I was forced to watch this appalling aberration of a film last night.
50 minutes of people and vampires not having sex; 50 minutes of werewolves not killing vampire-spawn…
But the post-credits section…. Beneath a very rock soundtrack a young blonde girl walks through a darkened and dingy corridor with a note on a silver platter.
Was it my imagination? Or did the sinister camp chaps to whom she gave the note – the Volturi? – have her murdered because she spelt Carlisle “Carlyle” and mangled her grammar?
“First it’s the spelling. Then the grammar.”
Watch for yourselves here!
Spelling Bee Extreme Expert Level!
To be played as a starter in every English lesson henceforth?!
Perhaps the only 90 seconds worth watching from the 480 minutes of the so-called saga thus far.
I wonder whether the reason why I am so offended by this series is the word saga. I mean, fair enough, people like it; I don’t. There’s plenty of room in this world for a plethora of tastes and preferences. I’m not keen on many films or books but I don’t have the vehement hatred I do of the Twilight saga which is not a saga! Its just not. It’s not Icelandic; it’s not heroic; it’s not mythic; it’s not got the scope or power of a saga. If anything, it’s a melodrama. A domestic melodrama. Beowulf, a saga; Twilight, not! Snorri Sturluson would be spinning in his grave!
Now, feeling rather like Polonius, I shall retire.