Twilight

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.

 

Unfortunately, this argument smacks of chauvinism. McGreevy (currently adapting Bram Stoker's "Dracula" for the big screen) blames this on a new, dangerous "female gaze" -- as opposed to the misogynistic "male gaze" as defined by feminist film theorist Laura Mulvey in her essay "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema." The female gaze, he suggests, makes these non-threatening vampires "pornography for tweens." When he asserts that "Mad Men's" Don Draper is actually more of a vampire than any of the "True Blood" or "Twilight" characters, what he's saying is that Draper is more of a man.

"It is a killer's heart that is the motive force of masculinity and predation its spirit. This is not to suggest nature is immutable, or that one ought to act in blind obeisance to it, but that 'ought' is not in the vocabulary of want, and choosing is meant to have consequences."

But one could argue that original vamps like Stoker's "Dracula" and Max Schreck's Nosferatu are way more emo than Draper: They both are obsessed and stalkerish with women they like, stay secluded from the rest of society instead of engaging in it, and are ultimately tragic figures because they are so sexy, yet so sad. And if we want to get technical about the timeline, Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu's "Carmilla" actually predates "Dracula" by 25 years, and revolves around lesbian vampires. So maybe that "female gaze" will come in handy after all.

McGreevy is arguing for vampires who are manipulative, coldhearted Patrick Bateman types -- charming sociopaths like the "American Psycho" character who understand the human morality structure and can play the game, but whose nature compels them to kill in order to live.

In that way, maybe there is one television character that would be less of a "Castrati" vamp than Edward Cullen or Bill Compten: Cersai Lannister from "Game of Thrones." That soul-sucking pit of evil puts on a pretty face in public while using her sexuality to stay in power. Her only desire is to protect her progeny; behind closed doors, she engages in incestuous taboos. She knows what's expected of her in public, but could care less once the curtains have drawn. "You win, or you die," says Cersai about the game in question, implying that holding onto power is its own version of immortal life -- and the mark of a true vampire.

 

2. "Glee" goes viral

The stars of the Fox musical stopped by Internet star Keenan Cahill's to cover Katy Perry's "Last Friday Night."

 

3. Field of "NFL" Dreams

Taylor Lautner in a FunnyorDie video spoof of the Kevin Costner flick. Well, it's nice to see those "Twilight" kids getting work these days.

4. Jay Leno bombs while talking about the Casey Anthony verdict

HELLO IS THIS THING ON?

 

5. Harry Potter houses

You know, I always wondered what those Hufflepuffs were good for, anyway.

Pattinson's been testing the waters of career expansion for some time, in smaller films like "Little Ashes," where he played Salvador Dalí, and "How to Be," a comedy in which he played a Gus so gloomy Edward Cullen would beg to lighten up. Now, as Jacob, the narrator of "Water for Elephants," Pattinson cuts yet another bleak figure.

In the midst of the Depression and on the cusp of receiving his veterinary degree, Jacob's parents are killed, leaving the destitute Jacob to forge an unlikely new life working with animals at a broken-down traveling circus. Jacob shuffles along the rails. Jacob worships Marlena, the beautiful star attraction married to the boss, from afar. Jacob pounds his fists. Jacob has the sads. Often. He spends approximately 80 percent of the movie in full hooded-eyes mode. You know how they say to find one thing and do one thing well? Well, Pattinson's thing is glowering.

It doesn't help matters that the movie itself is so painfully mediocre. (A colleague's highest praise consisted of the observation that "It looks very expensive.") The circus people are colorful and fun-loving, except the ones who are unstable and violent. And while Reese Witherspoon wears gorgeous costumes, she reserves the bulk of her tender chemistry for her other costar, Rosie the elephant. There is not a moment of authentic-looking heat between the two human leads, a deficiency that at least wasn't an issue in the admittedly guilty pleasure of "Twilight." But the problem isn't just miscasting or the cheesiness of the material. It's Pattinson's increasingly predictable, dour persona.

