Sadly -- and by sadly I mean sobbing uncontrollably, writhing on the floor in emotional agony while incoherently weeping "mommy" in a lyrical foreign language -- I am not yet old enough to legally see most movies without either the express permission of my maternal unit or her actual presence in a theater chair somewhere in the same dark room as me. Since I, not unlike Stewie of some renown, have never trusted the intentions of the woman who was my portal into this world (my distrust primarily rooted in her inability to cook a decent mac and cheese casserole like other decent American mothers and her unduly love of all things Buffy the Vampire Slayer [do not believe my sister is named Faith after the amorphous sense of believing in something we cannot see or touch no matter what the half-pint tells you in a YouTube]), I have as much interest in going to a movie with my mother as I do in being dipped in hot peanut butter with mousy chunks and flung into a pit of poisonous snakes... who love peanut butter.
That being said, and said quite eloquently I might add, I was not able to legally see any of the "Twilight" films or the film "Milk." After a certain amount of research, consisting of two Google searches and seven searches on Bing for antacid (which led me to a home brew recipe for an excellent anti-corrosive for large scale Naval battle ships [which I was stunned to find has nothing whatsoever to do with ship charms that dangle from belly button piercings, a topic which has always fascinated and repulsed me in equal measure]), I found that actually seeing a movie has no bearing on whether or not one can effectively review it. As a matter of fact, it appears that every reviewer working for [CENSORED] Magazine, for instance, has signed a waiver stating they guarantee they will not set foot in a house of popcorn but rather review every movie by standing outside, no matter what the weather, simply staring at the film's poster while being hand fed jelly beans by Republican hopefuls (of which there are fewer every day, it sadly seems).
And so it is with great expertise and candor that I now make this ground shaking announcement:
The "Twilight" movies suck eggs and "Milk" was the best film ever written.
If, by any twist of fate, you have given birth to a Mormon child, rest assured that you have a fifty percent chance that said child will grow up to write the best film ever written. Of course, that leaves the remaining fifty percent possibility that said offspring will "mature" (those quotes have never been more intentional) to write about ancient, pasty, high school pedophile vampires with sparkles that are worthy of a young girl's immortal soul and teenage werewolves with rippling muscles and gentle romantic hearts worthy of Taylor Swift who find an eternal mate in an infant. Mind you, to increase your chances of your progeny producing an emotionally rich, stunningly honest and spiritually satisfying film, have male offspring listen to loops of Taylor Swift songs or have female offspring learn every Melissa Etheridge song on kazoo.
If you feel that the "Twilight" films cannot possibly be blamed on the author of the "Twilight" books, or you feel that the books and films were harmless escapism for all ages and to brood is to be manly, or should you believe that Tom Cruise had every right and reason to sit his taut buttocks on the rights to Harvey Milk's biography, than this is a free country (God bless us, every one) and you are quite free to...
...talk amongst yourselves.
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