directed by David Slade
Mere minutes into the newest Twilight installment, the film had lost both its momentum and my attention, and like an old man spinning old war yarns, it seemed to have zero desire to reclaim either item as the film drug on and on. A few things have changed in the Twilight series since New Moon: the acting got worse (is that possible? Yes), the voice overs got even lazier (Bella VO’s about calling Jacob as she’s effing doing it on screen!), and last dying embers of so called storytelling have been fully extinguished in this tensionless tale of a love triangle gone lame. Edward is the lovesick and toothless vampire who only wants Bella to be happy (yeah, right), and Jacob is the hot shit werewolf who thinks Bella is brickhouse and needs to have his puppies. Throughout the film, however, Edward and Jacob bicker and argue like Bruce Willis and Cybill Shepard in Moonlighting, failing to respect Bella’s feelings, listen to her wishes or, in some cases, failing to even acknowledge her existence. Edward “cares” and “worries” so much about Bella going to talk to Jacob that he disables her car(?!) to keep her safe. Jacob “knows” Bella loves him so much that he kisses her after he ignores her claims that she doesn’t, in fact, love him. If Edward wasn’t a vampire and Jacob wasn’t a werewolf, this series would be about a couple of douchebags fighting over a girl who, normally, they wouldn’t give a shit about. Pile on top of that shite salad the fact that both of them exhibit traits of future batterers, it makes me wonder just what the hell has got everyone all starry eyed? Plotwise, the film is a tease because nothing really happens. The film spends its time leading up to a battle in which not a one “good guy” dies, unless you count Dakota Fanning’s professional future, ‘cause RIP, baby. Her atrocious turn in this limp dick vamp series is rotten enough to taint her entire career. Frankly, however, there is something else about this series that this film in particular has brought to light, something that genuinely concerns me. As I calmly and objectively stated the above case to my coworkers, they shrugged my objections off as immaterial because I hadn’t read the books. “You just don’t get it, BC.” It was that dismissal that worried me most, and as I think of all the millions of young people reading these Stephanie Meyers books and saying to themselves “Yes. When I fall in love, I want it to be just like this,” I cringe. Don’t buy into the weirdo, masochist fantasy, young hipsters and outcasts! Real, non-psychotic love exists. Just scope those Eharmony commercials, or the matchy-clothes couples hefting armloads coffee grounds into their oversized Costco carts on Saturday afternoons.