WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS (2014)

Men In The Vampire’s Shadow

Though set in Wellington, New Zealand, WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS is a vampire story that feels like it could take place anywhere. At least, anywhere there are roommates. I first watched WWDITS a few months after traveling to Wellington myself. The moments where the vampire pack walks the streets of Wellington at night transported me back to the time I spent on those very same streets, wandering through a place that was familiar but distinct at the same time, with its plaza shopping districts, bars, and colorful street art. It is an urban enclave at the edge of Peter Jackson’s Middle Earth, and while the film does not explore the harbors or mountain vistas of Wellington, I found that the focus on the more mundane world helps reinforce the movie’s universal themes. The other familiar part of this story was its depiction of masculinity and how ridiculous it can be, which Jemaine Clement and Taika Waititi’s picture focuses its parody on almost as much as the classic vampire film.

WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS is concerned with masculinity, and the documentary format of the film fits this examinatory angle well. Strip away the supernatural elements and we would be watching men slacking off, beating each other up, and trying to make sense of where they fit into the modern world. Documentary films are often concerned with human behavior and the psychology that drives people to certain actions.

This behavioral concern also exists in WWDITS. As one of psychiatrist Carl Jung’s concepts, the shadow self (in psychological terms) can often be used to deflect or project personal concerns onto others and, as part of the movie’s title, the conflicting shadows of masculinity that each of our vampires is engaged with is often pushed from inside onto their flatmates and the separate human world our vampires exist alongside.

WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS trades in different subtexts to offer a breadth of interpretations. At the start of the film, we are introduced to the different vampire archetypes who share a flat together: the dandified Viago (co-director Taika Waititi); the rough-and-tumble Deacon (Jonny Brugh); the Dracula-esque Vladislav (co-director Jemaine Clement); and the basement-dwelling, Nosferatu-looking Petyr (Ben Fransham). Viago is distinct from his flatmates as being particularly sensitive and domestic-oriented. He organizes the tenant meetings and monitors their shared chores.

Deacon is considered the “young one,” and his free-spirit attitude conflicts with Viago’s more uptight nature. Viago is also contrasted as demure against the more confident and sexually mature Vladislav. And in a way, Petyr ties them all together as the progenitor, an 8,000-year-old vampire who is confirmed to have transformed Deacon and perhaps could be responsible for Viago and Vladislav as well. These archetypes are connected to vampire lore through archival paintings and photographs, but they also represent different versions of what it means to be a man.

As WWDITS proceeds, we see the insurgence of contemporary masculinity start to threaten the vampire pack’s notions. Nick (Cori Gonzales-Macuer) is brought into the flat as a meal for the vampires, but when he is turned by Petyr, his lack of discretion brings danger to all the vampires.

He makes an enemy of Deacon by interrupting an “erotic dance” for his friends and dressing in a similar jacket when they go out at night.

But he also brings the mostly silent Stu (Stuart Rutherford) into the friend group, whom everyone universally likes, maybe because he is agreeable and does not challenge the vampires’ way of life.

By not challenging them as vampires, Stu also does not challenge their masculinity, and in many ways, they are kept safe from having to confront what it might mean to really examine their behavior. This lack of interior questioning leads almost directly to the conflicts that escalate in the climax at The Unholy Masquerade. Stu is placed in immediate danger as the only human among a rogues’ gallery of the undead, and the jealousy, bravado, and naïveté of each of the vampire protagonists ultimately serves to make matters worse.

The manifestations of masculinity in WWDITS extend beyond assumed heterosexuality. There is a scene following his transformation in which Nick comes out to Stu with which many LGBTQ+ people can identify. Coming out can be vulnerable precisely because it opens up gender-based assumptions about the person coming out; will our friends find us less manly or womanly, or as too masculine or feminine, or be confused by our non-conforming gender identity? What changes to our gender presentation will we have to accommodate once that truth is shared?

WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS does not deeply dive into the queer legacy of vampire stories, but it does mirror queer experiences in certain moments. This coming out moment highlights a strong part of WWDITS: the flexibility of its narrative structure and humor, which allow audience members of varying identities to connect with the film, its story, and its characters.

The concern with masculinity is also contrasted by the representation of women in the film. One of the few women characters, Deacon’s human servant Jackie (Jackie van Beek), is isolated from the main group in most of her scenes. Her goal in the film is to become a vampire, and even though she has some access to the Wellington vampires, she is reminded over and again that it is a boys’ club—or as she puts it a “homoerotic dick-biting club.”

We can see the real-world parallels everywhere from boardrooms to fandoms. Jackie is drawn to this vampire lifestyle but, as a woman, she is not welcomed into it. She has to do a lot of work to prove her “worthiness” to become a vampire, something that Nick is given with almost no hesitation.

Where one might expect a more egalitarian approach between vampires, eternal and unbound by the human world’s rules, we see that even with this group of undead men, male privilege still holds strong. These centuries-old creatures still exist in a male-dominated society, and so, they continue to reinforce binary gender dynamics of whom belongs in which spaces.

As a foil to the vampires, the group of werewolves the vampires encounter does not include women in any way, and again, the focus on masculinity is reinforced. The expected machismo of werewolf lore is subverted somewhat as these werewolves (not swearwolves) are working toward being kinder and gentler. They try to curb their impulses to give into their animal sides, even when provoked by the vampires, and they regularly chain themselves to trees during the full moon to avoid hurting people. However, they are still biased toward centering masculinity, and they are put on edge by the presence of the vampires, who represent a different type of masculinity from the domineering alpha-male variety.

WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS is brimming with jokes, every scene including something quirky, silly, or paying off a punchline that was set up earlier. But the film is not only aiming those jokes at vampire films; it also aims its humor at the ridiculousness of gender and in particular the male performance of gender. This is clearly a very rich topic for humor and one where horror-comedy thrives. The TV series that follow (the same-titled FX show and spin-off Wellington Paranormal) build on the groundwork of the film in parodying personal identity and add in different discussions and themes while retaining the same playful, welcoming tone of the original film, showing that there is always more to be explored in the shadows.