Tankled

First off, a disclaimer: I watched this movie after a very long day at a time when I was still recovering from jetlag. So my opinion may be affected by mitigating circumstances. Which is a fancy way of apologizing for thinking this movie was mediocre at best.

I wanted to like Tangled. I really did. When I saw the trailers I was skeptical, because Rapunzel looked like a stereotypical naïve, sweet, blonde Disney princess, and the guy (Finn) looked like a smarmy buffoon. But I heard good things about it, so I was looking forward to watching it and being pleasantly surprised.

Unfortunately, the opposite happened. Now, I didn’t totally hate it, but, to me, it was not good. It just wasn’t. It had its moments, but they didn’t really make up for the rest of the mess. Oh well. Here we go:

The Good:

The Animals: Right now, I can’t think of a Disney movie where they misused the cute (generally animal but not always; movies like Beauty and the Beast are the exception) sidekick, and Tangled continued the tradition. The filmmakers were smart to leave the animals silent, because it was their actions and facial expressions that made them so enjoyable. There’s a sassy, deadpan chameleon who gives a wicked wet willy, and a justice-pursuing horse that acts more like a dog than an equine. They were sweet and funny and made any scene they were in more enjoyable.

The Witch (Mother Gothel): Whoever wrote (and voiced) Mother Gothel did a fantastic job of capturing the description Andrew Adams gave of the White Witch in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe: what makes her so disturbing is her inconsistency. Mother Gothel in Tangled is by turns loving, generous, encouraging, cruel, demeaning, and demanding towards her stepdaughter. Her songs were the only good ones in the film (more on that later) and the last scene with her was extremely disturbing. I didn’t like that, as is the case with so many female villains, Disney and otherwise, Mother Gothel's entire motivation was to stay ‘young and beautiful.’ I know it’s a classic trope, but in this day and age you really need something more to back up your story and keep your character from coming off as a one-note borderline sexist cardboard cut out.

 

The Lantern Scenes: Were gorgeous. These moments are the reasons I love Disney and continue to avidly watch it in my early twenties. Of course, this movie almost ruined the lantern scene through its music, but more on that later.

Finn Climbing Into the Tower: Mostly because it reminded me of a similar part in The Tempest (“Oh brave new world!”) and it was the only moment the movie tried to deal with a really interesting idea—what would a person who’s had no contact with the outside world except for one other person react like when confronted with reality? It also made me think of the moment when Ariel saves Eric’s life in The Little Mermaid. Genuine wonder, longing, and awe. Too bad they didn’t go further with that.

The Not-So-Good:

Rapunzel: Okay, I give Disney points for making her proactive, talented, and not a wilting flower, but they took it so far she crossed into Mary Sue territory. She can sing, dance, cook, draw, fight, and charm ruffians. She’s pretty, smart, funny, sassy, kind, and ‘good’. And on top of all that she has freaking magical hair that can heal people and gives her all sorts of extreme physical abilities. Oh, and she has an animal companion. The whole movie I was trying to figure out why I didn’t like her, and then it hit me: I didn’t like her because I didn’t dislike her. Not that I should have hated her, but…

Take Mulan and Tiana, (Princess and the Frog) possibly my two favorite Disney heroines. Although I’m cheering for them the whole way, I still shake my head at Mulan’s refusal to accept help or seem weak in front of anyone, and Tiana’s stubborn practicality which harms her emotionally. My point: We never saw Rapunzel fail, stumble, or be challenged in any way. She had problems, but that was all people doing things to her—she didn’t have to overcome herself to succeed. In other words, from the start to the finish she didn’t change at all. She didn’t grow as a person. There’s one particular scene which highlights this fact that I’ll deal with later. Anyways. Rapunzel. Didn’t like her because she was too perfect.

Finn: Finn had almost the opposite problem—whereas with Rapunzel we were given too much, with Finn we were given too little. He comes off all overconfident, suave, and debonair, but more than once we’re given a hint that he isn’t really that certain of himself or what he’s doing—but it’s never explored. Finn is, essentially, a blank slate. The fact that he’s a thief, and a traitor to boot, is never addressed, which just seems odd. Everyone just sort of accepts that he’s a thief (they might not know the traitor part) and moves on with their lives. No one ever suggests that maybe, you know, stealing is a bad thing. Not that this movie should have been a lesson on the evils of stealing, but I wanted to know more about Finn and felt like I was given almost nothing. I liked the fact that his real name was Eugene, but I wanted to know more about why he’d changed it and what his motivations were. Of course, his name being Eugene may have been why I liked him at all, because Eugene is very close to Eugenides, another thief-in-love-with-a-princess that I adore (Megan Whalen Turner’s Queen’s Thief series.)

