
in the Twin Oaks Mall.
Order at the bar this time.
Take some photos with the fans
I've planted there.
Keep 'em scrolling,
rolling ♪
Fire emojin', aubergines ♪
Hi, papi.
I've been a bad boy
Deep down in my heart ♪
I kept
a really dark secret ♪
From the very start ♪
Give me
a million more screams ♪
Means exactly
what you think it means ♪
Doo, doo, doo,
dah, dah, dah ♪
Don't wanna
smash your Slack ♪
Or be your morning star ♪
Don't wanna learn
a fucking TikTok dance ♪
Wanna stay in bed ♪
Eating black licorice ♪
Pick up the fucking tambourine!
From the alps of adequacy
to the canyon of coup d'etat,
two nights in a row, my violin
competing with his guitar
for the solo break.
Two centuries waiting
to share my music,
two years as Mr. du Lac's
B-movie brute.
But just as I was about
to bridge the bridge
with murder and mayhem,
something quite surprising
happened.
My music wrapped itself
around me like a jungle snake
constricting its prey,
and a lifetime
of blood bartering
overwhelmed the temporal lobe.
Muses appeared in my mind
and in the now around me.
Memories taking their turn.
Blood in, blood out.
Hammering away at the
performative vampire persona
I had welded into armor.
The armor cracked.
The bridge buckled.
And the bona fide vampire
emerged center stage.
It was I who had been adequate.
It was I who had been
holding us back,
and now, exposed in the raw
under the white hot lights,
my band mates began to feed.
I wanna stay in bed
eating black licorice ♪
And that sound
I had been grinding them for
was finally unleashed,
a euphoric grottiness
spilling into the crowd,
into their bodies,
enveloping the venue.
I wanna stay in bed
Eating black licorice ♪
I wanna stay in bed ♪
Eating black licorice ♪
I wanna stay in bed ♪
Eating black licorice ♪
I wanna stay in bed
Eating black licorice ♪
I wanna stay in bed ♪
Eating black licorice
I wanna stay in bed ♪
Eating black licorice
Which one of you's OD'd before?
What do you do?
What did she take?
Not her.
Me.
Get her on the ground.
Her blood.
-Ecstasy.
-You dead man'd her, man!
LSD.
What the hell happened up there?
Can't OD on a candy plate.
What the hell were you doing?
I should have quit
right there and then.
Would have been a lovely
footnote to my life, the band,
but the muses
were just beginning.
You done this to me?
-What are you doing?
-Calling 9-1-1.
I lost myself on stage
for a moment.
Seems you still lost.
These songs gonna kill you.
You know that, don't you?
I can't die.
Everything dies.
You die. I die.
She dies.
She dies.
Oh, he dies bad.
I'm immortal.
Yeah, you kill some wolves
and fall in love.
Get the gift, fall in love.
Go to ground, get dug up,
and fall in love.
You're like some wet clothes
in a coin op dryer,
just 265 years round and round.
Why you so sad?
Thousands of fans loving you.
I want millions.
And that'll top off
that heart of yours?
Billions.
Then why you always gotta
make it so hard
for someone to give it to you?
Huh?
Who told you that?
Don't worry.
They comin'.
Who's coming?
Oh, they gonna tell you
themselves.
Who's coming?
Great show tonight.
Who?
You are listening
to "The Failures,".
Album 5, Side B.
If you take nothing else away
from your exorbitant purchase,
heed this advice.
Never play two nights
in Detroit.
You'll wind up in Windsor
with a broken orbital bone
listening to transactional sex
through the adjoining walls.
How I came
to this squalid real estate
is the premise of Side B,
Album 5, so
Uh-huh, come!
Now, the boutique hotel
we were staying at
was having a grand-ish opening
that night,
and the band was asked
to lend its celebrity status
to the event.
Don't tell me to pose.
Fuck you.
There was a red carpet,
a pap line,
and a vampire DJ of some renown
seducing corporate employees,
provincial influencers,
and party crashing
Beautifully Unwell.
Move faster. Thank you.
Thank you.
I was having sex
in an elevator with Dee
and the girl I had just
overindulged myself with
earlier in the night.
Actually, that happens
later.
A lot of things happened
that night.
Huh.
Come on.
Come on, come on, come on!
The band is inside with Dan
in the VIP perch.
I'm giving the paps my pussycat
with no idea that I would be
in a fang fight
less than an hour later.
No, no, no, no.
I'm getting
ahead of myself again.
I arrive fashionably late,
of course.
State your name for the camera.
Baby Jenks.
OK, Baby, tell me, why do you
like The Vampire Lestat?
Like, I'm gonna be in the movie?
Oh, you're in it now.
I am feeling good.
Surfing the sublime
candy-flipped wave
of the girl's blood.
You're him.
You're that voice.
The girl is feeling good
Wow.
Riding the wonders
of Dr. Fareed's
blood transfusion
quick pick-me-up cocktail.
Who's that guy, 'cause, like,
rock and roll, it's dying.
I sat there
soaking up her praise
along with the band,
still somehow blind
to the vampiric mysteries
of their front man.
So what if the dead
and buried past
was now a fresh
and eager groupie?
It's rock and roll, you know?
Have a nervous breakdown
onstage,
chat it up
with the floating girl
on the ceiling
you almost killed,
have sex with her
in the elevator
ah, I'm still not there yet.
MDMA and LSD,
the Torvill and Dean
of hallucinogenics.
And so then everybody's like,
is rock and roll actually dying?
Were you a stutterer as a child?
They walk into the ER.
They are, like, the doctor,
and Lestat's the scalpel.
I'm the scalpel.
Print the T-shirts.
And so he, the scalpel,
cuts into rock and roll's heart
like he cut into mine tonight.
And he has the heart
in his mouth.
He's like, "Do you wanna fuck?"
And rock and roll is like,
"Yes, bitch!"
I excused myself
to the men's room.
Didn't read about
vampire physiology
in Mr. du Lac's memoir,
did you?
No mention of the scars
on my chest either.
Hair stopping
way above my shoulders.
And just for the record,
no ticket pocket of mine
ever had his initials
inscribed onto them.
I mean,
these are the editorial wags
of an insane person.
Note to self, edit that out
in the final version.
Starting again.
Vampires pee.
We don't do it
as often as you do,
assuming you're not one of us.
And we generally avoid
eco-friendly urinals.
Mm.
Detroit.
Name's Tim.
-She's Rus.
-They're Rus.
-Pronouns.
-Mm.
And yet it's respectful,
like silence at a urinal.
Things got a bit crossed
when we were minding each other
the other night.
Rus here has a hot mouth.
