I’ve never thought of myself as a typical male. However, there are times in my life when I’m confronted with the fact that no matter how much it pains me, I share common traits with a Dave-Matthews-listening, Natty-Ice-swilling, Xbox-live-playing frat boy. On matters such as red meat, college football and the simple joy of a bubble bath, I can and have held conversations lasting multiple minutes with my sleevelessly-attired and Chinese-character-tattooed counterpart.
For the first 20 years of my life, I could have added another five minutes of conversation to my lifetime concerning the “Twilight” books by Stephenie Meyer. (Yes, we could have held a conversation before the books were written). While most of my readership will likely be familiar with a typical male stance, I would like to clearly explain my understanding of it.
When it comes to movies concerning the topic of love, there were two traditional methods of dealing with it: romantic comedies and Disney movies, both riddled with their own particular evils on the matter. Romantic comedies follow cheesy, clichéd storylines and more often than not are connected to Cameron Diaz. With few exceptions, rom-coms send males into one of three states: sleep, rage or a sleepy rage. Disney movies are actually identical with the exception of Cameron Diaz. Either way, unrealistic and boring depictions of relationships dominate popular cinema.
“Twilight” broke new ground in its depictions of romantic relationships. Specifically, it added a sparkling vampire whose mysterious and cold persona can only be explained by his love for the female lead, Bella. Digging deeper into an already cavernous hole occupied by the notion of romantic love in popular culture, the ridiculous expectations and corny romance of “Twilight” will only leave a nation of young females over eager for “true” love and, at the end of the day, heartbroken, only comforted by sweatpants and ice cream.
In an event that will ultimately limit my future friendships in the frat sector, I blindly stumbled to the Wikipedia page for the fourth and final book of the “Twilight” epic, “Breaking Dawn.” This changed everything. No longer do I resent the existence of these cheesy, derivative and harmful books. Instead, I cannot wait for the final film to be birthed forth onto the collective consciousness of our madcap generation. What happened? I read the plot summary.
For my male companions who have made it this far through the article without actually knowing anything about “Twilight,” I’ll do my best to explain. Edward and Bella (vampire and moody girl, respectively) are now married and living off the coast of Brazil. Taking part in a common newlywed activity, houses are destroyed and Bella is repeatedly knocked unconscious. It has something to do with Edward’s super powers and glitter. In these “miracle-of-life moments,” Bella conceives a mutant human/vampire fetus who grows quickly and strikes fear into the heart of pretty much everyone, to the point where Edward wants Bella to have an abortion. Bella, whose ribs have been broken by the super baby’s kicks, carries the pregnancy to term. In this time Jacob, a shape-shifter who resembles a werewolf, finds Bella in order to kill her, or something. Bella starts to give birth but starts losing blood. Edward then returns, turns Bella into a vampire and gives her a C-section with his teeth. Jacob then imprints on the baby. This means he falls in love. A werewolf falls in love with a baby.
Obviously, my third-hand retelling of “Breaking Dawn” contains inaccuracies, but on the off chance that these statements are remotely true, I plan on attending the midnight premiere of both movies. (At Meyer’s insistence, the final volume is being split into two movies). If done well, their strangeness will rival David Lynch’s “Eraserhead,” a feat I’d always assumed was impossible. In fact, I silently applauded as “New Moon” shattered box office records. Why? Because in the future of the film series, a werewolf falls in love with a baby.
The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of the Observer.
Contact Nick Anderson at firstname.lastname@example.org