My Breaking Dawn - Part 1 Review

MY BREAKING DAWN REVIEW

*SPOILER ALERT*

If you haven’t seen it and you don’t want a slight blow-by-blow account, opt out now.

Where oh where do I start?

First of all, I adored it. Not because I’m a Twi-hard, but because it had more personality about it than the other three films combined. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy the other three, hell, I’ve read the series twice and watched the first film heaps of times, but anyway… here’s my short-ish take on the good, and the not-so-good aspects of Breaking Dawn - Part 1.

THE POSITIVES

·         The wedding speeches

Funny stuff, particularly Charlie insinuating he’d hunt Edward down and rip him a new arsehole if he did wrong by his baby girl. I just wish they’d played around with this scene a lot more, because it had the potential to be even funnier.

·         Bella

She cracked more smiles than ever, she was wittier than she’d been in the previous instalments, and for once I felt I could identify with her. Kristen Stewart did a splendid job, and for anyone who says otherwise, they’re kidding themselves.

·         The ‘sex’ scene

I laughed my butt off when the bed and window frames collapsed simultaneously during that crucial moment. From the trailer, I assumed it was just going to be a cut and dry flash, but it wasn’t, and whoever came up with the visual concept deserves a major pat on the back.  

·         The aftermath of the sex

The shots of the bedroom following the tawdry happening was liquid gold; then watching Bella flitting around in lace whilst trying to seduce her suddenly re-abstinent hubby, well that was solid gold, particularly when he rolled over and buried his face in the pillows so he didn’t have to look at her anymore. Then came the shot of poor Bella flopping down on the bed after old mate Ed wore her out so she wouldn’t continue trying to seduce him – platinum stuff.

·         Pregnant Bella

She looked horrid, and it was superb. Exactly how I pictured her to be. Then there’s the blood-guzzling. I didn’t expect to feel so grossed out watching the girl chug the stuff down like a raspberry smoothie, and the tooth-staining effect really brought it home. All I have to say is ‘bleech, but brilliant’. The make-up artists deserve an award, and so does Kristen.

·         Edward and the momentary loss of his beloved

Rob really did a spectacular job, and I very nearly got teary. Nuff said.

·         The very last shot

I KNEW it’d happen like that! From the very second I heard Breaking Dawn was to be, ahem, 'broken down' into two films, the first thing I thought was ‘they’ll end it with a shot of Bella’s newborn vamp eyes’, and I had to refrain from leaping out of my chair and yelling ‘fuck yeah!’ when it happened.

THE NEGATIVES

·         Stephenie Meyer’s cameo

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure any writer (myself included) would love to be involved in the film production of their work, however I found it a bit ridiculous NOT that I spotted her at the rear of the wedding congregation – that was all good and well – but that she was awarded a full body shot at one point. Now, call me a Twi-Grinch, but for anyone who wasn't aware of what SM looked like, the resounding thought would have been ‘who the fuck is that, and why are they focusing on her?’ In all honesty, that just didn’t sit right with me.

·         The 'wolf gathering' in the wood yard

It was a bit lame, and I actually covered my eyes at one point because I felt like a dick just watching it. My sister described it as a ‘Badly dubbed Japanese cartoon’, and I totally agree.

·         That baby name

Ugh! Hate it, hate it, h-a-t-e it – with a passion far greater than any Twilight fan could LOVE it; and if I met Stephenie Meyer, I probably wouldn’t tell her to her face because she can afford the world’s most costly hit-men, but still…
Though I understand the thought process behind it, it doesn’t change the fact that the name smells fouler than the freshest sloppy werewolf turd, therefore I feel sorry for the gazillion little girls that will no doubt inherit it, if they haven’t already.

In saying that, I commend Rob and Kristen for being able to keep a straight face whenever they had to say it.

And lastly…

·         The fact that the birth scene was nowhere near as graphic as it came across in the book

I suppose I expected to see ribs and gore flying all over the place, but given the rating, I guess it’s understandable. Even so, a little more blood would have made it better viewing, particularly since a run-of-the-mill caesarean is messier than what was shown.

All in all, I enjoyed it for the most part, and I’m really looking forward to the final film! :D

A musical musing

I’ve been a music lover for as long as I can remember. It’s always been a staple in my life, from my mum’s random late-night disco drum assaults – myself and my sister bitch-slapped from slumber by Donna Summer’s ‘Hot stuff’; or the questionable product of my Saturday night Hot 40 countdown tape ‘dubbing’.

Why the hell did the DJ have to talk right at the last second? And more importantly, why did I care?