The Ruffians at the Bar: A big part of this was the music, which I’ll get to, but they were just so random. I can sort of get their initial motivation for helping Rapunzel and Finn (emphasis on the sort of) but then they just literally popped up out of nowhere at an opportune moment and saved the day for no frickin reason. So random.

The Bad:

The Music: Stephen Fry, a British comedian I adore to the point of obsession, once said that he learned that the point of songs in musicals is not to fill time, but to fill plot. In other words, while songs can be funny or sad or sweet or whatever, they should either literally move the plot along, or deepen the story by revealing things about the characters. They shouldn’t just be random bits of music stuck in to make it a musical, which is exactly what happened here. The Circle of Life from Lion King. Hell Fire from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Reflections from Mulan. Dig a Little Deeper from The Princess and the Frog. After seeing those movies for the first time, every single one of those songs stuck with me. Even if I couldn’t remember the words, I could remember the message they’d left me with and the feeling they’d given me. Not a single song in Tangled did that. The only one I could even vaguely remember was the one Mother Gothel sang, Mother Knows Best. Moreover, the music wasn’t necessary to make the movie watchable, and even ruined key moments. The lantern scene was so beautiful on a whole number of levels, and it did NOT need a random romantic song in the middle of it. It was jarring and it didn’t fit and almost ruined the scene. Ugh.

Speaking of which…

Rapunzel and Finn’s Romance: Why are these two in love? Seriously. It drives me absolutely bonkers when Disney, or anyone (actually, Disney’s generally better than this) has two characters who meet, go through a series of intense circumstances together, argue, make up, and fall in love. For. No. Reason. As far as I can tell, Rapunzel and Finn fell in love because they had a near-death experience. That’s it. When she’s insisting to the witch that Finn’s a good person and she can trust him, all I could think was…why? What reason do you have for trusting him? None. Ugh.

Again, contrast this one with The Princess and the Frog—similar set of circumstances (characters are thrown together, face trials, and basically fall in love over the course of one or two days)—and yet dealt with completely differently. In The Princess and the Frog, we see the two main characters talk to each other about their dreams, their feelings, their motivations. They challenge each other’s ideas and beliefs and through that come to respect each other. Here…yeah. They saved each other’s lives. That was it.

The Hair Chopping Scene: This scene only deserves mention because I was so sure for the entire movie that Rapunzel would cut off her own hair…and then Finn did it. Not to diss Finn, but this scene just highlighted for me the fact that Rapunzel had not changed at all. Not one bit. She’s stuck in Mary-Suedom and likely to stay there for the rest of her life. Finn has my sincere apologies. Oh, and why did he say she’d die if she went with Mother Gothel? I mean, I get that it might be a kind of metaphorical death, but…huh? That’s the problem with these: ‘if you let me do x then I’ll do what you say and not fight you.’ Umm, once the thing’s done the leverage holder’s leverage is lost. Once Rapunzel heals Finn, then she can just go ahead and fight. He’s already healed. And for that matter, Finn’s going to follow them in about two seconds. Did Mother Gothel take stupid pills?

This isn’t meant to be a grand feminist statement—she’s a weakling and the movie’s sexist because the guy saved the girl!—but instead show the weakness of the character. Rapunzel’s supposed to be the heroine—she should be the one that grows and changes over the course of the story. That’s what a hero is. That’s what makes them the hero. But Rapunzel just stagnates. I thought she was going to cut off her own hair, and that would symbolize how she’s truly become her own person and broken free of the metaphorical and physical bonds the witch had around her, but…no. Instead Finn does it. Fail, Disney. Just, fail.

Right. So that’s it. I was probably too harsh on it, but this movie really built up my hopes, only to stomp all over them while smirking maniacally. Sigh. Better luck next time. Excuse me while I go eat some Tim Tams. 

The Werewolf De-Fanged: How Stephenie Meyer Did the Loup-Garou a Greater Disservice Than She Ever Did the Vampire

It seems as though these days every Anne Rice fan or eyeliner-wearing semi-punk can talk your ear off about how Stephenie Meyer effectively de-fanged vampires through her works, reducing them from the once monstrous forms that they used to inhabit as soul-destroying murderous creatures of the night to harmless tortured souls that only want a place in the world where they can sparkle in peace.  Although I definitely agree with the people that think vampires should be evil and although I mourn the loss of the vampire-as-a-villain in much of modern literature, I also think that the Cullens are just the last step in an extremely long process that has been gradually de-fanging the vampire since the days of John Polidori and has included everyone from Anne Rice to Joss Whedon. 