And a strong pelvic floor.
I admire your aim.
Mm.
"Long Face" sucks.
Rus wanted to apologize.
But "Black Licorice,".
"Why Do I Have to Feel,"
I like those ones.
"Frankly, Mr. Shankly" almost
ruined "The Queen Is Dead."
Apology accepted.
We have a coven
out here in Detroit.
-Do you?
-The Fang Gang.
You want to see a real
vampire bar, come with us.
We have a huge house
out past Brightmoor.
Our own farm
under the floorboards.
Hmm, sure.
What about tomorrow night?
You're on the road
tomorrow night.
Yes.
That was me being polite.
No, that was you lying.
Eco-friendly urinals.
Good for the planet,
so we're told.
Good for vampires? Hmm.
We chardonnay them.
And then
there's regional vampires.
Always trying to make
a name for themselves.
I chardonnay them, too.
Obligations, I'm afraid.
But please do send
my most sincere bonjour
to your Brightmoorish coven.
Lilac.
I have a blind spot
when it comes
to blood poisoning.
You'd think a vampire
of my stature would know better.
But then
there's that old saying.
You fool me once, shame on me.
You fool me twice, MDMA
and LSD are excellent drugs.
Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce.
Twirl, twirl.
Overshare.
I saw your soul.
I saw yours, too.
Still feeling good,
I went looking for my band,
looking for sex,
looking for anything
that radiated the fun
that I sang about
in my song, "Long Face."
And then
Regionals.
Wait, did she say
that "Long Face" sucked?
"Long Face" sucks.
Does it suck?
I wondered.
Did she have a point?
And then I thought, ooh,
they want a little scrap
with the scalpel.
No worries, I thought.
I have the Queen's blood in me.
I could take
20 regionals at once
with the Queen's blood.
Where's the band, Dan?
They called
corporate bullshit.
Went to party upstairs.
So I'm scoring dick pills
in Mogadishu
for a UN peacekeeper
when in walks Stewart Copeland
wearing a kufi
and a mouthful of ammo.
So I thought about
having sex with Christine,
and then I thought,
that's all the way upstairs.
And then I thought,
I'm the scalpel.
What does the scalpel do
between here and upstairs?
Mr. du Lac's memoir tiptoed
around vampire sex, didn't it?
He and Dan made it out
to be this tortured act
or obligational foreplay
before blood drinking.
That is not the case at all.
It's not the capstone
of vampiric desires.
That would be
the taking of life,
and next would be
a good draining,
leaving your victim
near death and paralyzed
for an unhurried escape.
And after that,
there's the pet it coup,
the little drink, the sip.
And after those three, it's sex.
So now you know,
the fourth best thing
a vampire can do to avoid
thinking about the past
is to have sex.
Sex. Sex. Sex.
And I have had
a lot of sex over the years.
It's not all pain and toxicity.
I have an immortal life,
and I carry with it
an immortal erection.
And I am not ashamed of it.
Sex is fun, like the fun
I sing about in "Long Face,"
which, looking back
on it now, does suck.
I still have residuals
coming in, actually.
Carnal pleasure is essential
to a vampire's survival,
if only to keep time's baggage
from burying you.
Sex with the bellman and Dee
and honey-trapping Baby Jenks.
Probably should have
gotten off the seventh floor
when I had gotten off.
But I didn't.
I'm getting married in a week.
I'll never forget you.
Law 4: no vampire
shall ever reveal
his or her true nature
to a mortal
and let the mortal live.
You do know it's 2025?
Face the wall, my dear.
You'll not want to see this.
Mmm.
The Tooth Team.
The Fang Gang.
I killed a pack of wolves
when I was a mortal.
I'll most likely tell you
about that later,
as I let it define me
for a time.
And normally,
confining architecture
and a thrift store coven
galvanized by medieval dogma
wouldn't faze me in the least.
I am building a career
that supports my well-being.
But the drug blood
and my sex legs
and the distracting past
my music had unleashed on me
put me at a momentary
disadvantage.
I'm in charge
of my work-life balance.
Law 4,
as if the du Lac-Molloy memoir
hadn't outed us all
two years ago,
as if my entire stage show
wasn't a bawdy burlesque
of "is he or isn't he,"
as if half
the vampire population
outside the ruined port
of Detroit wasn't waving
the dark gift like red cups
in a piss bar,
collecting fledglings
like they were Labubu dolls.
I mean, I haven't even told
my band
I was an actual vampire.
I was just singing my songs
and fucking my food
and defending myself
from the vibrant life choices
I had made on my way
from the Auvergne countryside
to the eighth floor
of this "why bother" hotel.
And this is how it was all
going to end for me?
We are the Fang Gang.
We are the children
of the darkness reborn.
Jesus fucking Christ.
"Armand told the truth"?
Have you met him?
What the fuck
does that even mean?
Heard there was an after-party
on the asshole floor.
I like to think I was owed
the reinforcements,
Dan and the oddly familiar DJ,
but that's me looking back
on it now.
Anything I had done
to deserve their timely rescue
hadn't happened yet.
I'd be dead, I think,
without Dan.
But then maybe more of the world
would still be alive had Dan not
rallied his army downstairs.
Consider this sliding door
of Dan
as you decant my blood
and devour my words.
It's hard hiding you're a god.
You're for real?
CCTV, eco-flush toilets,
IMF freezing your accounts
because you have the blood
of a patricidal queen
inside you.
Hello again.
Théâtre des Vampires.
Talamasca dragged me into that.
And once you reveal yourself,
you have to be on all the time
and remember every face
you've ever met.
And everywhere you go,
everyone remembers
the thing they said to you
in the room that you shared.
Were you a stutterer as a child?
This is why gods prefer
hiding in the clouds.
There's nothing there
But water waiting to fall.
So many opportunities
to call it a night that night.
After the song
unleashed the muses.
After I saw my first soul.
After I was nearly decapitated
in a boutique hotel hallway.
After my vampire nature
was revealed to the band
and my vampire gift
winged me away
north of the river,
south of the country.
But I was saved
from such rational thought.
Love will do that to you.
Ma chère.
Very kind of you to come.
I got myself into something
I can't get out of.
Music's opened up
the batch oven,
and I'm not sure
if I can close it again.
I'm not really
at my best, but
It's very nice to see you again.
I like what you've done
with your hair, my Ga
my Ga
My Gabriella.
It's not much
of a reveal, I guess.
I know it's common gossip now,
the first thing one thinks about
when my name comes up.
I assume a privileged
individual such as yourself
enjoys a little dirt
in their sandwich.
So I serve it to you now
how it felt then.
