Why What We Do in the Shadows Still Feels So Refreshingly Weird

Why What We Do in the Shadows Still Feels So Refreshingly Weird

Staten Island isn't exactly where you expect to find the apex of vampire society. Honestly, that’s the whole point. When Jemaine Clement and Taika Waititi decided to move their 2014 cult-classic film premise to a cable series on FX, there was a lot of skepticism. Could the joke last? Can you really stretch a mockumentary about roommates who happen to be undead into multiple seasons without it getting stale?

It turns out, you can. What We Do in the Shadows isn't just a sitcom; it’s a masterclass in how to handle a spin-off.

The show centers on four vampires—Nandor the Relentless, Laszlo Cravensworth, Nadja of Antipaxos, and the energy vampire Colin Robinson—sharing a dilapidated mansion. They’re accompanied by Guillermo de la Cruz, a familiar who spends years hoping for "the bite" while cleaning up literal corpses. It sounds dark. It’s actually ridiculous. The series succeeds because it treats the supernatural with the same mundane frustration you’d feel about a broken dishwasher or a noisy neighbor.

The Genius of the Energy Vampire

Most vampire lore focuses on the bloodlust. We get the capes, the fangs, the dramatic transformations into bats. But What We Do in the Shadows introduced something much more terrifying and relatable: Colin Robinson.

He’s an energy vampire. He doesn't want your blood; he wants your will to live. He feeds by boring people to death or frustrating them in online comment sections. Mark Proksch plays the character with a beige, monotone perfection that feels painfully familiar to anyone who has ever worked in an office. This was a massive pivot from the original movie's lore. By adding a creature that feeds on social awkwardness, the writers found a way to bridge the gap between "ancient monster" and "modern annoyance."

It’s brilliant writing. It’s also a perfect example of how the show avoids the "monster of the week" trap. Instead of finding new demons to fight, the characters often find themselves fighting their own incompetence. Remember the Super Bowl party episode? They thought it was a "Superb Owl" party. They spent the whole time looking for a bird. That’s the level of idiocy we’re dealing with here, and it’s glorious.

💡 You might also like: Why Jet Li Movie Hero is Still the Most Visually Stunning Martial Arts Film Ever Made

Why the Human Element Actually Works

You’ve got Harvey Guillén playing Guillermo, and he’s arguably the heart of the whole thing. In the beginning, he’s just a punching bag. He’s the guy who buys the glitter and the virgins. But then the show pulls a fast one on the audience. It reveals that Guillermo is a descendant of Van Helsing.

The dynamic shifts. Suddenly, the most dangerous person in the house is the guy who does the laundry. This tension—Guillermo’s inherent loyalty to a group of people who barely know his last name versus his genetic urge to stake them—is the engine that drives the plot forward.

It’s weirdly emotional. You actually care if Nandor acknowledges Guillermo’s hard work. You feel bad for them. Then, Laszlo says something incredibly vulgar about a cursed hat, and you remember they’re all monsters. The balance is delicate. Most comedies lean too hard into the "heart" or too hard into the "raunch." Shadows just stays weird.

The Art of the Guest Star

Few shows use guest stars as well as this one. Think back to the "Vampiric Council" episode. They didn't just get some random actors; they brought in Tilda Swinton, Evan Rachel Wood, Danny Trejo, and Paul Reubens—all playing themselves as vampires because they’d played vampires in movies before. It was a meta-joke that felt earned.

✨ Don't miss: Paul Thomas Anderson Kids: What Most People Get Wrong About the Famous Family

Then there’s Jackie Daytona.

If you haven't seen the episode "On the Run," it’s peak television. Matt Berry’s character, Laszlo, goes into hiding in Pennsylvania to avoid a debt. He puts on a toothpick, calls himself Jackie Daytona, and becomes a beloved high school volleyball coach. That’s it. That’s the disguise. A toothpick. And it works because the show understands the internal logic of its own universe: humans in this world are just as dim-witted as the vampires.

Production Design and the Mockumentary Style

We have to talk about how the show looks. It’s grainy. The lighting is often just "lamp." It uses the mockumentary format—pioneered by shows like The Office or Parks and Rec—but applies it to high-budget practical effects. When a character turns into a bat, it’s not always a clean, heroic CGI transition. Sometimes it’s a clumsy, poof-of-smoke mess.

The "camera crew" is a character too. They get eaten. They get hissed at. This adds a layer of "truth" to the absurdity. If the show were shot like a traditional cinematic drama, the jokes wouldn't land the same way. The handheld shakiness makes the sight of a vampire struggling to use email feel like a genuine documentary moment.

Breaking the Sitcom Mold

One thing most people get wrong about What We Do in the Shadows is assuming it’s just a gag show. It’s not. There is genuine world-building happening. We learn about the different types of vampires, the bureaucracy of the afterlife, and the complicated history of the New World.

The show also isn't afraid to change.

When Colin Robinson dies and is reborn as a baby with a giant adult head (it’s as disturbing as it sounds), the show committed to it. They didn't hit a reset button. They forced the characters to adapt to a new status quo. That’s rare for a sitcom. Usually, by season four or five, characters become caricatures of themselves. Here, they actually seem to be devolving in interesting ways.

🔗 Read more: Chief of War: What Most People Get Wrong About Jason Momoa’s Passion Project

The Matt Berry Factor

It would be a crime to write about this show without mentioning Matt Berry’s delivery. The way he says "New York City" or "bat" has become a literal meme. He brings a theatrical pomposity to Laszlo that makes even the simplest line sound like a Shakespearean monologue.

But it's not just him. Natasia Demetriou as Nadja provides a sharp, cynical edge that keeps the male characters' egos in check. Her screeching about her "stupid village" or her ghost-doll counterpart adds a layer of chaos that the show needs. Kayvan Novak’s Nandor is the "relentless" warrior who is actually just a deeply lonely guy looking for a hobby, whether it's 1990s basketball or gym culture.

What This Means for TV Comedy

In a landscape where everything is either a gritty reboot or a safe sitcom, What We Do in the Shadows is an outlier. It’s expensive-looking but feels indie. It’s smart but loves a good fart joke. It proves that you can take a niche film and expand it into a sprawling universe if you stay true to the characters' core flaws.

The show works because it embraces the pathetic nature of immortality. If you lived forever, you wouldn't be a brooding, leather-clad hero. You’d probably just be a bored weirdo living in a basement in Staten Island, arguing about whose turn it is to do the dishes.

It’s that grounded absurdity that keeps it at the top of the comedy charts.


How to get the most out of your rewatch:

  • Watch the background. The production team hides tons of Easter eggs in the portraits on the walls and the junk in the basement. Many of the photos feature the actors in actual historical settings.
  • Track the "familiar" arc. Pay close attention to how Guillermo’s clothing and posture change as he moves from a submissive servant to a confident bodyguard.
  • Listen for the "Matt Berry-isms." Try to find one word per episode that he pronounces in a way no human ever would. It’s a fun game.
  • Check out the 2014 film. If you haven't seen the original movie featuring Taika Waititi and Jemaine Clement, watch it immediately. It provides the DNA for the show’s humor and makes the cameos in the series much more rewarding.
  • Look for the lore overlaps. The show occasionally references Twilight, Blade, and Interview with the Vampire. Identifying these nods shows just how much the writers respect the genre they’re parodizing.