What We Do In The Shadows is Much Sadder Than You Realize

The Hidden Sadness of What We Do In The Shadows: Immortality, Loneliness, and the Horror Beneath the Comedy

What We Do In The Shadows is one of the funniest shows on television.

It is also, strangely enough, one of the saddest if you think about it.

That might sound ridiculous considering this is a series where vampires argue about cursed hats, accidentally attend a "Superb Owl" party, operate nightclubs, summon dead relatives, terrorize their neighbors, and spend an extraordinary amount of time discussing sex.

But beneath all of that absurdity is something surprisingly melancholy.

What We Do In The Shadows is ultimately a story about people who cannot move forward.

Nandor, Nadja, Lazlo, and Colin Robinson have something humans have dreamed about since the beginning of civilization: immortality. They don't have to fear aging. They don't have to worry about running out of time. They can theoretically travel anywhere, learn anything, and reinvent themselves endlessly.

And yet they mostly sit around the same house on Staten Island.

That may be the show's darkest joke.

Because What We Do In The Shadows quietly asks a disturbing question:

What if having all the time in the world doesn't actually make life more meaningful.

Immortality Isn't Freedom in What We Do In The Shadows

Vampire stories often present immortality as either a gift or a curse.

What We Do In The Shadows does something slightly different.

It makes immortality look boring.

These vampires have lived for hundreds of years, yet their lives are remarkably small.

They argue.

They hold grudges.

They become obsessed with trivial problems.

They seek status from other vampires.

They chase romantic relationships.

They become jealous.

They desperately want attention.

In other words, becoming immortal hasn't freed them from the insecurities of being human.

It has simply given those insecurities hundred of additional years to fester.

And that's where the sadness begins.

They have infinite time but very little genuine direction.

For humans, mortally creates urgency. We know-whether we like thinking about it or not-that our time is limited.

So we graduate.

We build careers.

We travel.

We fall in love.

We raise families.

We create things.

We make plans because there is always a clock ticking somewhere in the background.

The vampires don't have that clock.

Tomorrow can always become next year.

Next year can become next century.

There is no urgency to become anything because they believe they have forever.

And so they stagnate.

Nandor The Relentless Isn't Really Relentless Anymore

Perhaps no character embodies the sadness of mortality more than Nandor.

Once upon a time, Nandor was a warrior.

He commanded armies. He conquered lands. He had 37 wives.

He possessed enormous power and status.

Now? He lives in Staten Island.

That contrast is hilarious, but it also tragic.

Nandor frequently seems like someone searching for a purpose he cannot name.

He pursues relationships.

He tries to regain status.

He becomes obsessed with different goals.

He wants Guillermo's loyalty.

He occasionally tries to reconnect with pieces of his past.

But none of it seems to fill the enormous emptiness created by centuries of existence.

His homeland is gone.

The people he knew are gone.

The world that made him Nandor the Relentless no longer exists.

Even his name has become somewhat of a punchline.

And underneath Nandor's arrogance is a man who seems profoundly lonely.

His constant search for companionship isn't simply romantic desperation.

It feels existential.

Nandor doesn't want someone to love.

He wants someone who makes eternity feel worth enduring.

Guillermo Has Something The Vampires Don't: A Future

Guillermo begins the series believing that becoming a vampire will solve everything.

For years, he serves Nandor because he believes vampirism represents the life he was meant to have.

He wants power.

He wants belonging.

He wants transformation.

Most importantly, he wants to become someone different.

But Guillermo gradually discovers something the vampires themselves seem incapable of understanding.

Becoming immortal does not automatically give your life meaning.

In fact, Guillermo's humanity may be the very thing allowing him to grow.

Across the series, Guillermo changes enormously.

He becomes more confident.

He discovers his Van Helsing heritage.

He learns to fight.

He establishes boundaries.

He questions his relationship with Nandor.

He begins thinking about what HE wants rather than simply what Nandor wants from him.

Meanwhile, the vampires remain largely the same.

That contrast feels intentional.

Guillermo has limited time.

Therefore, Guillermo changes.

The vampires have unlimited time.

Therefore, they don't have to.

Ironically, the mortal character is the one truly living.

Guillermo's Dream Was Nver Really About Being a Vampire

This is why Guillermo's obsession with becoming a vampire becomes increasingly heartbreaking.

At first, his dream seems straightforward.

He wants fangs.

He wants immortality.

He wants supernatural powers.

