OH JACOB. You see my future, you love me now and forever. Then you crumple to your knees, as if the weight of our eternal love put a heavy hand on your shoulders and buckled you to the floor. Oh my werewolf amour, do you see the flowers we'll pick in the hazy afternoon when I'm finally 18? Do you see my freckled nose and my green eyes in our montage of destiny? What do you mean you thought my eyes were gray? WHAT THE FU... oh wait, your canine eyes only register black and white. I forgot... probably because I, Renesmee, the child of Bella and Edward Cullen, am a newborn baby, and you've fallen head over tail in love with me mere minutes after I clawed my way out of my mother's paper-thin womb. And yes, I do love you, but that smile on my face... it's just gas.
End scene on the only entertaining moment of The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn—Part I—in which the shirtless werewolf dude (Taylor Lautner) "imprints," which is some sort of Twilight speak for "lusts after," on Bella and Edward's demon baby. It is kind of amazing. But the rest of the fourth and penultimate installment of the incredibly drecky Twilight flicks? You'd have more fun staying at home color-coding your toenail clippings between diagnosing your various skin tags on the internet.
I had some high hopes for Breaking Dawn, as author Stephenie Meyer's "literary" ode to not giving it up finally loses its case of blue balls in this final book of the series. Bella (Kristen Stewart, human, wet rag) and Edward (Robert Pattinson, red-eyed, sparkly vampire, slightly crusty) finally get to home base. (+1 for vampire baseball reference!) Which should be way more exciting than this terrible schmaltzy emo crap film makes it—in the book, Edward rams it home so hard the bed shatters and Bella ends up black and blue. That also happens here in Oscar Award-winning director Bill Condon's film (who's reached an unfathomable low since 1998's great Gods and Monsters), but it's more like Edward gently tucks it in, delicately breaks off a bedpost, then mopes about Bella's bruises for a couple weeks, opting for silent games of chess instead of hot sex on their tropical honeymoon. Glad you two kids waited 'til marriage.
There's not an ounce of fun or genuine spark of life in this brittle soundtrack machine. One must endure hours of bad music, snarling CG werewolves arguing via horrible voiceovers, the most insipid wedding scene in all of existence, and Kristen Stewart turning into a sallow, pregnant skeleton as her demon baby cracks her ribs and eats all her nutrients, forcing her to swill down blood in Styrofoam milkshake cups. And the part I was most looking forward to—when ridiculously named Renesmee xenomorphs her way out of Bella's gut—was a huge, tasteful disappointment. Just Edward holding up his bloody hands and a bloody kid. That's it?!
That's what she said.
