Who wouldn’t want to be a vampire? Save the minor inconvenience of hyper-photosensitivity and a rarely quenchable thirst for human blood, you gain the ability to fly, to transform into a bat, and to carry an aura of lascivious sexuality to go with your extended incisors. Not to mention the whole immortality deal, which turns out to be a kind of double-edged stake. While Only Lovers Left Alive (Jim Jarmusch, 2013) painted vampires as morose hipsters, entertained only by the exhausted apotheosis of human art, What We Do in the Shadows suggests the most pertinent difference between a normal share house and a vampire one is the pile of unwashed dishes in the latter being much bigger and bloodier. It’s also the funniest comedy of the year so far.