But underneath that dream is something much more human.

Guillermo wants acceptance.

He wants to belong somewhere.

He wants Nandor to see him as an equal rather than a servant.

Becoming a vampire represents validation.

If Nandor turns on him, then all those years of service meant something.

He wasn't wasting his life.

He was working towards his destiny.

And that makes his journey far sadder than it initially appears.

Because eventually Guillermo has to confront the possibility that the thing he has spent years wanting might not actually make him happy.

It's achieving it and realizing you wanted the wrong thing.

Nandor and Guillermo Are Two Lonely People Who Need Each Other

Whatever label someone chooses for Nandor and Guillermo's relationship-friendship, love, dependency, devotion, codependency, or some combination of all of them-it forms the emotional backbone of the series.

They frustrate each other constantly.

Nandor takes Guillermo for granted.

Guillermo manipulates Nandor.

They betray each other.

They protect each other.

They repeatedly threaten to separate.

And yet they keep finding their wy back.

Because beneath all the dysfunction is genuine attachment.

Guillermo spent years believing he needed Nandor because Nandor could make him a vampire.

But over time, it becomes increasingly obvious that Nandor needs Guillermo too.

Maybe even more.

Guillermo connects Nandor to humanity.

He gives structure to Nandor's existence.

He gives him someone to annoy, command, protect, disappoint, miss, and care about.

For an immortal being, that connection may be more valuable than Nandor understands.

Nadja is Constantly Trying to Recreate Something She Lost

Nadja is loud, violent, sexual, ambitious, and frequently furious.

But she is deeply nostalgic.

Again and again, Nadja reaches backward.

She remembers her village.

She remembers her family.

She remembers lovers.

She remembers traditions.

Even Nadja Doll-the spirit inhabiting a doll that resembles her-is essentially a physical manifestation of the past refusing to disappear.

Nadja may adapt to modern life better than Nandor does, but emotionally, pieces of her remain trapped centuries ago.

And how could they not?

Immortality means constantly accumulating ghosts.

Humans lose parents, grandparents friends, and eventually peers.

A vampire loses generations.

Entire cultures disappear.

Languages change.

Countries vanish.

Neighborhoods transform.

Traditions fade.

Eventually, almost everyone who remembers the world you came from is dead.

Nadja's exaggerated attachment to her history becomes sadder when viewed through that lens.

She isn't simply nostalgic.

She is one of the last witnesses to her own life.

Lazlo's Love for Nadja Gives His Immortality Meaning

Lazlo may be the most openly hedonistic character on the show.

He loves sex.

He loves music.

He loves gardening (lol).

He loves strange hobbies.

He loves saying extraordinarily inappropriate things.

But underneath the ridiculousness, Lazlo possesses something many of the other vampires spend the series searching for.

He has found his person.

Nadja.

Their marriage is chaotic, unconventional, occasionally horrifying, and strangely beautiful.

They aren't together because society expects them to be.

They aren't together because they need financial security.

They have been together for centuries because they genuinely enjoy each other.

And that makes Lazlo's story particularly interesting.

Immortality doesn't necessarily have to be meaningless.

But perhaps eternity only becomes bearable when you have someone with whom you actually want to spend it.

Lazlo and Colin Robinson Reveal Another Side of Him

One of the show's most unexpectedly touching storylines involves Lazlo and Colin Robinson.

Without getting lost in every bizarre details of Colin Robinson's life cycle, Lazlo is forced into something resembling parenthood.

And something surprising happens.

He cares.

For a character who often presents himself as almost completely driven by pleasure, Lazlo demonstrates remarkable tenderness.

He teaches.

He protects.

He spends time with the child version of Colin Robinson.

He becomes invested in his interests.

And eventually, he has to confront something painfully human.

You can love someone through a stage of their life that they may not remember the way you do.

Lazlo remembers.

It reveals that underneath all the vulgarity and bravado, Lazlo may understand and loss better than he lets anyone see.

Colin Robinson Might Be The Lonliest Vampire of Them All

Colin Robinson is easy to dismiss as a brilliant joke.

Everyone knows a Colin Robinson.

The coworker who traps you in a conversation.

The person who explains something you didn't ask about.

The acquaintance who somehow makes you exhausted simply by entering the room.

Turning that personality type into a literal supernatural predator is genius.

But Colin Robinson's existence is also strangely bleak.

His relationships are inherently predatory.

