My Love Language is resisting dining on your flesh.

Rating: 2/10 (6 March 2016)

When this movie came out in high school, my heterosexual male stoner buddy saw it in theatres ten times.
Ten. Times.
Each time he'd come out a little higher and a little gigglier than the last, riding on the wave of exhilaration that only comes from watching something so nonsensical that it can only be enjoyed with the help of pharmaceuticals. And yet. Somewhere between viewing four and viewing seven, his language about the movie changed. He started calling the actors by their characters' names. Started mouthing the ridiculous dialogue along with them, started saying things like, "You know, the baseball scene is actually kind of genius. I mean, they used a Muse song. MUSE!"
And thus through self-induced Stockholm Syndrome, my friend became a Twilight fan, one of the legions who obsessively ponder the stares between Bella and Edward. I can only imagine that his method is the only way to properly enjoy this movie, because I, who saw it once completely soberly (viewing number five for him) and without having memorized the dialogue, found so little to redeem this waste of humanity's brain cells that I can barely recount the plot here. I remember that there were a lot of panning (or should we say "padding") shots of the Pacific Northwest tree line. There was Kristen Stewart at her glassiest (perhaps she too had discovered that the best way to make it through the script was with the aid of pharmaceuticals?) and most monotone. There was Robert Pattinson, whose character clearly hadn't gotten the memo that all-over body glitter went out with the demise of the 1990s.
There was a plot about a girl who moves to a small town, meets the hot guy at school, becomes hot guy's obsession, becomes hot guy's stalking object and then becomes hot guy's faithful lover because of course she does. Gentlemen, to really win a lady's heart, kidnap her at high speed through a forest, take her to a deserted field, and then tell her it is highly likely that you will at some point in your relationship try to kill her and feast on her flesh, but only because you love her scent so much. Then stare into her eyes without blinking for a really long time. Then play some baseball, throw in a ridiculously contrived villain who ALSO wants to kill said lady and feast on her flesh because her scent is somehow like crack to the glittery undead, and a vaguely racist Native American who also wants to feast on her flesh but in a metaphorical sense because her glassy-eyed staring is the most attractive thing he's ever seen, and voila. Gazillion dollar movie.
I would say something snarky about that, but it's too depressing to bear thought of. Please don't see this movie.
2/10 TL;DR: Unless you're planning on getting very high, or you're one of the Twilight legion of teenage girls who firmly believe unrequited love and unsubtle emotional abuse is the sexiest thing you've ever seen, avoid at all costs.