Twilight Misses Mark on the Silver Screen November 30, 2008

Before you read my review, let me remind you that I am no film making professional. I am writing all these merely from an avid moviegoer’s point of view.

I watched Twilight three days after it opened in the theatres, expecting to be blown away. The trailers had been good, Rob Pattinson and Kristen Stewart look exquisite together, and both fit the roles of star-crossed lovers Edward and Bella quite perfectly. Of course, having read Twilight and New Moon, I already knew the plot and the characters by heart.

When I left the theatre roughly two hours later however, I was beginning to think that Rotten Tomatoes could have been right in giving the movie adaptation a 44% rating. No, the movie was not awful, it was creative in some parts actually, but there was something amiss. There were more than a few things which disappointed me really, and not least among them were the acting performances of Pattinson and Stewart.

Well, I have nothing against Pattinson and Stewart as Edward and Bella physically speaking, because their chemistry just sizzles on screen. But the acting was mediocre, and I could almost feel no intensity in the delivery of their lines. Pattinson was slurring his lines (maybe because he’s still practicing his American accent) and sadly, was not able to act as gracefully, as elegantly, or as mysteriously as the “Edward” so explicitly described in the book.

There were scenes in the film when he looked as klutzy as Bella- which is totally out of character because this 103 -year old vampire is supposed to be graceful as a cat and looking perpetually like a movie star. He is not human remember? He is a vampire with super powers, who has lived for at least a century. So please explain to me why Pattinson is acting like his character is just some average boy-next-door, albeit with porcelain skin and a flashy sports car.

Stewart had her lapses too, but since she’s young and because she’s playing the role of the human, Bella, I was more ready to forgive her. Besides, she’s always been described as aloof, clumsy, moody, and anti-social in the novel. With Pattinson however, I expected a whole lot more intensity, on a level that makes you feel terrified because he’s a bloodsucking immortal, but subdued enough to remind you that he is a gentleman who’s in love with a human girl. They should have picked an actor who was more ready to play the part, and not merely because he has jawbones to die for or a stare that could melt the ice caps off Mount Fuji.

Then there was the matter of bad makeup. During the course of the film, I kept repeating to myself “They’re vampires; they’re supposed to be pale”. The fact however, that they were too-powdery pale made me want to laugh so hard. Plus, it was too obvious Pattinson was wearing lipstick! Forgive me, but that lapse was just unpardonable.

Yes, the movie was made for teens, but I don’t think that’s reason enough to make it a half-baked, on-screen rendition of arguably the most celebrated vampire love story in long years. The producers and the director should have realized that even twenty-something, thirty-something, and forty-something females are reading the Twilight books too, and that these non-teens could be lining up in theaters alongside shrieking, high-school girls during the movie’s release date. Unfortunately, not everyone is juvenile enough to let pass the hazily-depicted scenes or the almost boring pace of the film, balanced out momentarily by romantic forest interludes and heartrending lullabies.

One critic complained that the Twilight movie was made for the book readers and no one else. I couldn’t agree more. Anyone uninitiated with the Twilight universe is not likely to consider Twilight on the silver screen as a stand-alone film. If the saga wasn’t as riveting as it is, I doubt that the film would have grossed just as successfully with its $70 million weekend. It’s sad but painfully true: the movie was a box-office hit mainly because many people (mostly females) have already read the Twilight books. Or perhaps because non-readers are curious as to what the hype is all about. Whether or not the film really deserved the box-office figures is another matter altogether.

Meyer may not be an award-winning writer but she deserves credit for the way she has exploited her fertile imagination and for creating interesting characters in her brainchild of a book. And in many ways, I think, the movie sabotaged her work.

I’m still optimistic though. Summit Entertainment has already acquired the franchise for New Moon, Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn. And since the second film is slated to be released no earlier than 2010, Pattinson and Stewart will have ample time polishing their skills, and a lot more for the production designers to pick the right kind of vampire lipstick.

Lucky, lucky Worms January 25, 2008

Yeah, this is kind of old news, but there are days when a girl just has too much on her plate that even the deaths of two heartthrobs cannot afford her to make an early reflection on such unexpected tragedies. Again, I was sacrificing sleeping hours for writing, and exploring the sunny world outside when lethargy strikes. Anyway.

Ten days ago, on the 15th of January, Brad Renfro died in his sleep. His Hollywood star sort of waned over the years, but he had such a brilliant career in his youth. He was unforgettable in The Client (1994), and I remember watching a few of his movies in the mid nineties (Sleepers, The Cure, and Tom and Huck) with only as much as a perfunctory interest in his acting prowess, because I was to busy swooning over his lovely brown eyes. Anyone will excuse me for doing so, I was a dreamy adolescent back then, and Brad Renfro was one of the few swoon worthy icons of his time. Then, as most disturbed young actors are wont to do, he grew drug dependent and his movies have become few and far between. Up until his death more than a week ago, my closet still had a few magazine cutouts of his boyish gorgeousness, an outdated remembrance of my silly-shrieking high school years.

Then Heath the sensual Ledger died seven days later, again in slumber. This guy had jawbones that’s to die for, and a burning stare that makes you want to strip down to your underwear and soak in an ice cold bathtub. Brokeback Mountain established his acting skills. He was always excellent in period films. Then, all of a sudden he was reported not to have woken up one gripping afternoon. Sleeping pills overdose, perhaps.

The price actors had to pay for all the glory and red-carpet attention. When people are blown-up to such larger than life proportions, it’s quite hard to believe that they can fade away just like that, and then we are reminded again of the flimsiness of mortal existence.