Fledgling,
lover,
mother.
Listen to tracks
from "The Vampire Lestat"
wherever you stream music.
If you're still listening
after the last hour,
welcome back.
Bring on the muses.
Give me a million
more screams ♪
Do you kill people?
Give me a million
more screams ♪
Let's talk about your mother.
I've been a bad boy,
deep down in my heart ♪
My maker called for his mama
and I came.
Give me a million
more screams ♪
You are caught
in great danger with Lestat.
You stole my personal physician.
You hired my biographer.
The songs are not about you.
I want to stay in bed
eating black licorice ♪
Shall we do it? Shall we
scorch the mortal world?
I want to stay in bed
eating black licorice ♪
What do you think
about the great conversion?
Fucking stupid.
I want to stay in bed
eating black licorice ♪
You are listening to
The Failures
album eight, side A.
At the top of our first episode,
we show a scene that is
probably happening in real time
after a bunch of catastrophic
events have happened.
If you are hearing this now,
you must be a very privileged
individual.
What makes this season special
is that it's still
the same characters
that you love and know
from the previous seasons.
We're just putting them
in an entirely new world.
And as they do in the books
and as we do in the show,
the world continues
to crack open larger and larger.
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Just like the plot changes,
the whole attitude of the show
changes,
and we move into this completely
crazy rock-'n'-roll world.
He did it again.
A lot of the beauty and elegance
that you would usually see him
surrounded by is gone.
It feels really grungy
and really rough and really raw.
So it was a very fun environment
to be putting him in.
-Come to me.
-Montreal.
I am he, and he is me.
Louis and Lestat are FaceTiming,
and you're probably gonna
get the sense
that Louis is gonna come over
pretty soon.
They'll probably get
back together or work it out.
-Nice?
-Yeah. It's nice.
One of the first conversations
I had
with Rolin and Hannah
and the writers
was that I think Louis has
watched just a ton of YouTube
in his time off
you know, like cat videos.
Probably hungrily.
Louis, do you know someone
called Daniel Malloy?
Lestat finds out about the book,
and then that completely
throws all those plans
out of the window.
One of my favorite things
about the second season
of "Interview With the Vampire"
is
I burned his laptop.
I didn't know he had it saved
in the cloud.
Louis sets fire to a laptop
to try and erase the book.
But, like, no one told him
about the cloud.
I only found out
it was coming out a month ago.
You've known for a month,
and you talk about me in it
to a mortal?
Well, yeah.
Uh, yeah.
Kind of But you know?
No, I don't know, Louis.
Please explain yourself.
Both Louis and Lestat
are not necessarily happy
with the way that either of them
were portrayed in the book.
It's like a mix of guilt
and probably a sense
of vengeance about it.
Lestat sees that book come out,
sees what he perceives are lies
and distortions, mistruths,
and he's like, "You know what?
I'm gonna set the record
straight."
Was he there
in 18th-century Auvergne?
He said you told him that.
Did I threaten Claudia
with rape on a train?
No.
And impossible.
Daniel Molloy is
an investigative journalist
of the absolute top shelf.
Who better to refute the book
than the man who wrote the book?
He has an incorrigible need
to find out what the truth is.
Why do you like the vampire
Lestat?
Heard there was an after-party
on the asshole floor.
This isn't just sex, drugs,
and rock 'n' roll.
It's sex, drugs, rock 'n' roll,
and sucking blood
out of people's necks.
You're for real?
Black Licorice is a great song.
It's about the first kill
that Lestat made
after he reconciled with Louis
in New Orleans.
Didn't blink,
didn't try to run ♪
I got a real live one ♪
Particularly in Episode 1,
you do see that he's pushing
and pushing
to get this sort of moment
of grace,
to be completely engulfed
in the music.
But just as I was about
to bridge the bridge
with murder and mayhem,
something quite surprising
happened.
And that's what he gets
from Black Licorice.
He does have his
first breakdown of many.
Muses appeared in my mind
and in the now around me.
He realizes that he was the one
that was holding them back.
So then, all of a sudden,
it cracks open,
and the real thing
starts to appear.
And that sound
I had been grinding them for
was finally unleashed.
He started it to be "I'm gonna
go and tell my story.
I'm gonna do a rewrite.
This is my version of events."
And it's evolved
into something different.
He's tapped into his past.
I want to stay in bad,
eating black licorice ♪
Which one of you
has OD'd before?
Watch
"The Vampire Lestat: After Dark"
on AMC+ or wherever you
get your podcasts.
Previously on the show
formerly titled.
"Interview With the Vampire"
So, Mr. du Lac,
how long have you been dead?
The year was 1910.
Louis, let me introduce you
to Mr. Lestat de Lioncourt.
What exactly is
the nature of your relationship
with my brother,
Monsieur Lioncourt?
I can swap this life of shame,
swap it out for a dark gift.
Be my companion
for all eternity.
He had a way about him.
Preternaturally charming,
occasionally thoughtful.
He was my murderer, my mentor,
my lover, and my maker.
All of those things at once.
Claudia was everything.
The life of a vampire
has its challenges.
Can an immortal meet mortality?
Theoretically, it can be done.
But could it be done by us
to him?
Paris was an awakening
for Louis.
Paris was many things
in those days.
-Bonjour, mon amour.
-Are you schizophrenic, Louis?
I could feel the movement
of air with his movements,
his breath on the back
of my neck.
We were on trial for murder.
Love has always been
difficult for me.
My first paramour,
Nicolas de Lenfent, a violinist.
Nicky!
You led him there
so he could destroy it.
-Yes.
-You saved Louis.
Banishment.
But not her.
Who made you?
His name was Magnus.
He took me from my room in Paris
as I kicked and screamed.
The light's going out
of your blue eyes.
I've come to kill you.
I have the blood of Akasha
in me.
He didn't save you.
Lestat did.
I'm guessing you haven't heard
from my maker.
I shouldn't have left you
alone with him.
Make it up to me.
We'll do a follow-up book.
I'm companion enough
for myself now.
I'm sorry,
I don't have much time.
I'm in the middle of rehearsing.
I'm going on tour.
Just need about 50 more years
of practice.
I'm the little killer
I'm the lonely one ♪
I'm the chill
creeping up your spine ♪
Telling you to run ♪
I'm a hanging shadow
I'm a lost love ♪
I'm the past
and the future ♪
The last of the sutures,
the cooing dove ♪
We're the rock and rollers ♪
We're the good time
We're the heart
pumping blood ♪
We're the face in the mud ♪
We're this stupid rhyme ♪
-Bang, bang.
-Bang, bang ♪
-Bang, bang.
