Twilight

Mind you, “it’s not what you’re thinking” is kind of the situation in general with “The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part 1,” a movie that masks its genuine perversity under layers of artifice and saccharine melodrama. I truly do not mean that as a criticism. To my taste, savvy Hollywood veteran Bill Condon (“Dreamgirls” and “Gods and Monsters”) debuts as director of the two-part “Twilight” conclusion in satisfying fashion, delivering a voluptuous if often inert spectacle that splits the difference between high camp and decadent romance. (This opinion may not be widely shared.) We will in fact see Bella bleeding copiously later in the movie — there’s a startling amount of gore, as well as an overripe, nearly pornographic sensuality, to this PG-13 film — as the direct, if delayed result of her deflowering by Edward. See, he has impregnated her with some kind of succubus-like demon child, which is impervious to the science of humans and vampires alike and poses an intriguing challenge to the pro-life, family-values fantasy universe of “Twilight” author Stephenie Meyer. Does life begin at conception even if it isn’t entirely human?

I have other logistical and/or theological questions that “Breaking Dawn Part 1″ cannot quite answer. I suppose it makes sense that vampires possess the power to block or distort caller ID, since in one scene Bella calls her pining dad — the young, single and handsome one played by Billy Burke, whose relationship with Stewart’s Bella has always had a Freudian undertow — from across town, pretending she’s in Brazil or Switzerland or something. But Bella and Edward are apparently married by some kind of priest or minister, and I can’t get my head around that one at all. Holy matrimony plus undead monstrosity — does not compute! Either they’re not telling the dude any version of the truth (and in that case are also lying to God), or the officiant’s got nothing to do with any Christian denomination I’ve ever heard of, and in either case the whole wedding, rendered in such sugary detail you can almost taste the cake icing, is a hypocritical sham. I could insert a Mormon gag here — but I’m no bigot! Not gonna go there!

I recognize that as a member of the educated upper middle class, and a man to boot, I’m supposed to feel outraged and horrified by “Twilight” on various levels. I’ve never seen the point of that. I haven’t read Meyer’s books and don’t intend to, but the Twi-movies so far range from mediocre teen horror to outrageous pulp melodrama, a combo I’m perfectly happy to absorb. This beginning-of-the-end chapter is without doubt the most momentous episode in the saga, and not just because Edward and Bella consummate their relationship (a risky narrative maneuver in any love story). In rapid succession, Bella gives up literally everything: her girlhood, her virginity, her childlessness, her life itself and even her humanity. Rarely have the metaphorical transformations of horror fiction been carried to such rococo extremes. Is this a story about a young woman coming of age or a deviant, heretical Christ legend with a female hero? If you’re going to wring your hands and insist plaintively that Meyer intended no such thing and that director Condon and screenwriter Melissa Rosenberg (who has handled an impossible task gracefully) have remained faithful to her vision, I shall nod sagely and say, of course, of course, but no artist or author can ever fully control meaning and interpretation. And that’s really going to piss you off.

“Breaking Dawn Part 1″ definitely involves less action than the last couple of “Twilight” chapters, and a lot more shots of Bella lying on the couch looking like crap. Taylor Lautner’s American Indian-slash-wolf-slash-shape-shifter character, Jacob, spends most of the movie brooding in the shadows, now that he’s definitively lost Bella and been thrust in the role of chaste, vulpine protector. (There is a major Jacob-related plot twist late in this movie, as many fans will already know.) But a lot of it is absolutely ravishing to watch, in the manner of eating hot buttered corn with marshmallows and Champagne; a woman sitting next to me at the New York media screening was literally moaning out loud during the wedding sequence. There are some bizarre, Goth-flavored fantasy sequences that are better than anything in the first three films, notably Bella’s nightmare version of the wedding, in which everyone she loves is killed. Of course it’s Bella herself who will learn not to fear the Reaper, and prepare for her new undead life in “Breaking Dawn Part 2.” But not until after Edward sits her down, at long last, and tells her about all the guys he’s been with. Some of you think I’m kidding, don’t you?

Yes, I’m desperate here. I’d really like to come up with some mildly contrarian take on “Abduction” — to report, perhaps, that Lautner is a self-effacing charmer who can dance, or that director John Singleton (long, long ago the auteur behind “Boyz n the Hood”) has reversed his long slide into hackdom and made an enjoyable “Bourne Identity” knockoff. Sadly, it’s impossible to fake the faintest enthusiasm for this picture, which is a fourth-rate Hollywood thriller that bungles a lot of thievery from better movies, is entirely bereft of suspense or excitement and features a leading man who absolutely, positively cannot act. I saw the film with an old friend who compared Lautner’s performance to that of Vanilla Ice in the legendary 1991 “Cool as Ice.” I can’t say, personally, but given that Lautner has considerable camera experience for a 19-year-old, his block-like impassivity and utter incapacity to register humor or emotion are remarkable. He spends the whole film looking smug or baffled, possibly smaffled.

Here’s what I can say for “Abduction”: It heightened my respect for the “Twilight Saga” movies, where Lautner is employed quite effectively as Jacob Black, the American Indian werewolf who relentlessly woos but will never win Kristen Stewart’s emo-tinged, virginal heart. Jacob is of course a doubly “other” character, capitalizing on the fact that Lautner looks both racially ambiguous and borderline inhuman, and I suppose Singleton and screenwriter Shawn Christensen had some vague idea of emulating that. In “Abduction,” Lautner plays a hard-partying Pittsburgh teen named Nathan, who discovers — while surfing the Internet, literally — that his parents aren’t his real parents and that both the CIA and some quasi-Slavic hoods (their background and nationality and motives are never clear) are looking for him. So Nathan hits the road with the girl next door (Lily Collins, rumored to be Lautner’s real-life squeeze) for a series of remarkably uninvolving chase scenes and supposed romantic interludes.

“Abduction” may win the 2011 prize for wasting good actors in absolute balderdash; we’ve got the aforementioned Sigourney Weaver as a psychiatrist and/or secret agent with a bouquet of balloons, Alfred Molina as a paunchy, lumbering CIA bigwig, and Swedish actor Michael Nyqvist (co-star of the “Girl Who …” movies) as the sinister but non-specific international bad guy. Nyqvist and Lautner have a nice scene sitting in the stands together at a Pittsburgh Pirates game, and I would have paid good money to turn the movie into some kind of sentimental father-son drama at that moment. Furthermore, Pittsburgh is a picturesque city, underutilized in American film, and here and there Singleton seems to wake up from his extended power nap and pay attention to that fact. There! I finally said something nice, and kind of meant it.