For some inane reason, I feared I’d be lynched by my peers for not owning the actual ‘tape’. Mind you, I still took the odd mix tape to school, and I distinctly remember running for the boom box one day to avert the DJ announcing my dirty secret to the entire class, by way of his encroaching on the last two seconds of RATM’s ‘Killing in the name’. I failed. *sigh*

Anyway, I’m sure I’m not the only person that felt that way, and in respect to the whole ‘tape’ thing, and the fact that such things are now deemed ‘old school’, it leads me to ask...

Is something considered ‘old school’ if it was originally ‘too cool for school’ whilst you were in fact, at school?

Back to the tapes, though; I had lots of blank ones as you could probably imagine, but I did have a handful of legit ones. There are only two that I recall by name. One was ‘Hits The Girls’ – an 80’s compilation I received for Chrissie at 9 years old, and it was through that and the spiffy double sided Teac tape player I also received, that I was introduced to the likes of the Bangles’ ‘Hazy shade of Winter’, as well as a few other good tunes, and a few not-so-good tunes. 

The other was a hand-me-down copy of Stevie Nicks’ ‘Bella Donna’, given to me by my step-dad and his girlfriend around a year after the last. I was staying with them over the school holidays, and they’d taken my sister and I on a camping trip in the spectacular Tassie wilderness. We even bathed in the freezing cold river; crazy cold, but it was an awesome experience all the same, and one I’ll never forget.

Anyway, we listened to that tape repeatedly in the car on the long trips down and back. I remember telling them how much I loved it, and straight away they said ‘if you love it so much, it’s yours’. I was so stoked that I listened to it non-stop thereafter, with ‘Edge of Seventeen’ being my favourite song for ages. I didn’t understand it though, and at my age, I figured ‘Seventeen’ must as have been some precarious place this guy was thinking about jumping over the edge of. Plus it didn’t help that Stevie went a little Bob Dylan on it, and to this day, I still don’t know a lot of the correct lyrics. It doesn’t change the fact that I'll always love it, though. ;)

Moving on, from listening to music came an interest in singing it, playing it, and subsequently writing it. I’m shithouse at reading music though, and in the time it’d take for me to complete one bar, someone better skilled would have turned the page. This is why I never lasted long in school bands, and it comes down to that fact that what I learned, I learned by ear.

When the flautist next to me played, I observed. Then I’d start to mimic her, and eventually I’d have learned the piece directly from her. But it was a lengthy process that saw me pretending to play a lot of the time, or simply staring at my music with a frown during an assembly performance, as if someone had replaced it with sheets of Chinese road rules.

I’m not sure if any of my music teachers cottoned on to my ‘vulture’ act, but I always slackened off after a while anyway, because I just couldn’t grasp it. Musical Dyslexia is my diagnosis.

Even so, I'm in heaven around musical instruments, and one day I intend to have a room full of them, simply so I can teach myself to play ‘Mary had a little lamb’ on every single one. :D

To think or not to think , that is the question. I think...

Something I’ve noticed as I’ve grown older is that I actually think about stuff <--- whaaat?? Uh huh. I think about the repercussions of what I say before I say it, I think about who my Facebook posts might affect before I post them, etc... Yes, it’s sad that Facebook should make the number two position, but alas, it’s close to being true.

Anyway, one such thing arose a few weeks back, and I thought I may as well put it out there.

My friend put up a status saying her son told her that one of her funeral songs would be LMFAO’S ‘Sexy and I know it’, and I wanted to put ‘I-I-I’m interred’, or something to that effect as my response.

But here’s the thing… the friend in question has a stutter.

So MY question is this: Is it wrong to put up a stuttered reply to a status that belongs to a stutterer, even if the stammered statement pertains to the status and is in no way intended as a dig? In fact, until you’d typed it out, it hadn’t even occurred to you that it might in fact cause offense, because when you think of that person, you don’t immediately think ‘she stutters’.  

Is this just thoughtfulness, or the product of political correctness?

P.S. Love ya work, Leeah.

Just for fun – because I LOVE these guys – check out those budgie smugglers! :D

Are you fur real, Emma Watson???

I won’t deny I’m upset by the news that Emma Watson endorses the wearing of fur. As some of my friends know, I’m determined to have Enharmonic adapted for screen once it's ready for the book press, and by way of ‘fantasy casting’, Emma has always been my first choice to play the role of CJ.

She’s a wonderful actress, a lady, and someone I mistakenly deemed as compassionate; particularly given that she was designing a line of ‘ethical’ clothing. I’m gobsmacked as to how on earth she can devote her time to such a viable human cause, yet be so bloody ignorant when it comes to the senseless brutality involved in the fur trade.