-Bang, bang ♪
Bang, bang ♪
All fall down
Burn the ground ♪
All fall down ♪
Burn the ♪
-Bang, bang.
-Bang, bang
-Bang, bang.
-Bang, bang ♪
Bang, bang, bang, bang,
bang, bang ♪
Hmm. C'est cool.
Good evening.
The house wishes to extend
its gratitude to the gathering
for your compliance with
the unorthodox prerequisites
of tonight's event.
Furthermore,
we wish to reiterate
that the anonymity
that you have granted us
will be given
to you individually
as well as to any institutions
that you are representing.
Stating the obvious,
we are not here
and neither are you.
Lot one of two,
the master recordings
of "The Complete Works of the
Vampire Lestat de Lioncourt,"
which includes
his 2025 self-titled album.
"The Vampire Lestat,"
additional session tracks
that were discarded
in the final assemblage
of the album,
original handwritten scores,
and private recordings
by the Vampire Lestat himself,
which include
a song cycle
in the classical vein
set to the poetry of Baudelaire.
Before we begin the bidding,
I perform the following action.
Are you kidding me?
Are you serious?
This is very insulting.
Shame on you.
We will begin the bidding
at 1 yuan.
Do I hear 1 yuan?
Yi yuan.
Sold to the gentlewoman
in the third row
of good spirit.
Lot number two, a music box
curated by the Vampire Lestat
himself.
A 1978 Ferdinando Meccani
Corinto sideboard.
Inside, a Rossner and Sohn
MOTT turntable
with BeoLab 90 speakers,
two temperature-controlled
wine cabinets,
one holding a bottle
of Niepoort 1863 port wine,
the other with a magnum of blood
from the curator himself.
The upper level,
a singular vinyl pressing
of "The Complete Works of the
Vampire Lestat de Lioncourt,"
previously delineated,
along with 111 albums of audio
best described
as an omniscient history
of the events of the 2025 album
and supporting tour
and the consequential
global catastrophes
that sprung from said album
and tour
as narrated
by the Vampire Lestat himself.
The collection has been named
"The Failures."
We will begin the bidding
at 50 million yuan.
If you are hearing this now,
you must be
a very privileged individual.
You could have fed
a small nation for years
while they paved
over the rubble.
You bought my box instead.
I like you already.
So let's begin in the middle,
for I could and should
have ended it there,
my tour, my hedonistic pursuit
of extremity, all of it.
And had I done so,
the regretful dead
and the traumatized still alive
would be somewhere
other than they are today.
And I am not saying
that the attempted extinction
of the Y chromosome
across the continents
was all my fault.
No, that would suggest
a level of self-importance
even I'm not comfortable with.
But upon reflection
yeah, made a contribution.
It was the spring of 2025.
A good nation was
making itself great again,
again.
And every vampire,
those converting
and those enduring,
well, they were doing
exactly as they pleased.
Ooh, ooh, ooh ♪
Wah-ahh ♪
Ooh, ooh, ooh ♪
Wah-ahh ♪
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Wah-ahh ♪
Why the long face? ♪
My pretty baby ♪
I got long fangs ♪
Come appraise me ♪
Bring your long stakes ♪
That doesn't faze me
I'm an actor ♪
In my makeup ♪
I'll get fatter ♪
When we break up ♪
What does it matter
Who I take up?
Naturally, I named the band
after myself,
and the four that backed me
played their parts
as instructed.
There was Larry,
the front man made sideman
choking his guitar neck nightly
wishing it was mine.
Brother Alex,
the more talented seedling,
straight-edged and half the fun.
Salamander, bassist, dumb.
Shockingly dumb.
And TC, the abandoned bride
of a dozen
"should have died
in art school" bands
keeping us all
in the dirty pocket.
We dropped songs
on the streams and booked
intimate venues to induce
what Gen Snooze called FOMO.
They came for cosplay,
left converted,
and I baptized them
the Beautiful Unwell.
And yet here we were
in the inn of the Stooges
and the Stripes,
30 performances notched,
and already resting
on the alps of adequacy.
Unacceptable.
I'm piano ♪
And you're forte
You're allegro ♪
I'm andante ♪
We're bolero ♪
Prostitué ♪
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Wah-ahh ♪
Another taste ♪
Hello. Welcome to Detroit.
Lovely city.
Your song sucks.
Thank you for the feedback.
Pick up the pace,
pack up the gear ♪
Gimme some face,
a souvenir ♪
Here come the gays,
here comes the fear ♪
Now we're having fun ♪
Fun ♪
Now we're having fun ♪
Ooh
Ah, ah ♪
Ooh ♪
Ah, ah ♪
Oh, yeah, we're coming ♪
Yeah, we're coming ♪
Oh, yeah, we're coming ♪
Oh, yeah, we're coming
Yeah, yeah, we're coming ♪
Oh, yeah, I'm coming ♪
Oh, yeah, oh, yeah ♪
Oh, yeah, oh, yeah ♪
Oh, yeah, oh, yeah ♪
Oh, yeah, oh ♪
-Well, that was boring.
-They seem to like it.
Harmonies on "Plastic Fiends"
were trash.
He's right.
And the front head
on your kick is shimmering.
-Tune it up a step.
-Singer's right.
And you left your tambourine
in its stand, Larry.
Yeah, well,
I was feeling the guitar.
No one is coming
to hear your guitar, Larry.
No, they come
for the Ozzy shtick.
"Dude, rage call
to the Harmony Room.
"Larry Slater's shredding it
tonight," said no one ever.
You sign the checks, singer.
-I do. I do sign the checks.
-Sign this.
The tambourine tomorrow,
as rehearsed and perfected.
-Suck it, singer!
-What am I signing?
-Your night in Corvallis.
-Ah.
You're buying the wife
early retirement
and her lawyer a lake boat.
Use the pen.
But it's funny
because it's blood,
and I'm a vampire.
Notaries in Oregon
don't notarize in red ink.
There's the band,
and there's the shell
that protects the band
from the world's envy.
Our band shell was
Christine Claire.
She hired, fired,
dictated, and castrated
with extreme prejudice.
Try your best
not to be you tonight.
-We want the car.
-No.
-We'll be good.
-Corvallis.
Who do you think?
-You.
-Her.
Me?
All right, sluts, out you go.
So I'm going into my
vampire dressing room now.
A little draining, both ways.
You'll have to guess
who gets the fangs
and who gets the vodka bottle.
And yes, it's a vodka bottle.
He did it again.
Fucking asshole.
Did I mention that I was
filming a documentary
at the time, a bootless errand
helmed by a first-time director.