However, I don’t particularly care about vampires, to tell the truth.  They don’t interest me nearly as much as that other archetypal denizen of modern horror movies that has survived in the collective human consciousness since prehistoric times: the werewolf.  Werewolves are, in their own way, infinitely more terrifying than even vampires.  They are perfectly ordinary human beings that attend town meetings, go to mass once a week, say hello to their neighbors, and every so often stalk through the night raping and murdering their neighbors.  They are the monsters that don’t just look like ordinary people, but actually are ordinary people—most of the time.  Then, whether because of the uncontrollable pull of the moon or because of their conscious spell-work, they take on other forms—and they lose themselves completely as they satisfy their most base and ugly of desires.  Not only could that nice man next door secretly be a bloodthirsty killer, but that mysterious animal that tears out the guts of your livestock and children could be the nice man next door.  And you’ll never find out unless you shoot him or expose him to silver.

 It’s a little-known fact, but vampires are actually based on werewolves.  The legends that provided the inspiration for Bram Stoker’s Dracula were of creatures that operated only at night, that resisted holy objects and consciously chose to do evil, that had unusually shaped hands and nails, that changed forms under the light of the moon but were weakened by the presence of sunlight, and that had special relationships with animals commonly associated with Satanism, including bats and canines.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Dracula is a werewolf.  Well, he’s technically a hybrid of vampire legends and werewolf ones, with a healthy dose of good old nasty humanity thrown in there.  (Guess that makes him Renesmee Cullen and Jacob Black’s love child, then.)  But the point remains: the werewolf is a very specific, very terrifying archetype in human culture, and it is never ever going away.  Today, we just call the werewolves of old serial killers (or just Freddy Krueger) and the things we call werewolves have, shall we say, devolved somewhat from their original incarnations. 

That said, I have many and various problems with Stephenie Meyer’s portrayal of the loup-garou.  I really, truly wish she had not de-fanged these monsters even more so than vampires, and that she had not done it so very effectively.  Of course she has the artistic license to write whatever the heck she feels like, and the popularity to have whatever the heck she feels like read by millions of people (including yours truly), but I am deeply bothered by the extent to which she is unfaithful to my all-time favorite monster legend.  As James Marsters, the (talented, sexy) Bela Lugosi of our generation, said, “If you’re going to write about that metaphorical monster, keep it true to its original purpose as a metaphor.”  As previously stated, werewolves were created as a way for people to explain serial killers.  And now Stephenie Meyer has them as perfectly ordinary teenage boys that occasionally are a little harrier than most people.  Rather than portraying them as monsters in human form, or, more accurately, humans who take on monstrous forms as an external symbol of the depravity within, Meyer chooses to make her werewolves protectors of the small, valiant ancient warriors that have been gifted with an additional set of abilities so that they can protect the innocent unknowing humans from the inhuman threat in animal forms as well as human ones.  By her definition, the Quilute aren’t werewolves; they’re Animorphs.

Wolves have long held conflicting sets of symbolism in human mythology.  On one hand they’re feared and hated as the scourge of livestock and even occasionally the killers of children, but on the other they’re respected for their strong family structures and incomprehensible endurance.  They are mothering, nurturing murderers, that will literally allow themselves to be killed to save their young but are also capable of acts of brutality and even cannibalism that the human mind shies away from contemplating.  In short, wolves are an excellent metaphor for human beings.  And when a human being gives into the animal side so completely that all conscious thought or moral reasoning is lost under the passionate need to satisfy one’s carnal needs… Then a werewolf is born.  It’s just a person that, quite simply, has all the nasty intelligence of a human being and all the power and self-motivation of an animal.  That description doesn’t even come close to applying to the Quilute. 

At least Meyer’s vampires are still distinctly animalistic: even the good ones must struggle against the instinctive desire to kill people, and even the good ones occasionally give in.  They may sparkle, they may brood, they may even have cute baby vampires that they then start wars over, but they are still, on some level, less than human.  Their natural way of life is to depend on murder for existence, and just because the plucky band of main characters decides to follow an alternative lifestyle, that doesn’t mean that the vampire community as a whole has anything to contribute to society.  They are still monsters, they are still scary, they are still the very last thing that you want to hear going bump in the night. 