As it happens, just hours after I attended the "Water for Elephants" screening, I was sitting in a theater watching Pattinson's old "Goblet of Fire" costar, Daniel Radcliffe, on Broadway in "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying." Radcliffe, adorable and slight of frame, has spent considerably less of his professional life smoldering than Pattinson has, even if he does share impeccable cred from the "supernatural BS id messing up my adolescence" school of acting. And, having seen his performance in "Equus" in 2008, I can attest that Radcliffe scores just fine as the dark, messed-up guy who can do sex scenes. But imagine if the roles were reversed; would Pattinson be game enough to attempt to be a song-and-dance man? Would he ever go on television and breathlessly sing the Periodic Table? Pattinson may have the male model good looks and the serious new movie, but it's Radcliffe, bravely flailing around in a bow tie, who seems the more evolved performer.

An actor can have a fine ride as a leading man without ever being funny (hello, Russell Crowe!). But a smile can kill in ways a vampire bite never will. Even Leonardo DiCaprio, who had to claw his way out of the teen heartthrob ghetto himself, and still sticks mostly to playing damaged goods, proved with his rakish turn in "Catch Me If You Can" he can seduce without being grim. And men like George Clooney and Brad Pitt, more than 20 years into their careers and still giving handsome lessons for a living, regularly infuse a lightness and humor into their work that makes them irresistible. James Franco, who can pout with the prettiest of them, is a full-fledged weirdo. Mark Wahlberg has gone from shirtless heartthrob to Oscar-nominated serious actor -- as well as scene-stealing Will Ferrell costar. And Robert Downey Jr.? Two words: Tropic. Thunder.

So what's going to happen to Pattinson, who these days seems well on his way to becoming the most tiresome leading man since Kevin Costner? Sure, maybe if you're trying desperately to control your Mormon vampire urges all the time, you don't have much to giggle about. But star quality -- and sex appeal -- contain a healthy dose of fun. The question for Pattinson isn't whether he can sulk his way into adult credibility. It's whether he, like a truly great leading man, can show us he's got any boyish appeal to spare.

Or maybe it was Bela Legosi as Dracula. Or Frank Langella as Dracula. Or Gary Oldman as Dracula.

Wherever the original seed was planted, its effects are widespread today. Monsters are among us. And they are super sexy, romantic and just want you to love them.

We probably have Anne Rice to blame for this: The writer's gothic "Interview With the Vampire" book and subsequent series made neck-biting sexy and spawned a whole generation of goth kids thinking that heavy petting always involved a blood transfusion.

And then came "Twilight," the sexy (but not sexual) 2.0 update to Rice's tortured Louis de Pointe du Lac. Here was the "other" who had terrified us for so long, and he came in the package of a handsome teenage boy who was as frigid in the bedroom as he was to the touch. And let's not forget Jacob, Bella's lupine love interest from Stephenie Meyer's series, whose lightning-quick transformation from boy to wolf involved none of the gruesome close-ups provided in "An American Werewolf in London."

Lately, it's gotten worse. Alex Pettyfer as an alien in "I am Number Four" is the guileless, beatific cousin of Ellen Ripley's worst nightmares. (Though without seeing the movie, I cannot confirm that there isn't a scene in which Alex pops out of Dianna Agron's stomach.) And if the idea of a dead woman standing over your bed while you sleep gives you the shivers, you obviously haven't been turned on to "Being Human," the BBC show currently getting an American SyFy makeover. The program stars sexy Meaghan Rath as an apparition living with a vampire and a werewolf. Dating is such a bummer when guys figure out you're dead, am I right, gals?

Sex and horror have always gone hand in titillating hand -- "Friday the 13th" and "Halloween" -- but behind every horny teen girl who didn't bother checking the closet before going down on her boyfriend was an ax-wielding psycho with a strangely conservative message. Forget STDs: In the world of a horror film, having sex shortens your life span to about five minutes of screen-time.

In fact, "the virgin always lives" scenario became such a cliché that it was later meta-mocked in Wes Craven's "Scream":

 (Although, looking back, perpetual virgin Jamie Kennedy didn't fare too well after the credits stopped rolling either, so history had the final laugh on that one.)