I've seen a rough cut
truthful and daring
with less Warren Beatty.
-Anyone see Jarda?
-Hey, Jarda, heads up.
From the land
of sky-blue waters ♪
-Ahoj.
-Missing a contact again.
Oh, sakra.
How many drinks have you had?
-1 1/2.
-Drive to the burbs.
Sit by yourself
in a booth at Applebee's.
Order the usual.
Big tip.
Meet us back in the city.
Now, you'd think
a 54-city rock tour
would be a wonderful cover
for a blood drinker.
Hide your kill, hop on the bus,
wave to the morgue reports
in the rear view mirror,
that kind of thing.
But niche celebrity is
a hunter's handicap,
and a sloppy night
in Corvallis made urgent
the need for a body double.
Ahoj!
His name was Jarda Klapek,
and the Albanian gangsters
Christine hired
to find my doppelganger
found him working construction
in the Czech Republic.
Three inches shorter than
your velvet-mouth narrator,
we fit him for lifts,
blue eye contacts, and a wig
and otherwise let him be
Neanderthal me.
I hunted this way,
and we send him that way,
and every sad photograph
uploaded to Reddit or Discord
of Jarda eating
a tuna melt by himself
only confirmed for most
what they already believed
Let's go!
That I, the Vampire Lestat,
was Daniel Molloy's
fictitious creation,
and The Vampire Lestat,
the band, was fronted
by a bricklaying
karaoke fanatic from Ostrava,
nothing but a desperate
cash grab at the end
of a cheugy vampire fad.
And I've only myself to blame
for the timing,
having locked us in an attic
for a year-plus
perfecting our sound,
a sound I hoped would counter
Mr. du Lac's portrayal of me
as a mayonnaise villain
with sociopathic tendencies.
All beside the point,
because the point was,
the point forever is
I know you're real.
Most of humanity
moved on from vampires,
and rather quickly.
Congratulations.
Now go make friends.
They lifted their heads
from their algorithmic
hand masters,
uttered a collective "huh,"
and swiped left.
I am the Vampire Lestat.
I am a god.
Gods are not swiped.
The Cuntessa.
The useful idiot.
Great show.
You left before we started.
Yeah, I figured,
Spotify some T. Rex
and drag a little O neg
from Dr. Fareed-Good here,
same diff.
I am not here.
Can we mic you?
TC punched the boom again.
Yeah. OK.
So, uh, you and Louis
talking again?
He doesn't return my texts
or my telepathy.
I hear he's back in the States.
-We good?
-We're good.
Slate.
OK.
You've been alive and undead
for 265 years.
You witnessed the French
Revolution firsthand,
the electric light, penicillin,
two World Wars, the atomic bomb,
the moon landing,
the Berlin Wall
Joey Chestnut.
What?
He eats hot dogs for a living.
He's extraordinary.
I hope to meet him one day.
Was there a question?
Having accumulated
profound wisdom and experience
through the dark gift
of immortality,
why have you chosen
to waste it singing music
no one wants to hear
in pants no one should
ever squeeze into?
You ask this question
every night.
And I get a different answer
every night.
You'll get me to repeat
myself soon enough, I am sure,
once you confront
your transformational trauma.
I don't have
transformational trauma.
Mm, that's why these
movie producers hired you,
Daniel Molloy, Vampire Slayer.
They said you requested me.
Absurd.
Oh, as absurd as a documentary
about a rock band
posing as vampires
fronted by an actual vampire?
Directed by a vampire
passing as a human.
You tell him, Fareed.
Is it true you were
a stutterer as a child?
Louis said you were.
Was he there
in 18th-century Auvergne?
He said you told him that.
Did I threaten Claudia
with rape on a train?
Was I in the room
when Donizetti wrote
"Don Pasquale"?
No, no, and impossible,
because I had
buried myself underground
for the vast majority
of the 1800s.
I wrote what he told me.
I don't have trauma,
I love being a vampire,
and can you drop
the Fledgling Speak & Spell?
The dark, dreary
industrial world
has finally submitted
to automation.
Laborers stand in their doorways
hitting their pipes
as their children half-pipe
in their drained,
empty swimming pools.
Drug stores locked up
baby formula and shaving cream
while Saks ate Barneys
and someone told everyone
that Lululemon was sexy.
Facts are irrelevant.
Feels are everything.
And the value of human life,
it has never been
more arbitrary.
David, Freddie, Prince Rogers,
they're all gone,
and the lights
on Tay Tay's eras have dimmed.
Fire coming down the hill,
water moving in on Nantucket.
No more safe spaces.
It's my era now.
Post Malone and Jelly Roll
playing there tonight.
60,000 for Face Tattoo Palooza.
You played an 800-seat venue.
How is it your era?
I'm vain and shallow
and fear an empty seat.
Ask me an easy one.
Is it true your band was
formed on Halloween?
You are listening
to "The Failures"
Album 2, Side B.
What do you think?
It's nice.
-Nice?
-Yeah. It's nice.
I don't I don't see
Beyoncé covering it.
But it's nice.
Nice is nothing.
-Oh, it it's nice
-Nice is a balloon.
That you're back writing music.
A flower box is nice.
It's nice that you
got yourself a nice place.
It's a nice word,
and it says everything
I wanted to express.
Don't be a bitch about it.
You should come visit.
I have a space above the bed
in one of the guest rooms
I can't find a painting for.
Oh, the guest room.
You want me to come
and see your guest room.
It's an affluent neighborhood.
Old money, young professionals,
a smattering
of criss-de-trust-fund-bébé.
Mmm, good eating.
Same potholes,
but no hurricanes,
no witches.
And everyone mangles French
just like you do.
Come to me.
Montreal.
I am he, and he is me.
Less baggage here.
I get it. I get it.
Besides, there's an Olmsted
park nearby if I get homesick,
and there's a garage band
rehearsing across the street
who call themselves,
of all things, Satan
They call themselves
Of All Things Satan?
Satan's Night Ou
Sat Satan's Night Owl?
Out. Satan's Night Out.
OK. Makes sense.
Louis, do you know someone
called Daniel Molloy?
Uh
I burned his laptop!
I didn't know he had it
saved in the cloud.
I only found out
it was coming out a month ago.
You've known for a month?
And you talk about me in it
to a mortal?
Well, yeah.
Yeah, kind of but, you know
No, I don't know, Louis.
Please explain yourself.
It's gonna be here and gone
in a minute.
No one reads anymore.
Mm.
Oh.
No, thank you!
Oh.
Oh, I know
what infinitesimal means!
It was raining.
No!
No.
Never fucking
Liar!
I'm not a harlequin.
Your sources are your sherpas.