Not so the werewolves.  They aren’t animalistic, they don’t struggle against base instincts or even seem to have any base instincts at all, and they never lose control in any way more dramatic than the occasional wrestling match or involuntary kiss, and they are as disgusted by the idea of killing people as any human being would be.  In short, they are just perfectly normal people that have an extra ability or two.  Not animalistic people, not monsters, not even semi-horror figures.  Just good citizens doing their best to keep the leech population down.  Just your friendly neighborhood wolf-men.  Sad to say, but these are not werewolves. 

Actually, it came as a huge relief to me when Meyer herself acknowledged that her werewolves, in short, aren’t.  There’s a brief moment near the end of Breaking Dawn when the contrast between these benevolent protectors and the night-creeping killers of old Europe is finally noted, and the end conclusion is that these are just your harmless everyday skin-walkers.  Never mind that skin-walkers were evil Native American shamans that were pretty much no better than your average werewolf…  But the damage had already long been done by that point.  No one actually remembers that the werewolves of Twilight aren’t technically werewolves.  After four books’ worth of referring to them as werewolves, a single throwaway line about their actual classification isn’t going to change anything.  People think of werewolves as your typical struggling young men (and one young woman) going through life with one extra blessing.  Lycanthropy sounds terribly romantic the way that Meyer portrays it: no sickness, no problems, an automatic group of people that will always have your back, super speed, super strength, exactly as much aging as you want to have.  Frequent exposure to semi-naked teenage boys.  That’s not quite how lycanthropy is supposed to be.

By all rights, the werewolves that exist in the Twilight-verse should be terrifying monsters.  It is even possible for them to be terrifying monsters and human characters at the same time—countless examples of how this can be done stretch all the way back to The Wolf Man—but they are sadly lacking.  In light of the legends that led to the creation of the modern werewolf, and the interpretation of werewolves that has retained dominance for as long as humans have been telling stories, Edward has every right to be terrified at the thought of Bella hanging around with a whole pack of these creatures.  The werewolves in most stories are at best humans cursed with a terrible monstrous nature, and at worst the most depraved creatures that have ever existed, shamans that change themselves into animals with the explicit intention of destroying lives.  However, ironically, Edward actually has nothing to fear from the Quilute, who are werewolves in name only; they have nothing of the werewolf nature in any of their actions.  In short, Meyers has de-fanged werewolves as well. 

To give credit where it is due, the destruction of the werewolf as we know it has been a long process that has involved everyone from Anne Rice to J.K. Rowling, but Meyer was unquestionably the straw that broke the hypothetical camel.  Rowling’s werewolves may be just ordinary people struggling to make it in a world that hates them for who they are and are respectable citizens with “furry little problems” twenty-seven days of every twenty-eight, but they are unquestionably monsters that extra twenty-eighth day.  Mild-mannered Professor Lupin attempts to eat his best friend and three of his students just because they’re there, under the influence of his inner animal.  Laid-back Bill Weasley is described as tense and temperamental after being bitten.  Fenrir Greyback seems to have given in to that animal side entirely; no one can deny that a man that goes around attacking young children for the hell of it is a monster of the highest order. 

Annette Curtis Klause may have put one of the nails in the werewolf’s coffin by being one of the first people to write a successful book about werewolves that are human no matter what shape they hold—Blood and Chocolate is a novel about a girl who is really just a normal person except she occasionally runs around in animal form under the full moon—but her werewolves are nonetheless definitely animalistic.  They literally fight each other to the death to determine who will lead their packs, and they are organized about the same way as real wolves in the wild, with a strict pecking order that is occasionally enforced with physical violence.  Patricia Briggs also writes about werewolves that are conscious even when transformed, but hers are humans that fight constantly against animal instincts and occasionally even then lose control of themselves.  Much like Meyer’s vampires, Briggs’s werewolves are continually fighting against the possibility of becoming rapists or murderers, and many of them give in. 

However, the werewolves of Twilight don’t have this struggle.  They do not have to work for their humanity, and they do not follow the strict structuring of a pack; Jacob goes into open rebellion against his alpha and the worst consequence is that he loses touch with a few friends along the way.  Most legends have werewolf packs killing interlopers without hesitation.  Meyer’s werewolves have something that her vampires don’t: humanity.  While this is not necessarily a weakness in most characters and is in fact a strength, it deprives her characters that should by all rights be monstrous of the ability to be anything but normal people.  Jacob even explicitly states at one point in Eclipse that he considers himself to be more human than Edward, and in fact he is.  Jacob, like the rest of Meyer’s werewolves, doesn’t even retain the semblance of inhumanity.  He may occasionally lose his temper, but he does not have the mind of a werewolf, only occasionally the body of one.  Edward and Bella have infinitely more to fear from vampires and werewolves in Meyer’s universe, because for all that they may sparkle, the vampires are still in some ways monstrous.  The werewolves can’t even claim that dubious honor. 

