Forgive me, for I have sinned. I am a late-20-something female, who studied literature, who works for Powell's, who strives to display a discerning, critical, sometimes snooty taste in all forms of art. And I saw the Twilight movie. On opening night.
It's not what you think. I haven't read the books. I wasn't one of the women wearing a "Yes, I know he's a fictional character" t-shirt.I was the one who made sure to get adequately hammered beforehand, hoping that large quantities of Jim Beam would make it all more tolerable. I served as wing-lady to my irrevocably obsessed also late-20-something roommate, who, on the other end of the spectrum, locked herself in her room for three days to read all four books, only emerging for fresh supplies of Amy's enchiladas and Mike and Ikes.
I should probably be ashamed of myself, but I am not. Well, in retrospect, I'm sort of ashamed of the bourbon vapors that had to have been wafting off me into the respiratory systems of dozens of precocious tweens. But of the overall experience, nope. No remorse. I had a great time. Sure, some parts of the movie were unintentionally hilarious, and overacted, and clichéd. And I really can't get behind thinly veiled abstinence endorsements driven home by the dangers of fornicating with vampires. (Which are far more complex than the dangers of normal fornicating.)
I think the reason I enjoyed seeing the movie is the same reason the books have been so popular. It felt like I was part of an estrogen-fueled community of women, who, at the very mention of Edward Cullen (sexy vampire boy), suddenly regress to giggly, 15-year-old girls.When he first appeared on the screen, a hush fell over the theater, and then a collective, wistful sigh. In that instant, my criteria for a potential mate skyrocketed into the realms of the extraordinarily unrealistic, and I remembered what it was like to swoon with all of my being, with the exception of my brain.
Sure, there are plenty of reasons to thumb your nose at the Twilight franchise. The books and film aren't going to win critical acclaim, and the phenomenon is baffling at best, obnoxious at worst. But still, against all of my better judgment, this teenage vampire drama effectively catapulted me back to a place I rarely remember, but upon revisiting, feel like I could use a bit more of. Maybe we could all use a bit of vampire lust. Maybe not. Booze helps.
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Martha Zinger may or may not work for Powell's. When she's not putting herself into awkward social situations, she's researching cheese.
Books mentioned in this post