Your editor is your priest.
Don't go to the F.
G sus out.
Why must you complicate it?
Mm.
All: Trick or treat.
Candy, please.
Hello.
Bon Halloween.
Oh, I wanted the full-size bar.
Is that it?
-Thank you.
-Oh.
Your camera is not
period correct.
I have a peanut allergy.
Well, allergies are delusional.
I'll take the Mounds.
You'll take whatever I give you!
That guy was mean.
Not not the F!
Come on, Larry!
Yeah!
Dude, what the fuck?
G minor sus out!
This isn't 1979.
Bela Lugosi is not dead.
You don't need to finger her
for five bars.
You're hurting her.
-Is that our neighbor?
-Um, yeah.
Apologies for the Squier.
My man Arturo will come
in the morning
with a replacement
and a new front door.
More frequent showers.
Thank you.
What was the question again?
Why music?
Hey. Hey.
Why now?
Dude, that was sick.
What are we doing here?
We're doing a rewrite.
So this whole tour
is just some Byronic reaction
to my book?
Who better to refute the book
than the man who wrote the book?
Mm, well,
the songs are my story,
your documentary
the liner notes.
Liner notes?
I won two Pulitzers.
I'm taking this thing
to Cannes, OK?
I'm gonna be slapping Chris Rock
and stroking my Oscar.
The brat sings, the brat dies.
The Great Laws
are clear on this.
More exposure for us,
more risk for us.
He sings for himself.
Make more!
Only a coven leader
can make more.
The Great Laws
are clear on that.
First the book, now the singer.
This is chaos uncaged.
My little heart's
reflection ♪
You've got a confession ♪
You used to find ♪
I caught a real live one ♪
Didn't blink ♪
Didn't try to run ♪
I caught a real live one ♪
Sucking on the sun ♪
No time for glowing up ♪
No time for throwing up ♪
No time for vibing out ♪
Your phone is blowing up ♪
I caught a real live one ♪
No time for
"I ride my stepbrother ♪
Till he come" ♪
Doo, doo, doo,
dah, dah, dah ♪
Don't wanna smash
your Slack ♪
Or be your morning star ♪
Don't wanna learn
another TikTok dance ♪
Wanna stay in bed ♪
Eating black licorice ♪
Ooh ♪
Beef House
in the Twin Oaks Mall.
Order at the bar this time.
Take some photos with the fans
I've planted there.
Keep 'em scrolling,
rolling ♪
Fire emojin', aubergines ♪
Hi, papi.
I've been a bad boy
Deep down in my heart ♪
I kept
a really dark secret ♪
From the very start ♪
Give me
a million more screams ♪
Means exactly
what you think it means ♪
Doo, doo, doo,
dah, dah, dah ♪
Don't wanna
smash your Slack ♪
Or be your morning star ♪
Don't wanna learn
a fucking TikTok dance ♪
Wanna stay in bed ♪
Eating black licorice ♪
Pick up the fucking tambourine!
From the alps of adequacy
to the canyon of coup d'etat,
two nights in a row, my violin
competing with his guitar
for the solo break.
Two centuries waiting
to share my music,
two years as Mr. du Lac's
B-movie brute.
But just as I was about
to bridge the bridge
with murder and mayhem,
something quite surprising
happened.
My music wrapped itself
around me like a jungle snake
constricting its prey,
and a lifetime
of blood bartering
overwhelmed the temporal lobe.
Muses appeared in my mind
and in the now around me.
Memories taking their turn.
Blood in, blood out.
Hammering away at the
performative vampire persona
I had welded into armor.
The armor cracked.
The bridge buckled.
And the bona fide vampire
emerged center stage.
It was I who had been adequate.
It was I who had been
holding us back,
and now, exposed in the raw
under the white hot lights,
my band mates began to feed.
I wanna stay in bed
eating black licorice ♪
And that sound
I had been grinding them for
was finally unleashed,
a euphoric grottiness
spilling into the crowd,
into their bodies,
enveloping the venue.
I wanna stay in bed
Eating black licorice ♪
I wanna stay in bed ♪
Eating black licorice ♪
I wanna stay in bed ♪
Eating black licorice ♪
I wanna stay in bed
Eating black licorice ♪
I wanna stay in bed ♪
Eating black licorice
I wanna stay in bed ♪
Eating black licorice
Which one of you's OD'd before?
What do you do?
What did she take?
Not her.
Me.
Get her on the ground.
Her blood.
-Ecstasy.
-You dead man'd her, man!
LSD.
What the hell happened up there?
Can't OD on a candy plate.
What the hell were you doing?
I should have quit
right there and then.
Would have been a lovely
footnote to my life, the band,
but the muses
were just beginning.
You done this to me?
-What are you doing?
-Calling 9-1-1.
I lost myself on stage
for a moment.
Seems you still lost.
These songs gonna kill you.
You know that, don't you?
I can't die.
Everything dies.
You die. I die.
She dies.
She dies.
Oh, he dies bad.
I'm immortal.
Yeah, you kill some wolves
and fall in love.
Get the gift, fall in love.
Go to ground, get dug up,
and fall in love.
You're like some wet clothes
in a coin op dryer,
just 265 years round and round.
Why you so sad?
Thousands of fans loving you.
I want millions.
And that'll top off
that heart of yours?
Billions.
Then why you always gotta
make it so hard
for someone to give it to you?
Huh?
Who told you that?
Don't worry.
They comin'.
Who's coming?
Oh, they gonna tell you
themselves.
Who's coming?
Great show tonight.
Who?
You are listening
to "The Failures,".
Album 5, Side B.
If you take nothing else away
from your exorbitant purchase,
heed this advice.
Never play two nights
in Detroit.
You'll wind up in Windsor
with a broken orbital bone
listening to transactional sex
through the adjoining walls.
How I came
to this squalid real estate
is the premise of Side B,
Album 5, so
Uh-huh, come!
Now, the boutique hotel
we were staying at
was having a grand-ish opening
that night,
and the band was asked
to lend its celebrity status
to the event.
Don't tell me to pose.
Fuck you.
There was a red carpet,
a pap line,
and a vampire DJ of some renown
seducing corporate employees,
provincial influencers,
and party crashing
Beautifully Unwell.
Move faster. Thank you.
Thank you.
I was having sex
in an elevator with Dee
and the girl I had just
overindulged myself with
earlier in the night.
Actually, that happens
later.
A lot of things happened
that night.
Huh.
Come on.
Come on, come on, come on!
The band is inside with Dan
in the VIP perch.
I'm giving the paps my pussycat
with no idea that I would be
in a fang fight
less than an hour later.
