Vampire

In case the nonsense title with its unpronounceable first word wasn't sufficient warning, along came a box containing: a red-and-gold tinsel garland; a small round metal canister labeled "Simulacrum" and, in turn, containing a pink rubber "Voodoo Man" with a smiley face, two rubber balls with smiley faces, red tinsel and three pages of literature about the Voodoo Man (product specifications, a warning, etc.). The box arrived at the office a few weeks ago. Its contents were promotional material for the current show at the Theatre Project, a rambling, unfocused hodgepodge titled Pferdzwackur's Vampire Nutcracker and produced in cooperation with Towson University's graduate theater program.

Anne Rice, quite famously, has written 22 novels, the most recent reaching shops this week. I had never read one. Often, I puzzle about what brings millions of readers to books I think of as commodity fiction -- work that is virtually universally ignored by book reviewers. That curiosity brought me to Ms. Rice's "Merrick" (Knopf, 307 pages, $26.95). I wish I could report its secret, with anything like confidence. It seemed to me to have all the literary artfulness, but not as much imagination, as a supermarket Halloween-special advertisement.

The U.S. is about to become one big Twilight zone. That is, if it isn't already. With more than 8.5 million copies sold in this country - and 17 million worldwide - Stephenie Meyer's four-volume tale of vampire love among the high-school set is already a bona fide cultural force, especially among the young girls who hang on its every word. But tonight, with the midnight premiere in select theaters of Twilight, based on the first book of the series, the mania may really go big time. "It's just a big mixture of all this drama and romance," said 12-year-old Leia Cunningham, a student at Hereford Middle School who was one of about 50 teen and preteen girls attending a movie prerelease party Saturday at Borders Books in Timonium.

Being a new vampire ain't easy. And Tara's learning the hard way. Escaping from Sookie's into the woods, Tara experiences vampire sensory overload - her vision is heightened, she can hear things very clearly. She can see the entire universe and stars above her, but can also see a creepy opossum in a tree. She can also see a stranded motorist looking for help. She bears her fangs and approaches.  "Listen ... I ... have no problem with vampires," the woman begs. Tara's not having it. She's hungry and pissed, so we grabs her neck and is about to sink her teeth in until she sees her reflection in the car window and backs away.  "I'm sorry," Tara says and backs off. Apparently, if you were a good person and had a soul before you turned vampire, that carries over into your new vampire conscience.  Or something.

Raziel is a soul man, literally. He's a vampire living in the fantasy land of Nosgoth and one of the entertaining characters in Soul Reaver 2. In this sequel to the original PC game by Eidos Interactive, Raziel sets out to get his revenge against his immortal enemy, the vampire Kain. But Raziel gets caught up in a complicated scheme involving Moebius, a sorcerer who can alter time and who tries to manipulate Raziel into changing history. It turns into a three-way fight. Raziel's main tool of retribution is the Soul Reaver, a magical saber that can slice through living or undead foes.

Method acting is one thing. But casting a real-life vampire to play a vampire in your new film ... isn't that carrying things just a bit too far? Certainly, if the question is directed at the film's co-stars, who may not fancy the star paying so much attention to their necks. But maybe not, if the person being asked is F.W. Murnau, the legendary German silent film director casting "Nosferatu." After all, when you're the director, is anything off-limits when it comes to making a movie?

The century-old Dracula legend has all but achieved theatrical immortality, reincarnated in various guises, from the 1931 horror movie with Bella Lugosi to the recent Gothic romance with Gary Oldman.Now comes the Pasadena Theatre Company and its production of Bram Stoker's "Dracula" in the Humanities Recital Hall at Anne Arundel Community College on weekends this month.The story remains romantic, but what decades ago was sexual innuendo has become more explicit. The vampire sets about seducing the sanitarium owner's daughter, and she seduces her suitor to learn his secrets.

Scattered among Jennifer Toth's belongings are an exercise bike, a Brad Pitt movie poster, dried roses reminiscent of proms past and seven shelves of epic fantasy books.Six days a week, Toth is herself -- a 22-year-old, blond-haired, blue-eyed computer trainer living in Cockeysville. But come Sundays, she becomes "Rohan," a warlock vampire roaming the streets of "Chicago" in search of knowledge.Toth and six other faux bloodsuckers meet at her apartment every week for vampire sessions that run five to six hours.

Blood doesn't just run fast and furiously in "Blade." It drips, sprays and oozes. It flows in rivulets, trickles in thin streams, smears like sweet jam across delirious faces. It bursts in great globs from horribly deformed villains. In Stephen Norrington's overlong but extremely stylish adaptation of the cult comic book, blood is nothing less than sex, drugs and death themselves.In "Blade," which should wind up as a finalist in the "Crow" looka-like contest, blood is a fashion statement, the recreational substance of choice for the ultimate in-crowd of night people.

If you walked into the Swedish horror movie Let the Right One In midway through, you might see the 12-year-old boy hero chastely embrace a girl his own age and think, "How sweet." When she asks him if he'd love her if she weren't a girl, you might think, "How interesting," then under your breath start muttering, "Ah, youth. Ah, Sweden. Ah, nuts." But she isn't a girl; she's a vampire. And this boy is not just experiencing a surging crush but a life-defining bond. Most contemporary horror films derive shocks from mere torture.