The Vampire Diaries

Diaries promises us a season of sharp-tongued amusement.

There’s an engrossing moodiness to Mr. Williamson’s latest venture, but one he conveys without annulling the pact he long ago made with himself never to let his cheekiness go undetected.

Competent as Vampire may be, there's also something rehashed and filtered about it, to the point where it sometimes feels like the kiddie-ride version of "True Blood," and perhaps appropriately so.

Williamson and Julie Plec--working from L.J. Smith's books, which actually preceded "Twilight"--mix these familiar elements into a crimson cocktail that even gets reasonable mileage out of its cliches, which ought to give this early riser a chance to establish some fan loyalty before the other networks launch their Thursday lineups.

In between bouts of underage drinking, texting, girl-bonding, and the inevitable minor-key whine of a soundtrack, that is. "True Blood Lite" or "Transylvania 90210." And you know what? It is. Almost exactly. But this is not a bad thing, not a bad thing at all. Because Vampire Diaries knows precisely what it is--a Gothic romance--and doesn't try to be anything else.