No, no, no, no.
I'm getting
ahead of myself again.
I arrive fashionably late,
of course.
State your name for the camera.
Baby Jenks.
OK, Baby, tell me, why do you
like The Vampire Lestat?
Like, I'm gonna be in the movie?
Oh, you're in it now.
I am feeling good.
Surfing the sublime
candy-flipped wave
of the girl's blood.
You're him.
You're that voice.
The girl is feeling good
Wow.
Riding the wonders
of Dr. Fareed's
blood transfusion
quick pick-me-up cocktail.
Who's that guy, 'cause, like,
rock and roll, it's dying.
I sat there
soaking up her praise
along with the band,
still somehow blind
to the vampiric mysteries
of their front man.
So what if the dead
and buried past
was now a fresh
and eager groupie?
It's rock and roll, you know?
Have a nervous breakdown
onstage,
chat it up
with the floating girl
on the ceiling
you almost killed,
have sex with her
in the elevator
ah, I'm still not there yet.
MDMA and LSD,
the Torvill and Dean
of hallucinogenics.
And so then everybody's like,
is rock and roll actually dying?
Were you a stutterer as a child?
They walk into the ER.
They are, like, the doctor,
and Lestat's the scalpel.
I'm the scalpel.
Print the T-shirts.
And so he, the scalpel,
cuts into rock and roll's heart
like he cut into mine tonight.
And he has the heart
in his mouth.
He's like, "Do you wanna fuck?"
And rock and roll is like,
"Yes, bitch!"
I excused myself
to the men's room.
Didn't read about
vampire physiology
in Mr. du Lac's memoir,
did you?
No mention of the scars
on my chest either.
Hair stopping
way above my shoulders.
And just for the record,
no ticket pocket of mine
ever had his initials
inscribed onto them.
I mean,
these are the editorial wags
of an insane person.
Note to self, edit that out
in the final version.
Starting again.
Vampires pee.
We don't do it
as often as you do,
assuming you're not one of us.
And we generally avoid
eco-friendly urinals.
Mm.
Detroit.
Name's Tim.
-She's Rus.
-They're Rus.
-Pronouns.
-Mm.
And yet it's respectful,
like silence at a urinal.
Things got a bit crossed
when we were minding each other
the other night.
Rus here has a hot mouth.
And a strong pelvic floor.
I admire your aim.
Mm.
"Long Face" sucks.
Rus wanted to apologize.
But "Black Licorice,".
"Why Do I Have to Feel,"
I like those ones.
"Frankly, Mr. Shankly" almost
ruined "The Queen Is Dead."
Apology accepted.
We have a coven
out here in Detroit.
-Do you?
-The Fang Gang.
You want to see a real
vampire bar, come with us.
We have a huge house
out past Brightmoor.
Our own farm
under the floorboards.
Hmm, sure.
What about tomorrow night?
You're on the road
tomorrow night.
Yes.
That was me being polite.
No, that was you lying.
Eco-friendly urinals.
Good for the planet,
so we're told.
Good for vampires? Hmm.
We chardonnay them.
And then
there's regional vampires.
Always trying to make
a name for themselves.
I chardonnay them, too.
Obligations, I'm afraid.
But please do send
my most sincere bonjour
to your Brightmoorish coven.
Lilac.
I have a blind spot
when it comes
to blood poisoning.
You'd think a vampire
of my stature would know better.
But then
there's that old saying.
You fool me once, shame on me.
You fool me twice, MDMA
and LSD are excellent drugs.
Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce.
Twirl, twirl.
Overshare.
I saw your soul.
I saw yours, too.
Still feeling good,
I went looking for my band,
looking for sex,
looking for anything
that radiated the fun
that I sang about
in my song, "Long Face."
And then
Regionals.
Wait, did she say
that "Long Face" sucked?
"Long Face" sucks.
Does it suck?
I wondered.
Did she have a point?
And then I thought, ooh,
they want a little scrap
with the scalpel.
No worries, I thought.
I have the Queen's blood in me.
I could take
20 regionals at once
with the Queen's blood.
Where's the band, Dan?
They called
corporate bullshit.
Went to party upstairs.
So I'm scoring dick pills
in Mogadishu
for a UN peacekeeper
when in walks Stewart Copeland
wearing a kufi
and a mouthful of ammo.
So I thought about
having sex with Christine,
and then I thought,
that's all the way upstairs.
And then I thought,
I'm the scalpel.
What does the scalpel do
between here and upstairs?
Mr. du Lac's memoir tiptoed
around vampire sex, didn't it?
He and Dan made it out
to be this tortured act
or obligational foreplay
before blood drinking.
That is not the case at all.
It's not the capstone
of vampiric desires.
That would be
the taking of life,
and next would be
a good draining,
leaving your victim
near death and paralyzed
for an unhurried escape.
And after that,
there's the pet it coup,
the little drink, the sip.
And after those three, it's sex.
So now you know,
the fourth best thing
a vampire can do to avoid
thinking about the past
is to have sex.
Sex. Sex. Sex.
And I have had
a lot of sex over the years.
It's not all pain and toxicity.
I have an immortal life,
and I carry with it
an immortal erection.
And I am not ashamed of it.
Sex is fun, like the fun
I sing about in "Long Face,"
which, looking back
on it now, does suck.
I still have residuals
coming in, actually.
Carnal pleasure is essential
to a vampire's survival,
if only to keep time's baggage
from burying you.
Sex with the bellman and Dee
and honey-trapping Baby Jenks.
Probably should have
gotten off the seventh floor
when I had gotten off.
But I didn't.
I'm getting married in a week.
I'll never forget you.
Law 4: no vampire
shall ever reveal
his or her true nature
to a mortal
and let the mortal live.
You do know it's 2025?
Face the wall, my dear.
You'll not want to see this.
Mmm.
The Tooth Team.
The Fang Gang.
I killed a pack of wolves
when I was a mortal.
I'll most likely tell you
about that later,
as I let it define me
for a time.
And normally,
confining architecture
and a thrift store coven
galvanized by medieval dogma
wouldn't faze me in the least.
I am building a career
that supports my well-being.
But the drug blood
and my sex legs
and the distracting past
my music had unleashed on me
put me at a momentary
disadvantage.
I'm in charge
of my work-life balance.
Law 4,
as if the du Lac-Molloy memoir
hadn't outed us all
two years ago,
as if my entire stage show
wasn't a bawdy burlesque
of "is he or isn't he,"
as if half
the vampire population
outside the ruined port
of Detroit wasn't waving
the dark gift like red cups
in a piss bar,
collecting fledglings
like they were Labubu dolls.
