Opening the puzzle box, part II
So what is this fairly sophisticated narrative trick trying to hide? Well, the downplaying of Louis' feelings, motives and desires allows the audience to construct a story that goes something like this: "sweet, somewhat naïve Louis falls under the spell of a toxic man, until he is finally rescued by his heroic daughter."
We know this story is not true, or at least not complete (see: Louis the slasher-style movie monster). But Louis would like it to be true; and he would like to disconnect from the powerful emotions and anxieties it brings up. Louis believes what he felt and how he acted is not just shameful but unacceptable. He may even feel like it's impossible to understand. And one way to explain it is to rewrite it in a way that is comprehensible and acceptable.
While it may be many other things, this interview is also a fundamental rewrite of Louis' identity story. It removes ambiguity, complexity and doubt; suppresses his strongest emotions; and dissociates him what happened.
But the real Louis is still in there, and not only in his Kill Bill style of violence. The zany, macabre humor in the interview, dry enough to peel paint, often at the worst time, sometimes while someone is holding a human head? The nonstop clowning on Lestat? The big Gothic emotions and dramatic scenes? That's the real Louis de Ponte Du Lac, folks. It has to be. This is his narration. He likes it crazy, bloody, funny, unpredictable, and totally off the rails.
Because, let's be honest: Louis kind of loves it when something completely wild and out of line happens. The people dearest to him are all unusual, unpredictable, troubled souls on the margins. Lestat pulled him with a deeply deranged (and socially transgressive) opening act. And he marries Lestat only minutes after Lestat commits a very gory, sacrilegious double murder in front of him (this is called subtext).
It's Jacob Anderson's excellent, subtle dual performance that makes this work. He does it by almost selling the "sweet, repressed intellectual" side of Louis--until it's time to pass off frankly incredible lines like "I swim faster than I drive," or "I had no idea it was happening." You can also see it when Louis gets a kick out of a provocative, clever, or off-color joke, or makes one; or when Louis finds himself transfixed by violence or chaotic events. That's when you realize: oh, Louis is different, this is what he likes.
Understanding this about Louis--that he's a little bit of a screwball who loved Lestat for complex, unique reasons--re-contexualizes the entire story, and answers many questions that are otherwise difficult to resolve. Aside from Jacob's outstanding performance, there are at least three reasons we should take this idea seriously:
There is direct, fairly explicit, strong evidence in the script (always nice to have).
It resolves important problems and questions about the story, including problems of structure, character and narrative.
It touches on an important theme: What happens when you have loves and desires that are not socially acceptable, maybe even immoral or dangerous? This is a classic theme of both vampire and queer stories. And this question will come up again, as Louis struggles to defang the fundamental contradictions of his life, even as it spirals spectacularly out of control.
"Chaos addict Louis falls in love with chaos machine Lestat," is not a complete narrative either, and not a comfortable one, but it cuts closer to the truth. And while this version of Louis is not necessarily a better person, I do think he's more interesting, more fun, more likeable, and more credible.
Louis loves the savage garden so much. He loves it not in spite of what it is, but because of what it is--intense, wild, unpredictable, dangerous, full speed. It wasn't wrong for him to love it. His mistake, I think, was in believing he could live there without becoming a creature of it. That he could find a way to be a monster partner and a part-time monster. To quote a specific monster, only the impossible can do the impossible.