 The monsters that haunt the dark places of the human psyche come out in various ways, and this particular form has been one of the most lasting, and the most terrifying.  Lycanthropy has been used as a metaphor for serial murder, for social ostracization, for local paranoia, for humanity’s conflicting nature, for the fear of the unknown, and even for AIDS. Stephenie Meyer has every right to use it as a metaphor for teenage angst.  I just wish that she hadn’t. 

It Was Kind Of Inevitable

So, aside from the introduction, I thought I'd start us off with the (inevitable) Twilight post. I'm sure Buggy will post her own thoughts about Twilight one of these days, but I thought I'd take the plunge first. Fair warning: there will be both SPOILERS and some fairly heavy criticism in this post. (Also: spoilers for The Chronicles of Narnia, Harry Potter, and Blue Bloods.) That being said, I'm not writing this to bash Twilight. First of all, it's been done, second of all, I have better things to do with my time, and third of all, if I hated Twilight so much that I couldn't think of a single positive thing to say about it, then I wouldn't have bothered finishing the first book, let alone the other three. But my feelings about Twilight do fall more in the 'negative' column than the 'positive,' so buckle up, strap on your helmets, and leave now if the mocking of sparkly vampires bothers you.

Twilight: I only started reading Twilight because I was chaperoning a field trip to take a group of girls I tutor to see the movie, and, whenever possible, if it's a movie adapted from a book, I prefer to read before I see. After I recovered from temporary blindness due to Meyer's abuse of adjectives and adverbs, I found that I didn't totally hate the first few chapters of Twilight. My expectations, after all, were incredibly low--I'd already heard a lot of the bad things others had said about it, and I don't care for romance stories as a rule. I found Bella a bit wishy-washy and weak, and I couldn't understand why she kept saying she had no friends and guys didn't want to date someone like her when the entire school was practically kissing the soles of her feet, but whatever.

Anyways, I plowed through the first third of Twilight, thinking that while this wasn't really my cup of tea it wasn't bad for a beach read, until I reached The Meadow Scene. Anyone who's even remotely heard about Twilight knows what I'm talking about. It's supposed to be THE scene, the one that epitomizes everything about Bella and Edward and their relationship. If that's true, then based on that scene, here's what I conclude about Bella and Edward's relationship: it's dry, boring, emotionless, stilted, consisting only of them talking about how much they love each other, and never ending. Hmm. Seems pretty accurate. Guess people knew what they were talking about when they called it THE scene.

Seriously though. I read the first third of Twilight in under two hours, and it took me almost two days to get past The Meadow Scene because I kept putting the book down out of sheer boredom. Again, I don't do well with romance, so who am I to judge, but it seems to me that if you give away the character's big secret AND have them declare their undying love before you're even halfway through the book, then you're going to run out of things to talk about.

More stuff happened that I honestly can't remember, and then, thank god, Edward took Bella to meet his family, the Cullens. Now, here's why Twilight will never fall entirely into the negative column for me. I love the Cullens, especially Jasper and Rosalie. This is a sure way to get me at least interested in your story, if there's a group of individuals who care deeply about each other and look out for and protect each other even if they don't always get along. In otaku there's a term called nakama which basically describes this type of group, and like I said, I'm a sucker for it. Say what you want about Twilight, Meyer did a great job of portraying nakama, both with the Cullens and the wolf pack.

Right. Anyways, this is already far too long, and I still have three books to cover. Baseball scene: random, but loved it, because it's all the Cullens and because I love baseball. Scene after baseball scene: at this point I really started to dislike Edward, because of the way he bossed Bella around and basically manhandled her into the car. Yes, it was for her own safety, but it felt more like a parent ordering around a child than a boyfriend protecting his girlfriend. Then Bella walks out on her dad, which I didn't get--why'd she go home at all? Why not just run, if it's so urgent? And who's to say that James isn't going to go after Charlie anyways? Ugh. Whatever. Anyways, Phoenix, Bella being an idiot and running off on Jasper and Alice (which, how exactly did she get away? Even if she hid her decision from Alice as long as possible, she had to decide EVENTUALLY, and then they're freaking vampires with super speed and strength. What were they doing, counting roses?) Ballet studio scene, hospital scene ('I fell down the stairs?!' Really, Meyer? Really?) and I finish with the conclusions that it wasn't as bad as I'd been expecting, but that I cannot stand Bella or Edward at all.

