I am neither a professional film critic nor timely in my blogged opinions of cinema. Therefore, to add value to humanity, my review of Twilight: Eclipse will take the form of a grievance.
Namely, I assert that this film has wantonly and grossly plagiarized my intellectual property by utilizing a number of my patented, super-smooth pickup lines.
Exhibit 1: “It would be sooo easy to be with me.”—Jake (the werewolf kid), to Bella (the chick who wants to be a vampire—it’s a metaphor, people)
I said this to my female movie-watching companion on the way into the theater after catching her trading phone numbers and sweet nothings with the gangly teenager that sold us popcorn. It rings a bit defensive, but sometimes you just have to let a girl know: Cut that zero, get with this hero (props to Doug E. Fresh).
Exhibit 2: “Bella, would you please stop trying to take your clothes off?”—Edward (the vampire kid) to Bella, who was begging him for a deflowering
This is classic Rhodesian reverse psychology. If you tell a girl not to take her clothes off, she will take her clothes off. It works for humans, and apparently it works for dashing vampires. However, Edward comes from another time and simply didn’t have the tools to close the deal.
Exhibits 3-5: “You wouldn’t have to change for me, Bella. I’m in love with you, and I want you to pick me instead of him.”…“I’m gonna fight for you, until your heart stops beating”…”I can give you more than him.”—Jake, repeatedly and sadly pleading his case to Bella
There seems to be a theme to this opus, one of a highly insecure young man constantly attempting to win over a girl who’s helplessly smitten with the wild-eyed hottie who glistens like diamonds in the sun. What seems odd then is that my coitus-inspiring lines are apropos in this situation, given they’re largely used for sexual retention, never for fighting off other suitors for my lady’s affections. My tongue just ripped a hole in my cheek.
Moving on, what seemed most pathetic about Jake’s plight was that his utter romantic failure with Bella comes despite his obvious superiority to his competition. I mean, the kid is ripped. Despite rampant sensuality and visually fascinating fight scenes, all I could think about was doing my laundry when I got home.
Jake has a pulse, he’s warm (as he constantly reminded Bella—and Edward), and he’s just the right amount of gay. He likes clothes, takes care of his hair, and can do backflips, but he probably still likes Bella more than he likes Edward. Probably. The heart-to-heart between the two leading hunky boy-toys in a tent left me unsure if I was watching a sequel to New Moon or Brokeback Mountain.
Bottom line, your girl is into a guy with no soul, Jake. You’ve been licked by a pasty, 100-year-old twit with iconic (or ironic?) hair. The guy has no pulse, and with Bella he shall canoodle, for all eternity. I know it hurts, bro—I’ve been there.
Perhaps now is the time to admit my own mad game with the ladies is quite derivative of a certain playbook, that of the legendary Mike Damone.
To paraphrase the master: If she can’t smell your qualifications, Jake, who needs her?