Twilight is what it is: Love it, hate it or care less.
I don’t begrudge anyone their love for the series, but tend to hold coats in the “care less” line. The new trailer for the latest entry (directed by 30 Days of Night’s David Slade and chomping at the bit for its June 30 release) doesn’t help, considering it could have easily been used for last year’s New Moon. Has such a simple story ever felt like its climax has been so needlessly strung out? You know, besides Harry Potter?
Bella: I hate my life… wait! Oh, you’re hot. And pale.
Edward: Yes, I am. I’m also a 100-something year old pedophile, but luckily I’m trapped in this teenage body because I’m a vampire.
Bella: –Swoon– I’m so in love with you.
Edward: I love you too. And by I love you too, I mean you smell really good and I want to eat your neck.
Bella: Go for it, but I think some other vampires want my neck.
Edward: No they don’t. I killed them.
Bella: Swoon.
Jacob: Wait, Bella. I love you too… but I’m a werewolf.
Bella: Gross. Wet dogs stink.
Edward: Hey guys, what’s up? I went away for a while but now I’m back.
Bella: I want you in my underpants.
Edward: You sure? Ok. Beat it, Jacob.
Bella: I’m preggers.
Edward: Sweet.
Bella: Here, Jacob. I like you. You can have my vampire daughter.
Jacob: Sweet. I love her.
Bella: Swoon.
THE END.
That said… Cougars, unfulfilled housewives, teen ladies and the handful of guys still in the closet about loving this stuff, your wait is over. Behold the trailer for Twilight: Eclipse.
I realize it’s easy and popular to bash the Twihards, Stephanie Meyer’s craptastic writing and the whole fabric of the Twilight universe, but while I poke fun at the fanbase (divided equally between cougars and those who just bought training bras), I do think some people tend to bash the movies and books simply because of the mass appeal. However, with that said, when I see Twilight fans sending ignorant hate mail, it just makes me want to mock them ceaselessly.
I haven’t read one word of Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight series, but I have seen the movies and they’re nothing special. I have read two pages of Meyer’s novel, The Host, and I thought it was absolute poop. Not just poop, in fact, but cat poop, which is the worst. At any rate, I’m not going to start banging the I-Hate-Twilight drum, because I also refuse to jump on it’s sibling, the I-Dry-Hump-Twilight bandwagon. I prefer to stay Switzerland on this topic.
So now might be time to relinquish my right to continue as a bear wrestling, hairy chested, card carrying male. I unapologetically enjoyed New Moon… all in spite of itself.


Do you know who Christian Serratos is? Wait, let me answer for you: no.
Yeah, I’ll Defend of New Moon. Kind of.
And really, critical loathing is fine– it’s a collective strength of disparate film criticism. But I’m beginning to wonder if the critical hate for New Moon is legitimately aimed at the film or, as stated in my review, if it’s based on fighting to maintain disgruntled predisposition, groupthink “street cred” and the abhorrence of associating with an estrogen-fueled pop phenomenon. A dissenting review is legitimate, but the smarmy strain at repugnance I’m seeing in so many New Moon reviews seems at least partially inspired by a personal beef with the phenomenon more than the film itself.
Continue reading ‘Yeah, I’ll Defend of New Moon. Kind of.’