I'd like to begin by saying that when it comes to Stephanie Meyer's Twilight Saga, all faculties go down the drain. I like to consider myself a reasonably intelligent, slightly nerdy and only rarely socially inept twenty-something, which, to my mind, means that my obsessive — nay, rabid — devotion to a mediocre teen romance novel (about freaking vampires) is somewhat out of the ordinary. But millions of ladies (and dudes) of myriad ages and backgrounds can't be wrong.
Which is why I should have been prepared for the onslaught of hysteria and hormones that accompanied last night's pre-screening of New Moon, the anticipated sequel to Twilight that has had fans jonesing for another dose of Edward, Bella and Jacob for 12 long months (Which isn't all that long I guess; I never had the fortitude to be a Star Wars fan.)
I know, I know; my fellow Twihards are itching to hear about the actual movie (and Taylor Lautner's abs. I'll save you the suspense: they're amazing.) But I have to set up the scene. I arrived to a half-full theater of mostly women — and a few husbands and boyfriends (mine included) who had clearly been dragged along against their wills and better judgment.
Amidst unbearably high-pitched shrieks and screeches (mostly) from the audience's younger members, the usual gaggle of TV and radio promotion people bestowed precious merch to the ultimate Twifans: she who knows the most trivia wins. By the time the movie actually began, I was thanking my lucky stars that my eardrums had somehow been spared. Boy, was I wrong.
This article appears in Nov 18-24, 2009.