New Moon was boring. Seriously. There's the birthday party, then Edward takes off, then Bella spends the next FOREVER moping. She should have been committed--and I say that not to be flip, but in all earnest. If your boyfriend leaving destroys you THAT MUCH, you need some serious help. The first time I read New Moon I got so bored I skimmed through a whole bunch of stuff until Alice showed up, and when I did go back and read I found I hadn't missed much.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love Jacob. I think he's the best thing about Twilight. He's funny, smart, and respects Bella for who she is, which is a feat in and of itself. But I've never been a Team Jacob person--I can't stand Bella, remember? What do I care who she ends up with? But I still found most of the werewolf stuff boring--not because it was boring in and of itself, but because Bella was such a boring, mopey narrator. Then Alice and Bella went to Italy, got to Edward just in the nick of time (see? Edward and Bella deserve each other! They're both melodramatic and insane!) and ended up chilling with the (admittedly creepy, Meyers gets props) Volturi. And here's where I lost the last ounce of respect I had for Bella, Edward, and Alice.

Imagine, in Harry Potter, if Harry saw some Death Eaters torturing some muggles and not only walked away, but did nothing to try to rectify the situation. Imagine, in the Chronicles of Narnia, if the Pevensies said 'screw you' to the Narnians and just hopped back through the wardrobe. The whole point of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe is Edmund's transformation from someone who doesn't give a crap about others to someone who is willing to sacrifice himself to save his family and his people. The whole reason Harry's the hero is because he wants to defeat evil and save the wizarding world. Meanwhile, Bella, Edward, and Alice, faced with what they KNOW is inevitable, horrible death for a group of innocent humans, WALK AWAY. And then don't try to do anything about it. I assumed that eventually the Volturi would get overthrown, but that's not what happens. Our group of supposed heroes sees murder about to occur and does nothing to stop it.

As you might have discerned, New Moon was my least favorite in the series, and seriously made me wonder why I was supposed to like these characters.

Eclipse: I'm not going to bother going into the whole abusive boyfriend angle, because as lots of people have pointed out, EDWARD IS AN ABUSIVE BOYFRIEND. But, at this point, I'd already decided to try and ignore Bella and Edward (difficult given that Bella's the narrator, but I do try) and focus on the other, more likable characters.

Which is why Eclipse is my favorite of all the books. Like I said, I liked Rosalie (she almost killed Edward! Yay!) and Jasper (despite his stupidity from the first book) from the get go. Rosalie, I suspect, is a symptom of my bad habit in which I latch onto the one character that everyone else seems to dislike. I don't mean to; in fact I'm shocked when after seeing or reading something I go online and find that everyone else hated my favorite character. But it just happens. Life is so hard sometimes.

Anyways, I loved loved loved Rosalie and especially Jasper's stories. Rosalie came off as the only strong female in the entire series until the appearance of Leah Clearwater, whom I also love. (Yeah, I knowz. Fandoms. I'z doin' them wrongz.) And for the first time, Meyer showed deliberate darkness and evil in her stories. I say deliberate because the Volturi, according to the Cullens, were sort of 'eh, we don't like those guys, but they're not that bad,' when in reality they're cold-blooded murderers. But anyways, when Meyer does include a hint of darkness and let some clouds into her sunshine-and-daisies world, that's when her writing is the strongest. Carlisle's story. The battle at the end of Eclipse, which I'll get to. Jane and Alec. Child vampires. And of course Rosalie and Jasper's stories. These are the parts that make her books readable to me, and they're too few and far between.

