Straight from the Mormon Vampire's Heinie-Hole
Hola, virgins! What's up? Are you completely freaking out? Because Twilight: Eclipse, right? This week, right? Well, I saw it. And as my esteemed old father would say from beneath his esteemed old mustache: You people should be put in a rubber room. This is what you've been going on about all this time? THIS? I had avoided Twilight (books and movies) up until now, because I try to avoid things that people whose taste I trust have deemed, as my dainty dear mother would say from beneath her dainty dear mustache, horsepucky. (Just kidding, Mother. Your mustache is as robust and fluffy as a spring ewe.) I have avoided Twilight as strenuously as I have avoided getting my eyeballs and ear canals close to actual horsepucky straight from the horse's heinie-hole. But sometimes, if you are me, horsepucky is your job, and so you go see Twilight 3: Havana Nights 2 or whatever.
And could such a cultural phenomenon really be that bad? When millions of humans around the globe are weeping and buying $40 sparkly dildos and peeing a little and screaming to the heavens, "Yes! I love Stephenie Meyer's figurative pucky and I celebrate her entire catalog and waiting until marriage to have sex with a reanimated corpse who eats people is what God wants me to do and God really pumps my 'nads!"? Could it? Be that bad? (Rhetorical question, virgins. Shut up.)
Twilight: Eclipse is meticulously, strenuously boring. It opens in a field of wildflowers, where Bella and Edward are cuddling and murmuring about feelings like it's their full-time job (which, as you will discover, it is). Bella and Edward murmur about feelings. Bella and Jacob murmur about feelings. Bella murmurs about feelings via awkward voice-over narration. Bella and Edward murmur about feelings again. Just when you think no one could possibly have any more feelings, Jacob murmurs to Bella about the very same feelings he just finished murmuring at her two minutes before, and she murmurs back like they didn't just murmur this exact goddamn conversation. Then he says the words "wolf telepathy." Then Edward tells Bella that she is a slut whose eternal soul is in jeopardy because of her insatiable horniness. Then she consents to marry him, saying, "I wanna tie myself to you in every way humanly possible." Then feminism cuts itself. Just to feel something.
It's no coincidence that Kristen Stewart—grounded, subtle, affecting—plays the only human in the thing. Everyone else seems borderline comatose (Jacob, for instance: actual taxidermied wolf?). Stewart is way too good for this movie and, to her credit, was recently named number 66 on the Forbes list of the most powerful celebrities. Robert Pattinson, on the other hand—a man so bland his presence barely registers on-screen, like a vampire reflected—came in at number 50. Now, I hate to see sexism lurking under every wildflower (no, wait! I love it!), but that is some fucking goddamn horsepucky right there.