THE SYNDROME

Yes, on the eve of what could be this summer's biggest, boldest and most bitter-sweet box-office smash -- The Dark Knight -- I am blogging about bat-like boys, not bat-men.

I had almost forgotten about Twilight (a huge feat considering the mass hysteria surrounding the film and the books -- hysteria that somehow warrants MTV dubbing the second day of the work week "Twilight Tuesday"), but then Dave over at thebadandugly.com had to go and include it in his film coverage, here, directly following Entertainment Weekly's vamp-tastic cover story on newsstands everywhere.

Frak it. Where EW goes, I follow.

I caved; I'm now on chapter 15 of Stephenie Meyer's first book in the teen vamp saga responsible for putting boobs on the chests of many a lovelorn thirteen year-old. (I mean ... I didn't learn how to construct a solid block of sexual fantasy in prose form until I was about 29 ... and now I'm 23! These Twilighters are learning the craft at an early age and Meyer has thrown vampires into the mix. Parents, be warned: gone are the days of Britney. Expect some pretty kinky Angelina Jolie shenanigans from your little Junos in the future. Hello, vial of my boyfriend's blood!)

Here's the deal: the writing style is good but only for the first 3 chapters, the concept is decent despite the fact that I've seen it before (just substitute aliens for vampires and throw in Katherine Heigl and you'll see what I mean), the narrative itself eventually ends up in hell. At around chapter 8 things start to get repetitive and somewhat cringe-worthy.

Robert Pattinson is right when he describes the story as being "obsessive" in nature; what is at first an intriguing insight into the mind of a realistic, unique female character eventually devolves into a melodramatic, drawn out romance-fest complete with perpetual caressing of cheeks, declarations of ceaseless love, chronic heart-thumping, hot, lusty gazing, butterflies-in-stomachs, sickly sweet descriptions of Edward Cullen's dazzling eyes (Bella actually tells him, "You dazzle me." ... Um ... okay.), more heart-thumping, a discussion about whether sex is possible for blood-drinkers (during which Ed explains, "I may not be human but I am a man.") and, in general, a lot more smoldering eye-action, skin caressing and pointless attempts to shun a budding relationship that go a little something like this: "You should be afraid of me because I can totally kill you but come here, I want to cradle you against my rock-hard abs for all time." (Not Meyer's words, but close.)

Like I said before, this reminds me of the PG-13 rated fan fiction I used to write when I was 29. From the looks of it, the movie adaptation is going to kick the book's ass. I haven't finished reading yet but I can already tell that I won't be buying books 2, 3 or 4. The films might be worth a shot, but we won't know until Dec. 12. In the meantime, I'm going to be looking for my own personal Edward Cullen. I like a white boy with a substance abuse problem.