In the closest thing to a zombie sex movie that we'll ever get, David Cronenberg's "Rabid" (now called "Rage" for some reason) featured a venereal disease that turned its victims into hormone-fueled monsters who craved fresh blood -- a not-so-subtle commentary on contemporary Canadian gender politics and the sex trade industry that went right over my 14-year-old-head, leading me to believe well into high school that doing the dirty directly resulted in an insatiable craving for human flesh. (Which I guess it does, but not in the way that Cronenberg's traumatic movie led me to believe.)

By the way, parents, if you really want to make sure your teenager won't be having sex any time in the near future, forget about the birds and the bees talk. Just show her "Rabid."

You'd think that our new breed of "sexy" monsters would subvert the traditional heavy-handed anti-sex message in scary movies. Except nope, the opposite: The whole point of "Twilight" is that vampire Edward won't have sex with Bella till they are married, and even then it almost kills her. We don't know much about the working genitalia of Number 4, but considering how much James Frey is trying to tap into the lucrative tween market, we doubt it looks like any tentacle Hentai down there. Even shape-shifting Sam from "True Blood" keeps things chaste with Sookie Stackhouse, even when he is creepily spying on her in dog form from the foot of her bed. As the citizens of Bon Temps realize that the murderer in their midst isn't a vampire or other-worldy creature, we all learn a valuable (if clichéd) lesson that humans are indeed the most terrifying monsters of them all. (Mainly because our actual monsters are too busy prancing around like attractive eunuchs to be very scary.)

(Side note: Ironically, the scariest creatures our generation has to call its own resemble adorable little moppets. Think of the demons from "The Ring," "The Grudge" and "Let the Right One In." They might be evil spawns of Satan, but at least they're not staying out late at night, dressed like hookers and doing god knows what to who knows how many filthy men!)

But in turning monsters into pretty boys with no-risk warning labels attached to their rippling PG-13 torsos, we risk losing what actually attracted us to dark and sinister characters to begin with. The women who stalk Night Stalker Richard Ramirez and moon over horror actors like Robert Englund (Freddy Krueger) prove that depraved villains are never at a loss for fans attracted to their bad-boy sex appeal, no matter how physically unattractive or insane they are. (Case in point: In researching this topic, I found I was not the only person among my colleagues who has had a sex dream about Freddy Krueger.)

The main difference between the traditional horror monster and our current crop of attractive vampires, werewolves and ghosts can be seen as the difference between sex and love. Scary monsters can be sexy and so can psycho killers, but only brooding vampires with souls and "The Phantom of the Opera" represent the "ideal man": Someone that will love you unconditionally, and forever. And while that's scary in its own right, turning monsters into attractive, non-sexual (and therefore non-threatening) love interests turns horror films into teen romance flicks. "Twilight" will never be confused for a horror film; it's a story about eternal romance. Too bad Max Schreck's hideous Nosferatu hadn't been given the memo about this 99 years earlier, as he might have managed to get the girl by showing her his purity ring.

Just to get you caught up on all the crucial back-story gossip: Hardwicke, a veteran production designer who broke into directing with the indie sensation "Thirteen" in 2003, was widely praised for the first "Twilight" film, both because it made tons of money and because it was a lot weirder and more interesting than most people expected. But the producers of the teen-vampire series replaced her with "Golden Compass" director Chris Weitz for the next film, "New Moon," amid a whole bunch of malicious whispers: The cast didn't like her, the shoot was chaotic, the cinematographer and editor had to rescue the movie, and so on. Flash-forward a couple of years, and here we are with Hardwicke's new project: A fairy tale about a beautiful young virgin caught between two smoldering male-model types and beset by supernatural forces, which ends with an emotional cliffhanger designed to make us clamor for a sequel.