So, Jasper. Yeah, I love him--maybe because he actually has a reason to be dark and broody, instead of being faux dark and broody, like Edward. And his story was fantastic--tell me you wouldn't love to read a novel about clans of warring vampires in the post-Civil War south. It sounds like the kind of thing Anne Rice would excel at, and it's a shame Meyer didn't go into it in more detail. I also give Meyer props for making Jasper a Confederate instead of Union soldier, because one of the tropes that drives me nuts is acceptable targets. Acceptable targets are groups, people, or even countries that it's okay to vilify, because everyone knows they're all evil anyways. (Supposedly.) Depending on who you are and what you think, Nazis, Confederates, white men, Catholics, Muslims, Russians, and the Chinese can all count as acceptable targets. And it drives me bonkers. In every single one of those groups, you're talking about literally millions of people. Lumping them all under 'evil' is easy, but it's not fair. Now, if you're writing a book from the point of view of a Union soldier, of course the Confederates are going to be the villains. But that doesn't make every single Confederate evil. Anyways, I got way off track there, but I give Meyer props for showing that the Confederates were--gasp--individuals, and that they didn't all think or act the same.

Ehm. Moving on. Bella loses about a million more points for demanding that Edward stay with her, when theoretically she won't be in any danger, while his family is facing an army of vampires. Selfish idiot. But I do sort of love the tent scene, because for some reason I like most of the interaction between Edward and Jacob, when they're not being complete idiots, which is most of the time. Then the battle, which we don't get to see! I honestly think Meyer either dislikes or is unable to write action, because there is so little of it in her stories. Honestly. Imagine if we'd seen the Battle of Hogwarts from the POV of a sparrow sitting in the Whomping Willow. Then Seth (yay Seth! I love Seth!) and Edward fighting off Victoria. Jacob--broken bones (eww.) Bella and Edward--getting married. Ugh.

Breaking Dawn was weird. Now, to be fair: two things I really don't care for in books or TV shows are pregnancy and marriage. So Meyer already had the cards stacked against her when, at least in my book. Unless the marriage is A. part of a greater plot, like Bill and Fleur's, or B. interrupted by a screaming hoard of demons, like Mimi and Jack's in the Blue Bloods series, I. Do. Not. Like. Weddings. They're inevitably awkward, cliche, and so sugary you want to bang your head into the wall. So I basically ignored everything through the end of the honeymoon, except for that dream of Bella's about the vampires children, which aside from winning points for being creepy, made me scratch my head and say,  'HMM. I wonder if by any chance this book will include a plot about vampire children! Nah.'
Anyways, I basically ignored the whole wedding/honeymoon/oops I'm pregnant! But I started paying a lot more attention in the second section, because Jacob was narrating.

I loved Jacob's narration. He was so much more interesting and funny than Bella, and unlike in Bella's section, when I'd be told that Bella felt a certain way but got no evidence of it, with Jacob I could completely relate to his emotions. I liked his interactions with Rosalie, Seth, Leah, and Paul. I loved his quirky chapter titles. I loved reading a first person narrative that didn't think the sun shone out of Edward's ass. All of that was great--I even liked Jacob and Edward working together to save Bella, even though that whole sequence was gross--until literally the last sentence.

Imprinting is creepy. I'm sorry, there's no other word for it, and it kills me because I like the werewolves as a whole much better than the vampires as a whole (The werewolves don't eat people! They win. The end.) but imprinting is just so many levels of creepy it's not even funny. Bella and Edward were bad enough, but at least I knew that however bossy Edward might be, if Bella actually ordered him to leave he'd do it (probably.) And Bella fell in love with Edward as she got to know him--it didn't happen in two seconds. So yes. Thank you, Ms. Meyer. You have officially made me champion the stability and healthiness of Bella Swan and Edward Cullen's relationship, something I didn't even think was possible. God. Why? Just...why?

Anyways. We'll just pretend that never happened and move on. Bella as a vampire--yawn. And what a shock--she's the pwettiest mostest talented vampire everz! Who saw THAT coming? Bella as a mother--it's a good thing that child is half vampire and has a house full of people to look after her, because I wouldn't trust Bella to care for a potted plant, let alone an infant. Then they're happy, then they're not, then Alice and Jasper run for the hills, which was the one interesting point of characterization for both of them: say what you like, but if Alice knew for sure that she was going to fix the situation, or even come back to fight if she couldn't, then she wouldn't have bothered taking Jasper with her. It wasted too much time, and the Cullens really could have used him back at the house. Alice wanted to help, but if it all went south then she had at least saved herself and her mate. It doesn't make her seem like the best person, and that's why I find it more interesting.

Then random people start showing up, ready to sacrifice themselves for this kid, which make. no. sense. Yes, Bella and Edward and the Cullens and Jacob were ready to die for her, but they're her family. Other vampires ready to stand there and be killed for this kid? I get that she's special, but come on. One person dies (okay, eight, counting the Cullens minus Jasper and Alice plus Bella, Renesmee, and Jacob) versus thirty people die. It's a matter of math, people! And even granted that some of them didn't think the Volturi would kill them, what is motivating them to even take the chance?

