Horror fans may be either disappointed—or intrigued—that Bite Me, despite nosferatu themes, is not paranormal in any way, but rather a romantic-comedy plea for tolerance of trendy folks who self-identify as glamorous, bloodsucking creatures of the night. It dresses the material in a rather formulaic let-your-freak-flag-fly affirmation of "vampirism" as a valid alternative lifestyle (and not one that kills people, as in George Romero's cult classic Martin).
In New York City (which seems surprisingly depopulated and small-townish), Sarah (Naomi McDougall Jones, who co-wrote the screenplay) is a transplanted Virginia woman, estranged from her family, who dwells with two vampire-identifying roommates in an apartment they have claimed as their “church" to avoid paying taxes. James (Christian Coulson), a straitlaced, UK-born IRS auditor (also running away from a clinging, controlling mother back home in England) is assigned to the case. He meets immediate antagonism from the nonconformist, facial-tattooed Sarah.
But both these people are divorced and unhappily celibate—although Sarah still visits her flamboyant, aspiring reality-TV-star vampire ex-husband (Antino Crowley-Kamenwati) to ritually drink his blood (she is said to suffer from a medical condition making her imbibing necessary; no details given).
On the pretext of investigating, James follows Sarah out of his “mundane” existence and into her netherworld of vampire rave parties and fellowships. Romance blossoms, despite their vast differences, though the viewer is still dubious even after the fadeout.
With minor alterations, the material could be tweaked to suit any number of louche subcultures: drag queens, Trekkers, anime cosplayers, or Harry Potter fanatics (Harry Potter is actually referenced in dialogue, an in-joke given that actor Coulson is a J.K. Rowling cast alumnus). Facile villainy is provided by a coven of Christians who infest James’ workplace and cheer on his persecution of the wannabe vampires.
The actors are all fun and appealing, though it cannot be ignored that Coulson's physique is more like that of a gym-toned Marvel superhero than a deskbound civil servant. Dialogue has some zingers, and real-life goth-rock star Aurelio Voltaire portrays himself (and sings a closing theme).
The script claims that blood being drunk by these spooky urban tribespeople is voluntarily submitted and medically tested, so it is all nice and good—er, right? Conservative buyers may consider this practically a vampire recruitment piece (if anything, it is more of an exhortation to cheat on your taxes), but with the equivalent of PG-13 content, the fangs are pretty soft. A strong optional purchase for comedy collections in public libraries and unique addition to library programming focused on vampires or during the Halloween season.