A Decade Later, Carmilla Is Still an Incredible Feat of Lesbian Television

Maybe this speaks to my lack of imagination, but I’m not sure anyone expected a lesbian cultural phenomenon to be born out of a queer reimagining of the novella Carmilla, posted for free on YouTube and sponsored by the pad and tampon company Kotex. But, 10 years after the first season premiered on the YouTube channel KindaTV, Carmilla remains one of the most beloved and important lesbian TV projects of the past decade—and, unfortunately, remains an outlier in lesbian representation on a grander TV scale.

Co-written and created by Jordan Hall and directed by Spencer Maybee, Carmilla began as a humble Canadian webseries that would eventually become a phenomenon in queer spaces, culminating in a feature film and a still-loyal fanbase all these years later. Based on the first vampire story ever published (no, not Dracula), Carmilla follows plucky freshman Laura Hollis (Elise Bauman) during her first year at the slightly spooky, definitely suspicious Silas University in Austria. She’s part-Veronica Mars, part-Willow Rosenberg, embodying an overachieving-YA-protagonist vibe with ease and charm. When her dormmate goes missing under mysterious circumstances, she’s forced to bunk with a roommate from hell (literally): Carmilla (Natasha Negovanlis), a rude, judgemental student who consistently goes out of her way to press Laura’s buttons. Joined in her quest to find her former roommate by girl-jock Danny (Sharon Belle), borderline mad scientist LaFontane (K Alexander), and neurotic-but-loyal Perry (Annie Briggs), Laura vlogs her collected evidence to a stationary webcam, all while uncovering a much bigger picture surrounding the mysterious Carmilla and this ominous university.

Of course, said mystery is that her new roomie is actually a vampire, and the disappearances of those girls is caused by a centuries-old vampire cult in service of a giant angler fish god that lives beneath the school. But the most interesting aspect about Carmilla is that you don’t ever see any of that. Sure, Carmilla drinks thick red liquid on camera every once in a while, but all the earth-shattering, vampire cult slaying is done off-screen. The more stationary (again, it’s framed like a vlog) nature of the series is both a blessing and a curse, decidedly removing the audience from any of the action to focus on its characters and their relationships. Instead of clashes and battles, we watch as Carmilla and Laura go on an endearing enemies-to-lovers speed run, all accentuated by Laura’s wordy and charming commentary. And when the credits roll on the final episode of Season 1 (Episode 36, “Life Goes On”), Carmilla and Laura share a kiss in the aftermath of defeating the grand Big Bad, promising a bright future ahead for the happy couple in this decidedly strange and off-putting hellscape they continually attempt (and, somehow, always fail) to leave.

And, fortunately, life does go on for both Laura and Carmilla, as the series would continue for two additional seasons (as well as a hilariously violent Christmas Special, numerous “pit vlogs,” and a Season 0, taking place between Seasons 2 and 3), wrapping up in a feature-length film in 2017. The show released in 2014, and found a strong audience of LGBTQ+ fans who were dissatisfied with the queer offerings on the air at the time. It aired across that gray area between the final few seasons of Lost Girl and the inundation of queer side characters on The CW, where shows like The 100 would burn bright but ultimately crash hard, leaving queer audiences floundering for a series that would portray lesbianism on screen in ways that felt both authentic and out-of-reach—realism and escapism all rolled into one. Between the endearing, scrappy charm of those early-episodes cringe moments and the central relationship that was its beating heart through nearly 100 more episodes, Carmilla offered both aspects in spades. Audiences could see themselves in Laura’s radical optimism and admirable loser-lesbian vibes while they got lost in the fantasy of a suave, sexy vampire girlfriend provided by Carmilla—but the series became so much more than just wish fulfillment and (frankly) lesbian catnip.