He survives by making people miserable.

Connection and consumption become almost impossible to separate.

How do you know whether someone genuinely enjoys your company when your biological instinct is to drain that energy.

And unlike the others, Colin often seems painfully aware that people don't particularly want him aroud.

He simply continues anyway.

The joke is that Colin Robinson is annoying.

The sadness is that he may know exactly how annoying he is.

The Vampires Keep Searching for Meaning in the Meaningless Things

One of the recurring patterns throughout What We Do In The Shadows is the vampires becoming intensely invested in things that ultimately don't matter.

Titles.

Clubs.

Councils.

Parties.

Relationships.

Feuds.

Possessions.

Social staus.

They throw themselves into temporary obsessions and then move on to something else.

It's hilarious.

It's also incredibly human.

People do the same thing.

We convince ourselves that the next promotion, relationship, purchase, achievement, or milestone will finally make us feel complete.

Then we get it.

And eventually, we start searching again.

The vampires simply have centuries to repeat the cycle.

Staten Island Is Its Own Kind of Purgatory

There is also something wonderfully depressing about the show's primary setting.

These are ancient supernatural creatures.

They could love almost anywhere.

They have witnessed centuries of human history.

And where have they ended up?

A deteriorating mansion on Staten Island.

They sit in the same rooms.

They argue with the same people.

They visit the same neighborhood.

They repeatedly fail at conquering even their tiny corner of the modern world.

Their house almost becomes a physical representation of their emotional lives.

Old.

Grand.

Strange.

Filled with artifacts from another time.

And increasingly disconnected from the world outside.

It's less a vampire castle than a waiting room for eternity.

The Humans Keep Moving On

One of the cruelest aspects of immortality is that humans don't stop aging simply because vampires do.

The vampires interact with neighbors, familiars, lovers, descendants, and random humans whose lives continue moving forward.

People age.

People change.

People leave.

People die.

The vampires remain.

That's the fundamental tragedy of nearly every immortality story, but What We Do In The Shadows disguises it better than most.

Instead of dramatic speeches about eternity, we get jokes.

Instead of vampires staring mournfully into the moonlight, we get Nandor about something ridiculous.

But the tragedy remains underneath.

Everyone else is moving through life.

The vampires are standing still.

Maye Mortality Is What Makes Life Matter

And that may be the surprisingly profound idea hiding at the center of What We Do In The Shadows.

Humans often fantasize about having more time.

What if we didn't age?

What if we didn't ie?

What if we could have another hundred years?

Or five hudred?

Or a thousand?

The vampires have exactly that.

And they're still confused.

Still insecure.

Still onely.

Still bored.

Still searching for love.

Still wondering what they're supposed to do with themselves.

Immortality hasn't solved the problem of existence.

It has simply removed the deadline.

Guillermo, meanwhile, has the one thing they don't.

An ending.

And because his life has an ending, his decisions matter differently.

He has to choose who he wants to become.

The Comedy Makes the Sadness Work

None of this means What We Do In The Shadows is secretly depressing drama pretending to be a sitcom.

The absurdity is essential.

In fact, the sadness works because the show rarely dwells on it.

A genuinely heartbreaking idea might appear for thirty seconds before someone says something filthy and ruins the moment.

That's exactly how the show should handle it.

The characters don't sit around discussing existential philosophy.

They live it.

Nandor searches endlessly for companionship.

Nadja clings to pieces of her past.

Lazlo finds meaning through love and unexpected caretaking.

Colin Robinson struggles to connect without draining people.

Guillermo spends years trying to become immortal before discovering that immortality may not be what he truly wants.

And then everyone starts yelling again.

Final Thoughts: The Saddest Joke in What We Do In The Shadows

The greatest What We Do In The Shadows might not be Jackie Daytona, the Superb Owl, cursed witch skin hats, or anything Colin Robinson has ever done.

It might be the vampires themselves.

They achieved humanity's oldest impossible dream.

They defeaed death.

And it didn't fix anything.

They still need love.

They still need friendship.

They still need purpose.

They still need to someone to notice when they are gone.

They still need a reason to get out of their coffins every evening.

Perhaps that is why the show feels strangely comforting underneath all its darkness.

What We Do In The Shadows suggests that meaning doesn't come from having unlimited time.

It comes from what-and who-we choose to fill our time with.

And sometimes the saddest thing imaginable isn't dying.

It's living forever and still having no idea what you're living for.