This movie made it onto the Netflix queue because I was considering the books for trashy summer reading (along with Anne McCaffery and some Ian Fleming) and I thought the movie might give me an idea of how bad the books might be.
And let me tell you, it was bad. Not so much bad dialogue, or a bad plot (well…), but bad for teen girls all over America: How did a book that teaches you that it’s ok to throw all your love at someone who will hurt you–who might even kill you–become a worldwide bestselling romance? Because in real life the person you’re throwing your love at isn’t a sparkly vampire; he’s just going to give you a broken arm. Or worse.
So I don’t think I need to read the books–I’ll spare myself that frustration (and spare Mr. Isbell the rants about women perpetuating these behavior patterns). (Seriously, Woman Author and Women Director and Producers? You think that because a secondary character asks a boy to prom that this makes your book/movie modern and empowering? Wow.)
The movie ended with a Radiohead song, though. I didn’t see that coming.