Moving on--the battle that wasn't. What a disappointment. I don't know why I expected her to man up and actually write some action, but I hated the last fifth or so of this book. Boring and unrealistic and just ridiculous. Two things in particular deserve mention: Garrett's speech, because it was the only good part of this whole mess, and it was truly epic, and Edward calling Jacob his son, at which point I bang my head against the wall so hard it comes out the other side and startles my poor neighbors.

Anyways, so the Cullens live happily forever after, having lots of sex and...not much else. Yeah. Why the heck do none of those people go out and get jobs other than Carlilse? Every single one except Edward is legally an adult. They do not need to go to high school, which they seem to hate anyways. Go out and get jobs, you lazy bums! Do something with yourselves! Whatever.

One last thing: sparkling vampires. Forget the lameness for a second and think about it. Why do they avoid the sun? Because they sparkle, and that would show humans they're vampires. So take it one step further: why do they care that humans know they're vampires? They're super strong, super fast, have extremely good sense, and can't be harmed unless literally ripped to shreds and burned, which only another vampire can do to them. So...why are they hiding from humans again? It'd be like if we humans tried to hide our true identities from cows. Seriously. The only purpose the vast majority of vampires has for humans is to eat them. So why are you hiding? That's the problem with the whole sparkle aspect--not that it's lame, but that it's terrifying, because it makes the vampires omnipotent. If the Volturi or Maria and her army thought about it for two seconds, we'd all be toast. So, sparkling? Not a good idea, especially when taken to its inevitable conclusion. Which Meyer of course did not do.

So there you have it. More bad than good, but I didn't completely hate them, and when I bash them, I can do so legitimately instead of sticking up my nose and rolling my eyes and acting too good for something I haven't even tried. My seething anger is mad legit seething anger, man!

--Cates

In the Beginning

For more years than we'd like to count, my sister (Buggy) and I (Cates) have wasted far too many hours whining, raving, ranting, and screaming with joy over the various books, movies, TV shows, plays, and sketchy internet ads that we encounter. After a particularly trying week of disastrous dialogue, pointless plots, and cardboard characters, we decided we needed an outlet for our inner monologues and so made the highly questionable decision to unleash our minds into the world. Small children and pregnant women be warned.

What will (hopefully) follow will be our clever (hah,) and keen (as if,) observations about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness--in fantasy, of course. In particular, we'll have lots of stuff about teen and children's literature and movies. What you need to know about us:

1. We love all things C.S Lewis, although we wish the man had fleshed out his writing a bit more. Also, anyone who thinks the purpose of The Chronicles of Narnia is to convert children (or anyone) to Christianity has either A. never read them, OR B. never read another fantasy novel.

2. Similar to item 1, anyone who thinks that the purpose of Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials is to convert children to atheism has either A. never read them, OR B. never read another fantasy novel.

3. While we also love J.R.R Tolkien, we see Lord of the Rings et al as a brief peek into his inner mythology rather than cohesive, contained works like the Chronicles of Narnia.

4. J.K. Rowling is a frighteningly brilliant woman. If she is, as someone once said, "The dumb person's idea of what intelligence looks like," then we proudly stand with the dumb people.

5. While we have some serious problems with Stephenie Meyer's writing and storytelling, we have much more serious problems with the people who lambast and derail Twilight without ever having read it or seen it. One promise we will make right now: We will never criticize something we haven't read, seen, or heard.

6. According to us, Animorphs may have been the most brilliant children's series in the latter part of the 20th century. K.A Applegate is a for-the-most-part undiscovered genius.

7. Disney Pixar is fantastic, but its forerunner, the Japanese filmmaker Hayao Miyazaki, is a genius.

If any of those statements resonates with you, or if you wildly disagree with everything we've written, then we think you'll enjoy this blog. Future movies, books, tv shows, etc. that will likely be covered in this blog include: Blue Bloods, Ouran High School Host Club, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Uglies, Death Note, House MD, Bones, Alice in Wonderland, Queen's Thief, Vampire Academy, Thursday Next, Toy Story, Tamora Pierce, Broadway, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, as well as all the series and books mentioned above....and anything else that pops into our heads. Buggy has an affinity for bad anime and angsty teen novels, while I have an affinity for Disney Channel and reality TV, so those will undoubtedly make (horrifying) appearances too.

Fare thee well, fellow foragers of fiction.