Such youth, such beauty ought not to be wasted inside rotting mounds of earth, I should say. But it just might as well, for all the grandeur and eminence and possession that one life can hold. Brad and Heath have had their share of the best, so everything is not really wasted. Dying in your twenties however is not a thing worth celebrating, when there are people in their fifties who are just starting on the rosiest time of their lives.

Such a huge regret, whenever those lucky earthworms get their fair share at a most ill-gotten time.

The Way of the Cosmos January 12, 2008

For girlfriends, wives, exclusive daters, and all other fussy females, stop asking your men for more emotional depth. The fact is, they are insensitive by nature. No, it’s not entirely something that they are proud of, they would often tell you how clueless they are on this, but it’s just something that is embedded in their genetic make-up. They are born to be clueless, insensitive, and practical to the point of boredom. Again, it is not their failing. They were just fertilized that way.

The most common example would be the frequency of giving flowers. Most guys, whether they admit it or not, hate giving flowers. Those who do so are merely prompted by societal pressures, or by those cheesy Hollywood romantic movies that we, women are so fond of. Most men give flowers without ever knowing why women love them. But because they want things to be simpler, they just proceed with no further questions, buy a huge bunch from the flower shop, write some silly nonsense on the card, then secretly relish the smother of kisses that comes after presenting the flowers with much aplomb. Most guys need hints all the time. And the sad truth is, without these subtle hints, the woman will never get her fair share of those gorgeous orange roses.

So it’s time women stop fantasizing about love letters, poetry, chocolates hidden inside drawers, and rose petals scattered on the bed. They are closer to fiction than you think. There are two pseudo types of men who do this frequently. First are those men who would want to get to your underwear sooner than you think. They want to rush things so bad, that they would research for an entire day on how to be the perfect Casanova: roses, nonsense poetry , and all. When a woman’s heart melts, the rest of her clothing would melt away too. Then when Mr. Casanova has had enough, the roses would stop coming, and the female will be left with the wilted petals and exaggerated letters, nothing more.

The second pseudo type would be those men who are not even men at all. So in touch are they with their feminine side, their emotional selves, that they can predict all that a woman yearns for. Many women have fallen into this trap, thinking that they have found their modern Romeos: poetry and songs, tearful scenes, quixotic kisses and make-ups. Only that, Romeo was more of a Juliet after all. He was confused, he would tell you. And when you recall those days when he sang songs to you, picked the perfect stilletos for your birthday, or gave you those impeccably arranged rose and lily bouquet, you would begin to realize just how uncomfortable you actually felt that time. Like, everything was just too good to be true. That such a man was the stuff of distant fairy tales. That indeed, everything he had done were for the sake of his own fantasies, fantasies he had carefully hidden from the prying eyes of the world.

So just be thankful when your man is clueless with gifts, or roses, or shoes. Or if he doesn’t wax sonnets like Shakespeare or Neruda. Be thankful he knows nothing about lip gloss and mascaras and nude pantyhose. Or that his letter contains some loopholes, or that he once bought you an expensive flashlight when all you really wanted was a cheap make-up remover.

Be thankful you have a man in your life. Stop being too fussy. Men are just being themselves: clumsy, clueless, and practical to the point of boredom. But nothing tops being real and downright honest. And having a few sweep-you-off-your-feet kisses in between.

Crotch Issue January 4, 2008

Somebody save me. I’m about to break down from trepidation and uncontrolled laughter. It turns out my next writing assignment might be about breast and penis enlargement. With breast enlargement, I have no problem with. As if anyone can easily tell real from fake nowadays without having to squeeze them. But penis enlargement? Talk about ridiculous, funny, pathetic- an act of total, absolute desperation. C’mon, penis what?

I have written about all sorts of unlikely stuff: Wiccan witchraft, article marketing, fat loss and the calorie shifting theory, cooking sushi, NBA betting games, horse races, place reviews, web design, software packages, baby’s bottles, numerology, and a bunch of business letters. But crotch augmentation is something else. Like I’m supposed to know what it’s like living with a teenie weenie buddy? What it’s like to be embarrassed during steamy lust sessions? That I’m supposed to know how mortifying it is for them when the smallest brief size does not hug properly? Like anyone talks about that sort of stuff over the internet? C’mon.

But just out of curiosity I’m gonna try to click on some sites later. No, I’m not going to write the article, as long as my editor doesn’t complain. I’m just gonna find out if men, egotistic as they are by nature, would actually rant about their “smallness” over the web. Maybe, just maybe, honesty is the new machismo.

If Men Were to Design a Bra December 13, 2007

This had me laughing today. Oh well, at least it kept my mind off the monotony of my job. Perhaps Wacoal should look into this. Look at how the design actually lifts the bust. Men, men. Always the same naughty, notorious bunch.

Rumor has it November 22, 2007

That Wentworth Miller is gay. Gawd. And it has taken me all this time to write about it. Of course I did not believe the reports months before, could not bring myself to make sense of it all. I literally drooled over his Michael Scofield in that highly preposterous suspense-drama series on television, and watched his love scenes in The Human Stain with a thousand “damnits”. I’m no schoolgirl anymore but what the heck, nobody coud have stopped me if I filled my bedroom walls with cheap reproductions of his smoldering gazes, or watched schmaltzy Mariah Carey music videos ad nauseum because he appeared in two of them for all of thirty seconds.

That’s how pathetic I get whenever I’m smitten.

But rumor has it he’s gay. And that he had been openly dating. Openly. I can just puke buckets right now.

And to think that I’ve been seriously planning to buy a black, fitted baby t-shirt and have it emblazoned with “Mrs. Scofield” on the front in red, bold letters. Imagine that. My sister would have rolled on her belly, and laughed like Bella Flores.