There comes a time in every man's life when he must confront the cultural phenomena that sweep through the zeitgeist, leaving in their wake a trail of bewildered men, myself included. I speak, of course, of the Twilight saga, a series of films that have somehow managed to turn the ancient myth of vampirism into a high school melodrama with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
My initiation into this world was not of my own choosing. Picture the scene: I, a seasoned critic of life's more refined offerings, thrust into the cinematic equivalent of a teenage diary entry. The plot, if one can dignify it with such a term, revolves around Bella Swan, a character so remarkably devoid of personality that she makes wallpaper seem vibrant. Her love interest, Edward Cullen, is a vampire with the emotional range of a marble statue, which, oddly enough, is his physical condition in daylight.
The first film, with its brooding atmosphere and dialogue that could make even the most ardent poet wince, sets the tone for what is to follow. Here, we are not dealing with the likes of Dracula, where the horror is palpable, the stakes high. No, in Twilight, the stakes are... well, to be frank, they're about as high as a teenager's angst level.
What's truly fascinating, in a car crash sort of way, is the love triangle that ensues. Bella, caught between Edward, the sparkly vampire (yes, sparkly - a concept so ludicrous it defies commentary), and Jacob, the werewolf with a penchant for shirtless scenes. One might think this a metaphor for the eternal battle between the cold, cerebral, and the warm, passionate. However, it's more a testament to the script's inability to decide on its own mythology, let alone its characters' destinies.
The films are littered with moments that drag on, not unlike the teenage years they depict. There are scenes where characters stand, gaze into each other's eyes, and then... more standing. It's as if the director was paid by the minute of silence rather than by the narrative development.
Yet, one must give credit where it's due. The Twilight saga has achieved what few franchises dare: it has made vampirism mundane, werewolves into mere puppy love, and romance into something one might find in a tween's diary, complete with doodles and hearts.
As a bloke, my perspective on these films is one of bemused horror. Here is a world where the most pressing issue seems to be whether one should date a vampire or a werewolf, rather than, say, the existential crises that actual adulthood bestows upon us.
In the end, Twilight is not for the likes of me, nor, I suspect, for anyone who values plot over the sheer spectacle of teenage longing. But perhaps that's the point - these films are a mirror to a demographic I've long since left behind, a reminder that not all cinema need be profound, just as not all love stories require depth to be adored.
So, here's to Twilight, the saga that turned vampirism into a high school drama, and made me, for a fleeting moment, wish I could go back to the simplicity of teenage infatuation, if only to understand why one might choose a life of eternal night over the warmth of a sunlit day.