I mean, I haven't even told
my band
I was an actual vampire.
I was just singing my songs
and fucking my food
and defending myself
from the vibrant life choices
I had made on my way
from the Auvergne countryside
to the eighth floor
of this "why bother" hotel.
And this is how it was all
going to end for me?
We are the Fang Gang.
We are the children
of the darkness reborn.
Jesus fucking Christ.
"Armand told the truth"?
Have you met him?
What the fuck
does that even mean?
Heard there was an after-party
on the asshole floor.
I like to think I was owed
the reinforcements,
Dan and the oddly familiar DJ,
but that's me looking back
on it now.
Anything I had done
to deserve their timely rescue
hadn't happened yet.
I'd be dead, I think,
without Dan.
But then maybe more of the world
would still be alive had Dan not
rallied his army downstairs.
Consider this sliding door
of Dan
as you decant my blood
and devour my words.
It's hard hiding you're a god.
You're for real?
CCTV, eco-flush toilets,
IMF freezing your accounts
because you have the blood
of a patricidal queen
inside you.
Hello again.
Théâtre des Vampires.
Talamasca dragged me into that.
And once you reveal yourself,
you have to be on all the time
and remember every face
you've ever met.
And everywhere you go,
everyone remembers
the thing they said to you
in the room that you shared.
Were you a stutterer as a child?
This is why gods prefer
hiding in the clouds.
There's nothing there
But water waiting to fall.
So many opportunities
to call it a night that night.
After the song
unleashed the muses.
After I saw my first soul.
After I was nearly decapitated
in a boutique hotel hallway.
After my vampire nature
was revealed to the band
and my vampire gift
winged me away
north of the river,
south of the country.
But I was saved
from such rational thought.
Love will do that to you.
Ma chère.
Very kind of you to come.
I got myself into something
I can't get out of.
Music's opened up
the batch oven,
and I'm not sure
if I can close it again.
I'm not really
at my best, but
It's very nice to see you again.
I like what you've done
with your hair, my Ga
my Ga
My Gabriella.
It's not much
of a reveal, I guess.
I know it's common gossip now,
the first thing one thinks about
when my name comes up.
I assume a privileged
individual such as yourself
enjoys a little dirt
in their sandwich.
So I serve it to you now
how it felt then.
Fledgling,
lover,
mother.
Listen to tracks
from "The Vampire Lestat"
wherever you stream music.
If you're still listening
after the last hour,
welcome back.
Bring on the muses.
Give me a million
more screams ♪
Do you kill people?
Give me a million
more screams ♪
Let's talk about your mother.
I've been a bad boy,
deep down in my heart ♪
My maker called for his mama
and I came.
Give me a million
more screams ♪
You are caught
in great danger with Lestat.
You stole my personal physician.
You hired my biographer.
The songs are not about you.
I want to stay in bed
eating black licorice ♪
Shall we do it? Shall we
scorch the mortal world?
I want to stay in bed
eating black licorice ♪
What do you think
about the great conversion?
Fucking stupid.
I want to stay in bed
eating black licorice ♪
You are listening to
The Failures
album eight, side A.
At the top of our first episode,
we show a scene that is
probably happening in real time
after a bunch of catastrophic
events have happened.
If you are hearing this now,
you must be a very privileged
individual.
What makes this season special
is that it's still
the same characters
that you love and know
from the previous seasons.
We're just putting them
in an entirely new world.
And as they do in the books
and as we do in the show,
the world continues
to crack open larger and larger.
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Just like the plot changes,
the whole attitude of the show
changes,
and we move into this completely
crazy rock-'n'-roll world.
He did it again.
A lot of the beauty and elegance
that you would usually see him
surrounded by is gone.
It feels really grungy
and really rough and really raw.
So it was a very fun environment
to be putting him in.
-Come to me.
-Montreal.
I am he, and he is me.
Louis and Lestat are FaceTiming,
and you're probably gonna
get the sense
that Louis is gonna come over
pretty soon.
They'll probably get
back together or work it out.
-Nice?
-Yeah. It's nice.
One of the first conversations
I had
with Rolin and Hannah
and the writers
was that I think Louis has
watched just a ton of YouTube
in his time off
you know, like cat videos.
Probably hungrily.
Louis, do you know someone
called Daniel Malloy?
Lestat finds out about the book,
and then that completely
throws all those plans
out of the window.
One of my favorite things
about the second season
of "Interview With the Vampire"
is
I burned his laptop.
I didn't know he had it saved
in the cloud.
Louis sets fire to a laptop
to try and erase the book.
But, like, no one told him
about the cloud.
I only found out
it was coming out a month ago.
You've known for a month,
and you talk about me in it
to a mortal?
Well, yeah.
Uh, yeah.
Kind of But you know?
No, I don't know, Louis.
Please explain yourself.
Both Louis and Lestat
are not necessarily happy
with the way that either of them
were portrayed in the book.
It's like a mix of guilt
and probably a sense
of vengeance about it.
Lestat sees that book come out,
sees what he perceives are lies
and distortions, mistruths,
and he's like, "You know what?
I'm gonna set the record
straight."
Was he there
in 18th-century Auvergne?
He said you told him that.
Did I threaten Claudia
with rape on a train?
No.
And impossible.
Daniel Molloy is
an investigative journalist
of the absolute top shelf.
Who better to refute the book
than the man who wrote the book?
He has an incorrigible need
to find out what the truth is.
Why do you like the vampire
Lestat?
Heard there was an after-party
on the asshole floor.
This isn't just sex, drugs,
and rock 'n' roll.
It's sex, drugs, rock 'n' roll,
and sucking blood
out of people's necks.
You're for real?
Black Licorice is a great song.
It's about the first kill
that Lestat made
after he reconciled with Louis
in New Orleans.
Didn't blink,
didn't try to run ♪
I got a real live one ♪
Particularly in Episode 1,
you do see that he's pushing
and pushing
to get this sort of moment
of grace,
to be completely engulfed
in the music.
But just as I was about
to bridge the bridge
with murder and mayhem,
something quite surprising
happened.
And that's what he gets
from Black Licorice.
He does have his
first breakdown of many.
Muses appeared in my mind
and in the now around me.
He realizes that he was the one
that was holding them back.
So then, all of a sudden,
it cracks open,
and the real thing
starts to appear.
And that sound
I had been grinding them for
was finally unleashed.
He started it to be "I'm gonna
go and tell my story.
I'm gonna do a rewrite.
This is my version of events."
And it's evolved
into something different.
He's tapped into his past.
I want to stay in bad,
eating black licorice ♪
Which one of you
has OD'd before?