Well, OK, then. But as easy as it may be to mock "Red Riding Hood" for its Renaissance Faire 90210 flavor and its yonder-is-the-castle-of-my-father dialogue -- and, believe me, it's easy, and fun too! -- the movie has a certain campy integrity that gradually grew on me. Some of Hardwicke's choices seem misguided, like the picturesque storybook village built of Lincoln Logs that M. Night Shyamalan would reject for being too corny, or the supposedly heinous talking wolf who is simply too gosh-darn cuddly for words. Aww -- who's a cute ginormous puppy dog? I said, who's a cute ginormous puppy dog? But I still get the feeling that they're actually her choices.

Casting Amanda Seyfried, a spectacular beauty with a wide-open, alarmed face, brilliant skin and endless skeins of blond hair, in the central role is one gamble that pays off. Mostly known for her TV roles (in "Big Love" and "Veronica Mars"), Seyfried gets laced into some Renaissance-era lingerie and shrouded in the titular red cloak here, and has to command the screen as a symbol of both purity and sexuality and also as a halfway plausible character. The fact that "Red Riding Hood" works at all is a testament to her performance as a girl whose sexual awakening coincides with -- and in some sense provokes -- the discovery that the world around her is full of inexplicable evil.

Seyfried's Valerie -- yes, people, Red Riding Hood's real name is Valerie -- lives in the aforementioned picture-book village full of people from the west side of L.A., including her suspiciously hot, golden-ringletted mother (Virginia Madsen) and her drunken, embittered dad (Billy Burke, who -- yes! -- also plays the dad in the "Twilight" series). She is betrothed to the local blacksmith's lunky but likable son, Henry (Max Irons), but long ago gave her heart away to Peter (Shiloh Fernandez), a young woodcutter with moussed-up dark hair and a crooked smile. And yes, of course, she also has a grandmother, played deliciously by Julie Christie as a sort of hippie herbalist and locavore chef, who isn't quite trusted by the villagers and lives alone in the forest without fear of the big, bad wolf.

Said wolf has recently broken his long-standing truce with the village by killing a local girl, which sets the miscellaneous and immensely nutty plot machinery of David Leslie Johnson's screenplay in motion. Male villagers with torches head out on a hunt and come back with a wolf's head on a stick, occasioning a neo-pagan, all-night trance-house rave that's pretty much a blast. But sniveling local cleric Lukas Haas has summoned a fanatical wolf-hunter named Father Solomon (Gary Oldman), who arrives in a black coach-and-four with two little girls, a retinue of big, scary black warriors, and a rolling bronze torture chamber in the shape of an elephant, which someone later dubs "the Brazen Beast." No one, sadly, ever says, "Unleash the Brazen Beast!"

Yes, in its loonier moments this movie is exactly that awesome, although I can't decide whether it's setting out to be the "Showgirls" of medieval-fairy tale movies or simply getting there by accident. Oldman, no slouch when it comes to devouring the scenery, plays Father Solomon as a displaced Middle European aristocrat, all sibilant S's and perfect coiffure. When he imprisons some suspected wolf-sympathizer inside the elephant and lights a fire beneath it, Solomon hears the poor kid howling and lisps, "Lisssen to how he ssings wiss ze love of Sssatan!" Later, after he has imprisoned Valerie on charges of general hotness and irresistibility to wolves, he brings her the blood-red riding hood made by her grandmother: "It iss time to put on your harlot'sss robes!"

Unhappily, Johnson and Hardwicke get stuck in a not very interesting mystery story: If, as Father Solomon argues, the wolf is actually a werewolf who lives among them in human form, then who is it, and why is it so interested in Valerie? The problem is that there are a number of pretty obvious suspects and the wolf has to be one of them, and since the filmmakers spend a lot of time leading us down false trails, you may well figure out Wolfie's identity through negative deduction long before the big revelation.

An even bigger problem is that you can't reduce one of the most potent fairy tales in the European tradition to a pseudo-Freudian whodunit wrapped in a romantic triangle without draining away much of its resonance. Making the wolf into a character with a personal history and a specific set of grievances -- instead of a malevolent force who is everywhere and nowhere, inside us and in the world -- seems like a spectacularly dumb decision. I guess it sums up this plucky, idiotic and almost irresistible movie, which has moments of transcendent silliness but never quite manages to ssing wiss ze love of Sssatan.