Perhaps someone should sit her down and show her ‘Earthlings’ – a documentary exposing every aspect of animal abuse within the food, scientific, and, of course, the fashion sector.

Trust me when I tell you that once you’ve seen an animal skinned alive – the poor, defenceless creature bloodied, breathing, aware, and in agonising pain with nothing but sinew exposed – wearing or even thinking about wearing fur would repulse you. In saying that, I’ve never understood the trend anyway. Why not skin your cat and wear that, or perhaps the family dog?

It’s sickening, and in effect, my respect for Emma has fallen to the point of non-existent. So much so that I think I’ll pen a letter to her to mark my disgust. That is all – for now.

In the meantime, for those interested in seeing what really goes on behind closed doors, you can watch Earthlings right here, or head to the website to view it by clicking the link below the video.

Make the Connection. EARTHLINGS.com

Please be advised it’s not for the faint-hearted. It’s extremely upsetting, but it's reality, folks.

Ignorance is Bliss, so the saying goes, but I’d rather be in the know...

Random thought...

It's my belief that single women are not so much concerned about landing a man, lady, or perhaps a man/lady - depending on their preference. Single women are more concerned about being found dead of an orgasm-induced heart attack whilst surrounded by their sex toys; the only giveaway to their demise being the steady hum of their vibrator zooming around in a circle, having been dropped on the floor at that pivotal moment. Eveready batteries - the spinster's choice.

Kings of Leon + Band of Horses live = one HAPPY me! :D

I know my blog is still under construction, but I thought I may as well start casting my thoughts into the e-stratosphere, so here goes...

This Sunday just gone was a hell of a whirlwind thing, but it was bloody fantastic. With a mere two hours of sleep under my belt, I flew to Melbourne with my lil' sis to do two things: the first being to meet our older sister - who was adopted out as a bub - and her lovely hubby for the first time.

That in itself was a wonderful experience, and one that paved the way for the evening's festivities - the long-awaited Kings of Leon gig at Rod Laver arena.

Anyone that knows me well can tell you that I love, love, LOVE KOL; not fanatically, but enough that I own all their albums - on CD, that is - and enough that I've given them a mention in my nearly-completed novel Enharmonic (formerly 'Sticks and Stones').

The Followill boys rocked the shit out of us, and though I'd expected it to be good, it completely threw me just HOW good they are live. I can't praise them enough for the performance they delivered, just as their support act Band of Horses (whom I also adore and who also contribute three albums to my CD anthology) kicked some serious musical arse.

Back to KOL for a moment... Caleb's voice was so clear, and he hit pretty much every note hammer to nail-head; and Matty (my fave King, so much so that I got excited when I saw the roadie - who I'm pretty certain was the infamous 'Nacho' - bring his guitar out) ripped it up, as did Jared and the non-glasses-wearing Nathan.

I recommend everyone make the time to see these guys at least once, because you'll be leaving with a repetitive 'that was just... wow' escaping your lips. Oh, and a change of knickers/jocks/boxers would be a worthwhile thing to have handy.

The next time they tour, I think I might jump on the, ahem, bandwagon and take in a few shows, but for now, I'm content to wait for Band of Horses to come back so I can see them do a full set.

That being said, the concert was brilliant but the night didn't end there...

Strapped for cash and completely unorganised, my sis and I headed back to Melbourne airport around midnight to await her flight at six am, and mine at nine am; the pair of us sleeping in a freakin' awkward position draped over her suitcase.

The sandman wasn't exactly kind though, and I found myself sitting up at two am, bleary eyed, worried that those who’d passed by had heard me farting in my sleep, and chowing down on Macca's fries. It was worth it though, he he. I'd have slept naked, hanging upside down from a tree at RLA if the need had arisen!

Mind you, waking at that time had been a bit of a blessing in disguise though, because there were a bunch of young teens there, heading off on an overseas jaunt, and I witnessed a Harry Potter moment that I define as the golden snitch atop one kick-arse pre-birthday cake (the 15th being the day I was birthed).

One young fella had a luggage trolley, complete with his suitcase and one of his mates perched on it, and he sounded off a perfectly executed 'Platform nine and three quarters', before turning and aiming the trolley at a two metre wide pillar.

Yes, he ran straight for it.

Thank you 'Harry', thank you big sis and hubby, thank you lil’ sis, thank you Band of Horses, and most of all, thank you Kings of Leon for making it a night I'll always cherish.

Until next time, that is all.

Kylie xxx