If you ever wondered what ‘Dawson’s Creek’ would have been like if half the cast had been replaced by an assortment of Euro-trash vampires, then Twilight is definitely the film for you. This modern remix of a tired myth is designed to target teenage girls with that tender mix of hormones that causes them to rapidly ovulate when their high school crush briefly makes eye contact with them across a crowded biology classroom.
Because that’s what this film is really all about – forget the bloodsucking (it’s on screen for 30 seconds, max), forget the drama and lore of the vampire mystique – this film is all about STARING. That’s right – if you feel like getting drunker than the female lead character’s single divorcee dad (he’s never shown without a beer either in his hand or less than 6 inches away) then all you have to do is smuggle a bottle of tequila into the theatre and take a shot every time Kristen Stewart and obvious non-actor Robert Pattinson engage in a long, drawn out, meaningful glance. If you choose to accept what I call the ‘Twilight Liver Destroyer Challenge’, then I hope you bring a friend, because you are going to be leaving the screening in a wheelchair.
These stare down interludes would be funny if they weren’t so damn disturbing at the same time thanks to the fact that director Catherine Hardwicke asks Stewart to simulate orgasm every time her paramour’s eyes meet her own. Given the fact that her character is suppose to be around the age of 16, this leads to uncomfortable moments for all of the non-pedophiles in the audience. Grunts, groans, and gasps for air all escape Stewart’s quivering lips on an almost constant basis, giving Twilight that sort of soft-core porn sheen that will no doubt lead to a slew of dumbass teens getting knocked up by their Vampire: The Gathering-playing boyfriends in theatre parking lots across the country. The awkwardness was somewhat drowned out for me by the constant shuffling of the guy in the full-length trench coat seated to my right, but I still left the theatre full of shame and hiding my inappropriate erection.
These moments of pubescent ecstasy were far from the most bizarre moments of onscreen sexuality, which would have to be reserved for the intricately explained incest plot that revolved around the freakishly made-up Cullen vampire clan. Yes, each brother save for our hero is given a sister to fuck and defile in full view of the community and the school, and this is of course accepted as completely normal because they are merely foster siblings. Remember all the foster siblings making out at your prom in high school? Of course you don’t, because you didn’t grow up in a Vincent Gallo film.
Of course, Twilight also throws in the requisite vampire clichés that hang from the skeleton of this putrid excuse for a movie like the gaudiest of tinsel on a threadbare Christmas tree. Ridiculous pancake makeup on all of the undead characters? Check. Mind reading? Check. Vampires that can fly? Well, he can climb the shit out of a tree and run really fast, so I guess that’s covered too. Oh and there’s also a gang of evil vampires (gasp) who wander into town and cause some chaos. You can tell they are evil because they wear open jackets with big medallions and enter every scene surrounded by mist, which is pretty badass. Eventually they fight with the ‘good’ vampires, but by that point no one really cares since half the audience is furiously masturbating and the others are slowly drawing a razor blade across their forearms in an effort to distract them from the disaster they have been forced to witness on the screen in front of them. I’ll let you figure out for yourself which of those two groups I fell into.
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