In Season 2, the show dared to do the one thing that plagues nearly all sapphic TV couples: it broke them up. But rather than split the duo apart for cheap drama, Carmilla grounded their breakup in genuine divides between the characters. While Laura continued to fight for the sake of this school she inexplicably loves, Carmilla became more and more disillusioned with the pedestal her girlfriend put her on, ultimately resulting in the abandoned mansion the two were sharing being divided into two unruly sides. But unlike in other cases, where breakups for the main sapphic couples almost always reek of manufactured drama that comes from a lack of imagination, Carmilla’s tale of severing and reuniting is a profound examination of self-actualization and grief, all wrapped in a grander musing on mortality courtesy of our immortal protagonist. And when the pair do eventually reconcile in Season 3, caught up in a mixture of lust and love in a will-they-won’t-they loop, it feels earned and satisfying to see them finally come back together as they were always meant to.

And while the series couldn’t quite land the dismount (Laura gives a very moving speech for like seven minutes after her heart was supposed to have vacated her body), leaving Laura and a newly-human Carm walking off into the sunset on the eve of their new life together was still a delightfully bittersweet way to cap this absurdly heartfelt series.

But you can’t keep a good vamp show down, and just a year later, the show would continue in a spinoff movie (aptly titled The Carmilla Movie), also directed by Maybee. And this time, Carmilla is freed from the shackles of vlog-style footage and is instead a wholly third-person perspective on Carmilla’s journey back into vampirism and her sickeningly sweet domestic coupling with Laura. Featuring Wynonna Earp favorite Dom Provost-Chalkley as the infamous Elle (Carmilla’s former lover whom she sacrificed to her mother’s pesky vampire-fish cult), the film is a genuine delight. It works as a poignant love letter to this little webseries that could, the characters that propelled it to cult status, and the community of queer fans that championed it for all those years. It still remains one of my favorite queer films of all time, using vampirism and gothic horror as a means to unpack long-held grief and guilt, and particularly how queer relationships can break down in very specific and painfully different ways than heterosexual ones. (And, just a fun side note, MUNA’s “I Know a Place” plays over the final credits, which was the first time I ever heard what would go on to become one of my all-time favorite bands.)

What makes Carmilla stand out so starkly from sapphic representation at the time and even still today is how authentic and focused it is. While so much queer representation comes from shows that shine before getting cut short in cruel cancellations or from side characters with minimal screentime, Carmilla’s ability to exist outside of traditional television allowed the writers, cast, and crew to create a series that refused to be snuffed out by the discreetly homophobic nature of streamers and networks. Instead, it thrived by telling a grounded story in a decidedly not-grounded world, filling in a void that remains vacant in its absence.

Carmilla, more than anything, was for queer audiences. It was specifically made with the community in mind (ranging from sapphic to nonbinary folks, as LaF’s gender journey is equally weighty throughout the series), by people who longed to see representation on screen just as much as those watching. It was special and it was different, and it has truly yet to be replicated at the scope and scale this webseries managed to capture. Of course, we’ve had favorites like A League of Their Own and the aforementioned Wynonna Earp (which also happens to be getting its own sequel film), but even those found their stories cut short or their LGBTQ+ characters not truly the center of the tale. Carmilla’s commitment to its queer characters, queer relationships, and queer audience still feels so singular, 10 years after it shook up lesbian representation for the better.

In the same way that Carmilla embraced the freedom of its non-traditional format, and in the same way Laura would embrace the freedom that comes from being both a hero and a fully-fledged individual, audiences embraced this show right back. Through its epic stakes, grounded drama, and otherworldly foes and fights, it told its audience that queer stories matter, in all shapes and forms.

In a heady mix of nostalgia and fondness, Carmilla exists as a triumph of representation, and holds a steady place in my heart. Despite premiering in the summer, whenever fall comes around, I always find myself heading to YouTube, ready for another rewatch of Laura Hollis’ vlog of a lifetime. I can’t count the number of times I’ve sat through each episode or how many times I’ve heard that distinct opening chime, but I can attest to the series being impactful and important. It shaped my relationship with queer TV in ways that I wouldn’t fully realize until I sat down to write this love letter to a show that so earnestly loved me back. In the same way that The L Word or “The Puppy Episode” would change and shape queer audiences’ tastes, expectations, and on-air status, Carmilla set the bar, and even 10 years later, it feels like we’re still chasing the magic it effortlessly captured.

Anna Govert is the TV Editor of Paste Magazine. For any and all thoughts about TV, film, and her unshakable love of complicated female villains, you can follow her @annagovert.

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