• The Finical Filmgoer •
Fa la la la-la, La-la, La-la! A gentleman's holiday ruminations on vampires and The Twilight Saga: New Moon (2009)
M. Chariot's housekeeper Victoria (pictured above) is something of the bully - I tend to become a bit fidgety around her. When she arrived yesterday and began savagely cleaning my cloistral, bachelor chambres, I had to find something to do, as one can become quite agitated about the handling and safety of one's porcelain figurine collection. Clutching a flimsy paraplouie and braving torrential rains, I left Victoria to her machinations and bundled my tiny, velveteen form onto the #217, which gasped and heaved me along to the cinema at The Grove, where I found myself purchasing a moist, solitary ticket for The Twilight Saga: New Moon.
M. Chariot has the brutality of the hired help to thank for many of his more unexpected forays into public life! And yet I must confess I've endured a dark, lifelong hunger for all things Vampire, which is why I found myself lined up with other warm-blooded creatures to see the original Twilight when it premiered. At the time, True Blood was enjoying some popularity on HBO, but I found True Blood disappointing, preferring my night creatures to be impossibly elegant, sophisticated, worldly!
All that being said by way of exhausting prologue, I was very receptive to the sequel. And yet I found New Moon utterly excruciating to watch. The goings-on are snail-slow, with much emphasis on Bella Swan's swoony, melodramatic teenage anguish - a writhing wallow in endless, helpless, clueless adolescent obsession.
As for the male characters, Bella's two suitors, Edward Cullen and Jacob Black can be described as tortured, obscure, inarticulate, depressing and dangerously violent; even deadly. Much is made of male beauty, which for some reviewers comprises a homoerotic subtext. But I see the amplification of this concern as a reflection of the febrile yearning of teenage girls, many of whom place a high premium on the physical appearance for lack of experience with any other, say, more enduring attributes.
The Twilight story painstakingly indulges all the weepy, sodden travails of girlhood, and thus I predict the series will enjoy blazing popularity for quite some time. But being something of the adult, watching it felt like listening to my teen niece's romantic woes, and not being able to interrupt with any clarifying, edifying, resolute adult recommendations.
Trust me, loyal reader: if you're over the age of 30, you won't relish much more than the tiniest sip of this lovesick slop! Arriving back at my Old Hollywood apartments later that evening dripping wet, I inspected my precious porcelain figurine collection for any damage left by the long-gone Victoria. Everything seemed to be intact. And so I settled in once more, bloody content with deathless solitude.
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